Is she safe? Has she remained hidden? These questions linger persistently in my brain, swirling around like a choking, lung burning smoke cloud that cannot be stifled.
Star Dancer is presently teaching Lily how to weave. I just dropped her off and here I am, heading for answers. As a parent, I feel free of duty yet fettered by this out of sorts longing to get back to my girl. Nerves on edge, I swallow as I wind my way through dusty streets of rustic cabins and decorated tipis. In the near distance, I see a prominent tipi that I recognize by the epic horses painted on it. It's his tipi and I am timidly approaching it.
Those same questions provoke me to walk closer. My heart is beating. Yes, I am afraid but it is curiosity that is driving me to my father, Chief Many Horses' home.
No one is stopping me. My people just stare in disapproval as I make my way to the entrance of Father's tipi. I stop, knowing I have crossed the line. What am I doing? No, I have no idea but I'm here. Why can't I turn around? I raise my hand to knock only to find myself hesitating in the action for there is no door to knock on. Stupid me!
No, I cannot violate the terms of banishment. Stepping forward, I am intent on walking back through the village to fetch my daughter. From nerves, I clear my throat, inwardly castigating my curiosity to ask him those insistent questions. God, I just want to know she is safe from harms way and out of sight.
"Black Moon!" The rich deep voice of my father booms at me.
I spin on my heel to find myself facing the formidable Chief Many Horses for the first time since that fateful devastating day I killed my brother, Pawnee Killer. Of course, I would never dare ask Father for forgiveness. It is too late for that. Nor will I beg to be let back into the tribe. I am an outsider who hacks a living for his family in the Long Country.
From tremendous guilt, my eyes float to the beaten earth. A tiny black ant scuttles out of a dirt mound, steadily crawling toward me.
"Black Moon, why has my dead son come to me?" Father demands to know.
"I-uh-um-well," I stutter while my eyes remain fixated on the flurrying ant. From nerves, I clear my throat, blaming that tick for giving me away. Courage, Black Moon!
"Yes?" Father presses for answers.
I bite back fear and look into my father's wrinkling aged face. "It behooves me to let you know I received a letter, a troubling letter," I reply with urgency, looking back at the ground. "I need to know she is okay. Only you know where she is. That is all. I am deeply sorry I bothered you, Father."
From a shadow shifting back and forth on the ground, I sense my words render the chief to pace.
I wait and wait but there is no reply. Like an idiot, I stand there, staring at ant after ant swarming around a puny dot of crumb.
"This was difficult for you to come," Father finally admits. "Quit gawking at the ground, Black Moon, and follow me inside."
Obediently, I walk behind Father, ducking underneath the leather flap of his tipi. A small fire in the middle of the room flickers as we take seats on sprawled out buffalo hide.
What I had long forgotten about this room comes back to me in an instant. As I sink my fingers into the soft fur, my eyes fall on the familiar hides my father has hanging above. I scan the familiar beaded gun case, the sublime designs that used to capture my imagination as a youngster. I see a worn leather bag covered in intricate bead work that rests against the hide wall. A glimmer must be shimmering in my eye as I stare at Mother's old baskets, woven with love. Too well, I remember this place. It brings back happier times before I became a man, before I became a lost, broken man.
My father picks up his pipe then taps it in his hand, thinking about what to say. Though the sight of my old home gives me tremendous comfort, my father's permeating stare gives me immense discomfort and, and shame. Profound shame. Breaking eye contact, I stare into the fire, searching for words myself.
"You have every right to hate me, to ostracize me, to scorn me, Father," I finally utter. "I am dead to you as I am dead to myself."
Slowly, my father puffs on the long pipe. A cloudy ring flies out of his mouth and into the atmosphere. I watch this pluming cloud, not wanting to look at my father.
"I know," I continue, "that sorry is not good enough about what happened to Pawnee Killer. My curiosity drove me away from here." I clear my throat. "My conviction in not killing the white settlers brought me to commit the worst act against a brother. I know, I sacrificed my family to save the life of strangers who would later wrong me. And I know, I was impulsive with-with Ruth. I was wrong. I was wrong about her and I was wrong about her father, Reverend Cole. Killing him … "
Father takes another puff of smoke that as I try to find the words, struggling with the emotion of what I had to do on that train.
"It ruined the life I had chosen," I finally whisper.
"Not so," Chief Many Horses finally mutters.
Floored, I look into my father's face. I swallow, not knowing how to respond to that.
