7777777
Once again, sorry for the loooong gap between stories. Real Life sucks. I have no idea how long it will be until JD's story presents itself, because although I've outlined it I haven't started writing it yet. However, after that is over, the first story with an actual plot is already halfway done. So...take heart.
I deviate a little from the brief history I gave Vin in the introductory story in this AU. Rather than living with the Kiowa, instead in this version he was raised by Comanche. Apparently my muse liked this version better.
Translations for Comanche phrases can be found at the end of the story.
None of the M7 characters belong to me. Ellison, McAllister, and Sands are mine, please do not use without permission.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed the past chapters; your feedback motivates me to keep writing.
7777777
Running.
He was running.
He wasn't sure why, or where, exactly. In fact, he was almost positive he'd been in his bed a few moments ago. A vague, sleep-fogged memory flitted across his mind, one of a tense voice and hurried hands pushing him from the warmth of his home. He slowed to a stop, trying to collect himself enough to figure out why he was here, outside, without his moccasins, when two big, rough hands grabbed his waist and lifted him high in the air.
He shrieked in fear, unable to help himself. Later, he would be angry with himself. Two Feathers wouldn't have made a sound, of that he was sure, but after all, Two Feathers had seven winters where he only had four. Three whole years was a long time, so one childish scream could be forgiven...right?
He hoped so.
The man who grabbed him was speaking now, but the child couldn't understand a word. He craned his neck, looking behind the man for the village but seeing only other men on horses and dust. The sky seemed filled with it.
Suddenly the boy realized: that wasn't dust at all, but smoke. The sky was filling with smoke. His struggles became more frantic; even at age four he knew that much smoke was a bad thing. Loud, animalistic wails of protest burst from his mouth. "Kee! Kee, haamee!"
The soldier, for that's what the man was, on the horse behind the boy grimaced. "Shut up, kid!"
When the yells didn't cease, another horse reined up alongside his. "Ellison, for Pete's sake, gag that little hellion."
"But-"
"That is an order, Corporal."
"Yes, sir." Ellison reached awkwardly into his pocket for a handkerchief when a third voice rang out.
"Belay that order. Sergeant MacAllister, need I remind you that I am in charge of this unit? We do not gag innocent people, especially children."
"Yes, Captain."
The third man, who even the boy recognized as being in charge, rode over to the blushing Corporal. "Giving you some trouble, is he, son?"
"Well, sir, I believe he is just scared."
"Probably. I know I would be. I hated to just grab him like that but we couldn't let those heathens get their hands on him again, could we?"
"No, sir."
"I mean, God only knows the things they would do to him."
"Yes, sir."
"He was probably a slave, beaten at every opportunity."
"Yes, sir." Ellison nodded agreement with his Captain but frowned inwardly. The boy didn't seem to be behaving like a child who had been beaten by the Indians. Rather, he seemed very much to want to go back to the village they had just set fire to. And his body was certainly free of any signs of abuse.
Gunshots sounded in the distance. Immediately the captain's head snapped up and he began barking orders. "About face, men, we're going back." He had not ordered the men to use their weapons in subduing the hostiles and so something must have been wrong. Captain Jim Sand had never once left a man behind and didn't intend to start now.
7777777
The small group of soldiers, accompanied by one frightened little boy, rode back into the camp to see bodies littering the ground. Men and women, children and old people, no one had been spared. Some of the bodies bore bullet wounds, some were burnt, some had clearly been beaten to death.
None of them were alive.
The only living people left in the camp were the soldiers, their blue uniforms stained with blood and soot. A few of the tent-like dwellings were still smoldering with small flames.
Captain Sands rode up to the nearest officer. "What happened here?"
"The savages attacked us, sir. Without provocation. We were attempting to peaceably relocate them, as ordered, when these men came from nowhere." He indicated several dead braves lying together about fifteen feet away. "We had no choice but to open fire."
"I see. And the women and children?"
"They fought when they saw that their men were dead. It was self-defense, Captain, I swear."
"Mm-hmm." Sands walked slowly around the camp, trailed by the young Sergeant. "And yet none of our men seem to be injured."
"Well..." the youth scuffed at the dirt with his foot. "We were lucky, sir. It could have been much worse."
"Of course." The Captain dropped his head, appearing deep in thought for several moments. After a while, he looked up again. "Give me your sidearm, Sergeant."
"I'm sorry?"
