“Daphne?” he croaked.
46
“I hurt,” she mumbled, and she screamed out
in agony.
Melissa had her hand’s full fending off the
red skins. Then Daphne’s pitiful scream carried over the shattering
noise of the rifles and it was then she noticed that Seth was no
longer with them. She saw the remaining six braves retreated over
the ridge and crawled to the front of the wagon. They were only
fighting a short time but it seemed like an eternity. She leapt
over the seat to land beside the large, unconscious Indian and
Effie. There was no doubt in her mind, her beloved servant was
dead. Seeing her sister soaked in blood, she climbed over the two
lifeless forms. There was no time to be concerned about them now
and asked, “Seth, where is she hit?”
The tear-faced boy looked up. “She’s going
to give birth. I think.”
“Oh, no, she can’t! She’s too early. My god!
This is a nightmare.” Melissa’s throat tightened with viselike
terror feeling a wave of panic come over her. “Seth, you have to
help.”
He shook his head, “I don’t know anything
about this. The attack of the red men was enough to make me
retch.”
“Go get Sam,” she cried more harshly than
she meant. “Once he helped Effie deliver a baby at the plantation.”
She knew Seth was reluctant to leave Daphne but he kissed her
sister’s pale cheek and scurried out of the wagon.
It was dark now and thank God it was over.
There wasn’t much room in the wagon with Effie and the big Indian
taking up so much space. Melissa took Seth’s place and held Daphne;
moments later her sister opened her eyes.
“Melissa?” Daphne whispered.
“Daphne!? Oh, my dear sister, you
remember?”
“Melissa, why am I in so much agony?”
Daphne’s eyes were filled with pain and
tears making Melissa wonder how she could explain; the thought
frightened. What a terrible time for Daphne to come out of her
dream state,
“Daphne, do you recall when the soldiers
attacked our home?” Her sister squeezed her eyes tight and nodded.
“Do you remember what the soldier did?” Melissa knew this wasn’t a
good time to bring it up but she had to shed some light on Daphne’s
condition. Daphne nodded, gasping with another pain.
“Some things are clear to me. Oh, mother is
dead,” she cried and trembled. “I remember a
47
man’s smell and his heaviness pushing on
me.” She jerked, clutching to Melissa. “He scared me and hurt
me.”
“Yes, dear, and because of what he did
you’re having his baby.” Melissa wished she could have put it more
gently but circumstances prevented it. Daphne had to know the
truth; she prayed her sister wouldn’t recede into her private world
again.
What was taking Sam so long?
Daphne’s eyes widened in surprise and she
gasped, “A baby?” She screamed with another pain.
“Be brave! Everything is
gong to be all right. I promise.” Now, if Melissa could only be
convinced of her own words.
Where the hell
was Sam?
A few minutes later her question
was answered.
Sam climbed into the wagon and saw his wife.
“Oh, Lawdy, she’s daid” He wiped back tears but he had no time to
hold her. “One soul leaves de earth, ‘nother enters,” he murmured
sadly. The boy leaped in after Sam and removed his belt and secured
the red skin’s hands behind his back. With some rope he bound the
prisoner’s feet.
“I’m going for the wagon master to help me
remove the bodies,” he declared.
Melissa nodded, solemnly.
Daphne fainted and Sam pushed the girl’s
dress up; they could see the baby’s head crowning. He bent over and
tapped Daphne’s face. Melissa understood and shook her sister
lightly. “Daphne, wake up! You must wake up and push.” Her sister
opened her eyes and grimaced as another pain hit her.
“I feel a lump between my legs,” Daphne
cried and squeezed her hand. Melissa ordered sternly, Push!” Daphne
puckered her face and pushed. “Again!” she cried. “Again!” Then,
thankfully it was all over.
Melissa wiped away tears watching Sam hold
the tiny baby girl but she was not yet breathing. The prune-faced
infant was blue and she watched in horror as Sam slapped the tiny
rump again. The infant didn’t even whimper. After a few more slaps,
the baby’s arms and legs
jerked and a loud wail, a most beautiful
sound echoed through the valley. She laughed and cried, cradling
her sister.