"You have a daughter," he replies forthrightly. A smile creeps upon his lips before he takes another puff on his pipe. "My granddaughter." He chuckles, a sound I hadn't heard in years. Years.
"I remember the day Lily was brought here. Reverend Masterson rode into camp. Gave the little bundle over to me. Said she was yours. That you did not know about her. Ha! That her mother could never face herself raising a bastard Indian baby. Ha! Black Moon, you are not the only one who harbors hatred against the Coles. Against that slatternly fallen woman who forsook you. Ha! Ruth, she is as deplorable as her father. A bad apple you shamelessly bit into. I knew why you stayed in Hell on Wheels. I knew. That is why you are dead to me. You– "
"I don't ask to be brought back to life," I snap an interjection. "All I ask, all I ask, my father– "
"You ask too much asking about her safety," Father responds with measured calm. "You bring her here, hurt, when you are not welcome. Black Moon, you knew the consequences of your actions but you chose to ignore them. Out of lust!"
"I will not argue that I was driven by the yearnings of a man. But I brought her here because this was the last place he would look. She had no choice but to go into hiding. No choice at all. I just want to know where you've hidden her. That letter– "
"I cannot tell you," Father says adamantly. "I am sorry, Black Moon."
Ignoring him, I dig the letter out of my deer suede satchel strapped to my waist before handing it straight to Father. "Here!" I insist. "Read this."
The old chief sighs before we swap pipe for letter. I take a puff from the pipe, wishing hard that I could be welcomed back home. Home to the tribe. My tribe. My people. The Cheyenne. Outsider, forever I will be no matter where I will dwell.
"Dear Mr. Black Moon," Father reads aloud. "I'm afraid our precious secret may have been discovered by those who mean to do harm. I will write you when I learn more. Be prepared. Be Ready. L."
"I made," I gasp, "a grave mistake that cost me everything I loved."
"Not everything, Black Moon," Father chides me. "You have your daughter and she is everything to you. Don't forget that. Ever."
How does he know so much when we haven't seen each other in years?! I return Father his pipe while he holds on to the letter.
"You were right to bring this letter to my attention," he says. "If I were to remove her to a new location, we, not just she, will be in danger. I will think this over."
How so?! It's not the answer I anticipated but it is something. I wish I had never crossed paths with the woman in hiding, the woman in mortal danger. Yet, I firmly believe destiny intertwined our fates to meet. My duty is to protect and protect this woman I must.
"The woman needs protection," I finally say. "Move her north, to Canada, perhaps." I sigh. "Just keep her safe is all I request. I promised her."
"I will do what is best for our people, Black Moon," Father sternly explains. "And what is best for our people is to leave this reservation. To go where your uncle, my brother, Morning Star goes. Back to our ancestral lands up north. To go home. The railroad and Federal troops think they can break us, moving us to this wasteland around the Canadian River. We're going home, no longer to aimlessly roam the Long Country. We're going north. Soon."
My gaze hones in on the dancing flicker in the fire ring. I am not stunned but disappointed. Well, I knew Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska that long ago had no names but were simply referred to as home. Now, these places are referred to as entities, municipalities, and territories where the whites deem as their property. Since the aftermath of the Battle of the Greasy Grass, known to the masses as Little Bighorn, I abandoned my cabin in the Wyoming wilderness to be closer to my people, following them to Indian Territory. Still Ostracized, I chose to dwell on the outskirts of their camp. I built a new cabin, a new place for my daughter and me to live in Indian Territory. Now, there is question of moving. Moving my family. Moving the woman in hiding. She has to be moved. Do this, Father, don't think it over!
"If you move our people with Morning Star," I finally say, "it could distract the men capable of killing her. Wherever she hides, you can remove her."
The old chief doesn't respond but puffs pensively on his pipe. He is too proud to endorse my allegedly absurd idea that the letter heralds to something ominous we need to be prepared for.
"I'll take Lily back north, then, to our old cabin." I pause, not liking that at all. I shake my head. "No, I will take her to Reverend Masterson's in Cedar Rapids. It'll be safe for her if you are this hell bent on leaving Indian Territory, Father. And you know this is going to cause trouble with Federal Troops. It means war. You should know that. I understand your reasons for leaving but it is putting the lives of our people at risk."
Father blows a billowing long poof of smoke way above his head before staring me down. "They are no longer your people. You forfeited that when you took your brother's life. I liked what I had. I have it no more. My visions urge me to make this decision. To take back what is ours. Our band moves north. You, you go where you want, Black Moon. You are not my son."