"Your gun, boy, give it here." The sergeant obeyed. "Now you pick a few other men and start giving these people a decent burial. There was no honor in what happened here today."
"Yes, sir." The sergeant saluted and began to move off.
Captain Sands' voice stopped him. "And, Sergeant Thompson?"
"Yes, sir?"
"When we return to the fort, I'm going to see to it personally that you receive a court martial. A man who will allow defenseless men, women, and children killed has no right to wear that uniform."
The young man's face fell, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He just nodded and went to follow his Captain's orders.
Sands approached the Corporal who had been in charge of the boy they'd caught. "Where is your passenger, Ellison?"
A sad expression on his face, the soldier pointed. There, clinging to the body of a badly burned woman, was the child. His hair obscured his face but it was obvious he was crying. "I believe she was his mother, sir. At least, she was the woman who raised him."
Sands knew what he meant; the dead woman couldn't possibly be the boy's true mother. She was an Indian; he was a white child. Still, the scene was heartbreaking. Even Sands had to wipe a tear away. "Go collect him, son, he shouldn't be here. As soon as we've cleaned up we're leaving."
"What will happen to him, sir?"
"I suppose he'll be sent to an orphanage, if they can't find his real family."
"Aw,
Captain, not an orphan home. I've been in one of those, they're
awful. Never get enough to eat and you're always cold and dirty. 'S
why I joined the army, to get away. I hate to see the poor kid hafta
go to one of them places."
"So do I, Corporal, but
we really don't have much of a choice. We can't exactly keep him with
us."
"No, sir, of course not. Still..."
"I
know."
7777777
Despite his correct statement that they couldn't keep the boy, Sands found himself growing attached. Except for the brief display of emotion at his mother's body, the child had been largely stoic. He was a tough kid, and Sands hated to see him wind up somewhere worse than he'd already been. He only wished he could speak to the boy, but unfortunately he didn't seem to speak any English. In fact, he hadn't made so much as a single sound since they'd picked him up.Even now he was sitting quietly outside Ellison's tent, munching on some jerky and sipping from a canteen. Sands walked over and sat down beside him. "That beef jerky good?"
Confused blue eyes looked up at him. "Ke nu u nakisupana?itu."
"I'm real sorry about your family. That wasn't supposed to happen."
This time the boy held his tongue, knowing that the man didn't understand him. Jim tried another tactic. He pointed to himself. "Jim." Then he pointed to the boy.
This time a light of understanding lit the blue eyes. He touched Sands' arm. "Jim." Then he slapped himself on the chest. "Nu nahnia tsa Vinninnewah."
The officer smiled. "Good. I'm very glad to meet you, Vinni-nne-wah." He laughed out loud. "Whoo, son, that's a mouthful. How's about I just call you Vin?"
7777777
Vin stayed with the unit for nearly two weeks, until they arrived in Eagle Bend to pick up a prisoner. While they were there, Sands inquired about a possible placement for the boy. The Sheriff, one Sam Stains, immediately recommended a man in Four Corners, a short 3-hour ride away. "He's got this kind of boys' home, s'posed to be real good. Ain't never heard any complaints about him. Name's Standish."Sands sent a wire to Four Corners, and a reply came back within half an hour. "Will meet at the Sheriff's office tomorrow. Bring the boy. EPS."
So it was that the next day Sands, Ellison, and Vin rode to Four Corners. Vin. having been found wearing nothing but a breechcloth, was now clad in an altered uniform. Even with the adjustments, he was swallowed by the too-large garment. It made for quite an adorable picture.
Sands was surprised to discover that this Standish was a younger man than himself. He had expected someone older. "Mr. Standish?"
"Ah, Captain Sands is it? I must admit I was surprised to receive your telegram. It isn't often the army bothers itself with such matters."
To Ezra's amusement, the captain blushed. "Yes, well, I must confess I have gotten rather attached to the boy. I would hate to see him neglected or abused. I was told that your boys' home was clean and your boys are well-cared for."
"Absolutely." Ezra extended a hand to the door. "If you would like, you may accompany Vin and I to see for yourself."
The captain looked long and hard into Ezra's patient green eyes. "No...no, I don't think that will be necessary. I believe, Mr. Standish, that Vin just might have found himself a home."
Dimples appeared. "I am very glad to hear you say that, Captain. I agree."