Aggravated, I stand up, crouching to leave the tipi. "I know, I am dead to you," I snap. "I know you barely tolerate my presence in this room, near this camp, in this world. I'm very alive, old man. So alive I can't take it. But I go about my days, all for Lily's sake. The only thing I am indebted to you is that woman's safety. Do the right thing and move her north. Danger is forthcoming."
Ashamed my hurt feelings influenced me into losing my temper, I creep out of the tipi. There are others in the camp who have as poor opinion of me as Chief Many Horses does. The opinion stemming two years ago when I scouted for the United States Army at the Greasy Grass. That is another story.
"Danger is coming and I need to make haste," I mutter. "Danger is coming. We need to go."
It was not easy leaving the camp that day. My people either ignored me or shot cold stares in my direction. I was not welcome. My choice to scout for the U.S. Army five years ago was not popular. My role in scouting key locations at the Greasy Grass was not condoned. I had no business going to the camp. Yet something had to be done about protecting that woman.
"Papa, did you go see Grandpy?" Lily asks running out of the cabin toward me.
I nod silently. "Yes, I did." I smile at her, feeling at ease again. I just built the cabin and we have to leave. The woman in hiding and my people moving. Damn!
I kneel to the ground and open my arms wide. Giggling, my daughter rushes into them. Moved, I kiss the top of her head and embrace her tightly. Letting go, I brace her shoulders as I look into her bubbly face.
"I have news," I say, feigning a smile. "Your grandfather let me talk to him."
"You haven't talked to Grandpy in years, Papa!" Lily exclaimed. "How'd that happen?"
"Something of dire importance needed to be brought to his attention and I was the only one who can do that," I informed her. "In that strained conversation, I learned your grandfather will be moving his camp. Our people, the Cheyenne, will be going north with Great Uncle Morning Star's band. I suspect Little Wolf's people are going to leave to. Fools!"
"We're moving?" Lily asks, incredibly disappointed. "You're taking me to the Masterson, aren't you?" She rightly discerns. "My friends Rain Is My Peace and Pretty Feathers are here!" Lily pauses, making that haughty face that reminds me of her mother, "I've always known them. You're moving me to stay forever with Reverend Masterson, aren't you Papa!" She puts her hands on her hips and taps that little leggy foot of hers. So dramatic much like her mother was.
Growling, I rub my face in frustration. "Lily," I say sternly, "it is for your protection. There is evil in this world, dear girl. The good old reverend will ensure your safety. The reverend's wife will nurture you and bestow to you all the love I have for you in my absence. Yes, I will be gone. I don't know for how long but it's for your own good. And your friends, well, that all depends on the Cavalry."
Saying no more, I pull my child into a tight hug. "Papa loves you very much. I'll see if Star Dancer and Loved By the Moonlight will agree to go to Cedar Rapids and bring their children. It would be good for you to have a consistent Cheyenne presence in your life. I can't promise anything but I'll ask the mothers' permission."
Lily rubs her head into my chest, enthusiastically claps her hands, then tosses her arms around my neck. "Thank you, Papa! I love you!"
"I love you, too, my Lily belle."
To say the least, it puzzles me how a part of me wished I had died the day I took the life of my brother. And died again when I had no choice but take the life of my adopted father. The guilt and melancholy that encircles that is my depression, ever present. It's my little Lily belle that keeps my heart beating, my lungs falling up and down full of breath. Add the shunning enforced by my father, the poor public opinion of me from my tribe, and the abysmal hatred from the settlers and soldiers. You get me, a broken man who staggers out of bed, shaking the sadness away so he can raise his daughter with love and make a living. A life.
I have no choice. I have to live. The choices I have made in my youth have brought me here. Of course I regret Ruth but never will I regret Lily. Never.
Settling into the old worn rocking chair, have to move that again, I watch my daughter sleep with enviable peace. How can I explain to her the lurking danger that could come? Oh, God, or will come? Having to explain that our family needs to leave.
I pick up my steaming cup of tea and blow over it before I take a cautious sip. Yes, I remember telling Ruth about leaving and that was only for one day!
Just before word came that the settlers of Durant, Nebraska were attacked by hostiles, I was lying in bed with Ruth, her bed, gifting her all my love through tender kisses on the neck that spread from that delicate collarbone of hers to the tantalizing edge of her graceful small cleavage. When her need was at its most keen, I smothered her mouth with mine, keeping the volume down. Bracing the brass knobs of the headboard, like a firework shooting through the air, I released then stiffened. After coupling with Ruth, we always cuddled. In retrospect, that's what convinced me that someone in this world still loved me after Father's harsh rejection.
Starting to nuzzle her neck, an uproar of shouts startled us. Both of us sprang straight up in bed to determine what was the matter. Hastily, we gathered our clothes and put them on. I helped Ruth fasten up her corset, tying the ribbons until they were tight enough. Ruth tossed her green calico dress over top her head as I pulled up my suspenders over my grey shirt. She helped me button up the last two buttons while I buttoned the buttons on her own dress. No time to admire her, I listened to the clamor of anxious, apprehensive voices.
"There's a rumor they've all been scalped!" A gruff man barked near our tent.
"The whole damn town's got burned to the ground," another man's voice added. "Yes, sir!"
"Savages!" The last male voice added in a deep, menacing tone. "We'll teach 'em!"
I cringed, damning those men for their prejudice and hatred. Gazing dearly at Ruth, she nodded knowingly at me.
"You're going?" She asked. "Something terrible has happened."
Nodding, I kissed her on the cheek before making my way out of her tent once the coast was clear. Back in the church tent, Father was awake and seemed at the very least, somewhat sober.
"Durant was sacked!" The old reverend cried. "All will be lost unless I intervene. I can save this! I'm certain of it!"
Speaking of the devil, Mr. Durant breezed into the church tent, a vehement fury blazing in his green eyes. His pale cheeks flushed scarlet. "Joseph Black Moon, I'll be needing your service. The town of my namesake has been sacked by some damn impromptu bevy of savages."
Ruth stepped inside, a plaid wool shawl draped around her willowy arms and her black bonnet already fastened tightly to her chin. She witnessed me wrestle on my thin white stripe black jacket. Reverend Cole gave his daughter a suspicious glare that I found confounding. No time to ponder that, I put on my black hat, tipped it at her, then walked outside with that powerful man.
Mr. Durant gave me a sideways glance. "We may be gone around a day. Bring provisions. Bring a gun." With that, he strode off in his supercilious manner.
Already on top of it, Ruth emerged from the church tent with a basket. Not saying a word to one another, we embarked for the railroad platform. Men were already loading boxes of ammunition while the train whistled shrilly to make haste.
Once we made it to the edge of the platform, Ruth and I halted our gloomy march. While she set the basket down on the ground, I turned around to face her. Imperative danger loomed over us but for once, I didn't care. I would show Ruth affection, be it circumspect, I would show her, tell her in my own secretive way, how loved she was. A train whistle blew, urging me to hurry it the hell up.
Wrapped in white cloth, Ruth handed me a bundle of food. "Potatoes, meat, what's left of the cheese … "
Out of the corner of my eye, Reverend Cole was fast approaching us with a stern grimace upon his face. It was like he knew something we didn't.
Too much was happening and all I could focus on was being a part from my darling. I locked my dark brown eyes with those stormy hazel eyes. She loved me in her own way. It was just hard for Ruth to admit it.
Yes, Cole was definitely bound for us and I felt nervous.
"This blanket is thin," Ruth said, "so keep your coat buttoned tight."
Touched, I gazed back at my darling. "Ruth, I'm only gonna be gone a day," I said gently, full of reassurance.
Anxious, she set my bible in the palm of my hand while surreptitiously holding that hand with her left hand on the bottom and right on the top. The only way we could hold hands in broad daylight. Even this discreet gesture was risky.
Loving this moment, I smiled at her.
"To keep you safe," she said with an earnest face.
I stared at her hands on mine, wishing this moment could never end. I rolled my lips, trying to fight back the threatening emotion within me. This was the first time we would be a apart since I made the choice to be with Ruth. I smiled.
And there he was, ruining this precious moment. "Child!" Reverend Cole rebuked Ruth.
In horror, we looked upon the old minister who now appeared crazed and no longer a man of admirable morals and principles.
"You have forsaken me!" He snapped at her.
Bewildered, Ruth and I observed the old man approach Mr. Durant. God, he is either drunk or crazy. Or both?
"Father!" Ruth scolded after him.
Of course, Reverend Cole ignored Ruth and barreled on, straight up to Durant. "Why did you not come to me when you heard?" He chastised him.
Not afraid, Mr. Durant strolled right up to the embarrassment I called Father. "Because, we have no use for you," the railroad tycoon said unabashed.
Wildly flapping his hand, Reverend Cole was not going to back down. "But I-I can help stop the bloodshed."
I watched Ruth fight the mortification she was going through at the time. I felt for her so keenly.
"Jesus-Jesus said … " He raved.