7777777
Vin waved forlornly as the first friend he'd made rode off with the rest of his unit. He took a seat under a tree in the front yard and stayed there until dark, when Ezra came looking for him. He took a seat by the boy, thinking wryly to himself that he did this far too often. "Son, I know you most likely can't understand what I'm saying, so this is probably pointless. But supper is ready, and Mrs. Wells worked on it diligently all afternoon. I firmly believe it would be a show of inexcusable rudeness if we weren't to attend. There is a chair at the dining room table just for you and I'd be most pleased if you'd join me." He rose and held out a hand in invitation, which Vin simply stared at. Confusion was still evident in his big blue eyes.
Ezra thought a moment, then mimicked dipping a spoon to his mouth repeatedly. "Eat. You want to eat?"
Vin brightened and nodded his head, accepting the offered hand.
The meal proved...interesting. Vin was completely unfamiliar with all utensils and could not understand why he was the only one eating his mashed potatoes with his fingers. The resulting choking sounds coming from Ezra gave him great concern, and he proceeded to thoroughly pound the Southerner on the back helpfully...little hands covered in potato and gravy.
The other boys found this greatly amusing and laughed until tears came to their eyes. None of them were prepared for the stream of furious Comanche sent their way, or for the tiny boy to leap at Chris silently and without warning. Ezra grabbed him in midair. "No, Vin, we don't attack people at the dinner table."
Had the words Vin uttered next been in English, Ezra had no doubt he would have needed to wash the boy's mouth out with soap. He decided this was as good a time as any to start teaching the boy to speak the language of his true people. "Vin. Sit." He placed the boy forcibly on the chair. "Sit." Ezra demonstrated as well. "Sit."
He could see the rapidly calming child assimilating the information he was being given. Four other pairs of eyes were also glued to the unfolding drama. Josiah and Nathan caught on quickly. Both rose, then sat once again.
"Sit."
"Sit."
Vin seemed to understand. He half-rose, then plopped back down. "Shit."
Ezra was seized by a sudden coughing fit, just as Buck turned to him with saucer-like eyes. "Awwwwww...."
"Hush, Buck."
"But, Mr. Ezra, he said-"
"I know what he said, Buck, it's all right. He doesn't know it's a bad word."
"But..."
"Enough." Ezra smiled slightly at Vin and nodded encouragingly. "That was close. Try again: Sssssit." He emphasized the 's' sound.
"Ssssit. Sit."
"Wonderful!" Ezra clapped his hands. "Well done, Vin."
7777777
Vin was adjusting very well. He made friends easily with the other boys, joining in their mischief as if he'd been there for years rather than a few short weeks. In fact, the only real difficulty he had with adjusting was the use of a bed. His first night he'd pulled a quilt onto the floor of his bedroom and had slept on the makeshift palette ever since. No amount of cajoling from Ezra could change his mind.
It didn't hurt that it took Vin less than two months to pick up most of the basics of English. He still lapsed into Comanche when angry or sleepy, but for the most part understood that he needed to use English now.
Despite that, Ezra was unsure what it was he wanted when he ran into the study one morning from playing outside. "Ezra! Come...boy in the tree!"
The Southerner frowned. "Did one of the boys climb the tree?"
"Kee...no. Boy is..." Vin gestured, cupping one hand and slipping the other into it. "In tree."
"There's a boy inside a tree?" That made no sense.
Vin nodded insistently. He grabbed Ezra's hand. "Come and see."
Ezra trailed along behind the boy to a large oak that somehow managed to flourish despite the sometimes scorching desert heat. "See?" Vin crouched and pointed to the roots, which arched over a dark hole. It seemed to be just large enough for a medium-sized dog or similar creature to enter; Ezra decided that was probably all Vin saw and the boy's imagination had gotten the best of him.
However, on closer examination, Ezra was astonished to discover a pair of huge, tearfilled hazel eyes staring back at him from the dirty fissure. Within seconds, those eyes emerged, revealing themselves to belong to a tiny boy knee high to a grasshopper. His raven hair was filthy and matted, and the rags that covered his scrawny body couldn't quite be called clothing. Bruises peeked through holes in the rags. He pressed himself up against Ezra's chest, burrowing close. A tiny voice drifted up from somewhere close to Ezra's armpit. "Where's my mama?"
"Aw, hell." It was going to be an interesting day.
7777777
Kee! Kee, haamee No! No, please!
Ke nu u nakisupana?itu I don't understand you.
Nu nahnia tsa Vinninnewah My name is Vinninnewah.
7777777