Yes, he is intoxicated.
"That bible," Durant barked gruffly, "means nothing to them, Reverend."
As a man of the cloth, though it hurt to hear, Durant was right. Whomever attacked Durant, whichever vigilantes they were, they wouldn't give a damn about a God they did not know, nor cared to know.
"I know you view our relations with the savages as some kind of divine mission," Durant explained in a very condescending tone.
A group of negroes rushed by with a box full of ammunition. Father cared very much about peace between settlers and tribes but it was becoming very clear to me that this mission, indeed, was hard to attain. The only thing left for me to do was to care for those accosted on both sides and to pray for the aggressors on both sides.
"Trust me, God has forsaken all of us," Mr. Durant added dismissively before lowering his hand. "Your services are not necessary."
Perplexed, I understood on one level, that Durant didn't need Reverend Cole interfering with these latest attacks against the railroad. On another level it was as if Durant was hinting strongly that Hell on Wheels no longer needed the church. That greed, debauchery, and ambition trumped love, forgiveness, and salvation. What the hell?! And you want your town to be civilized?!
Not wishing for a bloodbath between the old minister and the railroad tycoon, I waved Mr. Durant down and mediated between them, climbing the wooden platform. In a loving, respectful way, I grabbed Reverend Cole's arm. "Father, sorry." I meant every word and it hurt to see the disappointment emerge in his face, that he was no longer the town minister. That it was Ruth and me.
Reverend Cole ignored me, not even looking me in the eye. It made me wonder if I did something to offend him. No time to reflect on trivial manners, the urgent whistles derailed me into boarding the train.
Sad to leave, I gave Ruth a grave look that requested to watch over Father and let her know how much she was loved. Backing away from Father, I let Ruth know, "I'll be home soon!" I rolled my lips into a tight smile for her and from there, I made my way, walking parallel with the railroad car.
Passing Durant, I gave him a smile marked with deference. I rambled pass him before we both made our way on the train. Finding a wooden bench in front of the window, I craned my head out and waved bye to a morose Ruth. The train whistled its final farewell and with a jolt, our company was off.
Coming back out of my reverie, I set my empty teacup down. I hate Ruth. I always will. For what she did to me. I pitied what happened to her but she got what was hers. The man I am now doesn't care how cold that makes me sound.
Ready for sleep, I blow out the candle and the room instantly becomes pitch black. Quietly, I stow over to my bed on the opposite wall of Lily's bed. Once I lower my stomach onto the feather mattress, I listen to the steady sound of Lily's breathing. I always have trouble sleeping when I think about Ruth or my time at Hell on Wheels. And once more, I can't sleep thanks to that letter warning me of coming trouble to that woman and Morning Star moving his camp.
Rollin onto my back, I stare at the beams, so lost to memory, so lost to conversations I once had with people dead or are probably dead by now.
"How many dead?" I can still recall asking Mr. Toole on the day we saw the harrowing results of the survivors march out of what once was Durant.
"7 men and 2 women," he relied, his rabid face full of disgust. "Bleedin' savages!"
I glared at him for his gall to say that in front of me. "What tribe?" I dared him to answer. "You even know how to tell?" Of course, this bombastic, belligerent jack ass could not. Ticked off, I stepped forward then hesitated, knowing my place and the situation.
"Sorry," Toole growled, "I was too busy saving me lily white arse, if you know what I mean."
"They didn't look like Cheyenne to me," the former dove, Eva noted, "if that's what you're wondering."
Appreciative, I nodded, feeling a bit of relief but that was short lived when I saw the braves upon their paints, waving their hatchets and whooping aggressively, clearly aimed at the railroad cars. They were wanting to take back what was theirs and frankly, I didn't blame them. But violence was not the answer. Even from that distance, I knew right away who they were and what the message was.
All the railroad men had their guns cocked toward the braves.
"They're Santee Sioux," I informed Mr. Durant.
"Sioux?" Durant asked, terribly flummoxed. "But this is Cheyenne Territory. Why are they attacking so far from home?"
"This was a murder raid," I gravely explained as Mr. Durant gave me a dumbfounded look. "They're sending you a message."
"What message?" He asked in a low voice full of disquiet.
"That you're now at war with the Sioux nation!" I grumbled.
I yawn as I stare incessantly at the wooden ceiling beams I crafted from my own bare hands. War, I'm tired of war. Father yearns for his Cheyenne people to be free. To go back to life as it was before the settlers came. Yet war beckons on the horizon and danger looms in the near future. Something is coming, but I don't know what.