48
Seth looked in. “How’s Daphne?”
Melissa wiped her eyes and failed to managed
even a weak smile. “The mother and infant are fine, but the baby is
very small. We’ll have to pray she’ll survive.”
Seth’s strained face showed some relief.
“That baby will live. She’s a fighter like her mother,” he stated
looking proudly at Daphne. Melissa agreed. She lovingly watched her
sister’s sleeping face and thought what a special young man Seth
was.
Red Fox and his five friends retreated.
Although the fighting only lasted a short time, they had lost
Eskaminzim, Black Tooth and Beshe. When Blue Thunder disappeared,
they retreated and he and the others left with heavy hearts knowing
Dasodaha would have to be told of his oldest son’s death.
49
THIRTEEN
The day dawned gray and lifeless, a fitting
comparison to Melissa’s state of mind. The wagon train remained in
the valley two days for the emigrants to mourn and bury their
dead.
They tied the Indian to the wheel of a wagon
while the wagon master, Lucas Cain decided on what to do with the
buck. He wanted to shoot the red-skinned bastard but some men
opposed, fearing, as Melissa, that others might return and bring
more wraths upon their heads. God-fearing settlers argued with
other settlers. Lucas decided to just tie up the brave until it
could be settled by a vote.
Melissa had looked at the tall brave a few
times but turned away quickly when his dark eyes bored into her; he
was the reason Sam had to bury his wife today. She wept with Sam at
the grave as three men and four women, including Effie were laid to
rest. It had taken the men all day to dig the graves along the
hillside. She noticed that when the three dead Indians were dragged
away from the camp, the pioneer’s were under the watchful eye of
the prisoner. The next day the camp was busy with people who had
lost wagons destroyed by fire doubled up with others. People
scurried around, and she helped them move their belongings from one
crippled wagon to another. She was happy that the Adams family
survived the attack. Seth insisted on traveling with her and
Daphne. She had any objections since her sister was recovering with
his help.
Melissa believed that if they made it to
California, the couple would have a good future together. That
afternoon the decision was made to execute the prisoner. Some
survivors wanted revenge; Melissa didn’t like the idea; killing
another human wouldn’t bring back the dead. She hated the brave for
her own reasons but she didn’t want to see him killed. Later the
same afternoon the skies became cheerful again; a tender kiss of
sunshine promised a better tomorrow, but it did nothing to lighten
her spirits.
She walked past the brave again. She didn’t
know why she was drawn to him, but had to admit to herself that he
was so handsome to look at. Never having seen an Indian up close
before,
50
she had no idea that they could be so
attractive. Her picture books portrayed them as dark, ugly
creatures with war paint on their features and matted hair. He had
some colorful stripes on his cheeks but they didn’t mar his good
looks.
Although she was used to seeing bare-chested
Negroes on the plantation, she marveled at the size of him. His
large biceps were encircled with copper bracelets and his long
blue-black hair was braided and tied with rawhide. A blue feather
fluttered in the warm breeze. His proud, slightly large nose had a
fine yellow line painted down the middle. High cheekbones and lips,
too sensuous for a man, left Melissa in awe of him.
It rattled her to realize
she had been staring long, and at the same time his dark eyes
scrutinized her.
But what did you expect?
You were boldly sizing him up.
She quickly
walked away, ashamed of her thoughts but with one last notion of
what it would be like to feel his beautiful mouth on hers.
Damn! She was definitely in the desert too long
to have such wanton ideas
.
Back at the wagon, she tried to get her mind off
of the handsome brave, but his sad eyes
haunted her.
Maybe he hadn’t had anything to eat since his
capture. Even a criminal is entitled to a last meal,
she reflected.
Are you using that as an
excuse to get closer?
taunted her
conscience.
’
Course not!
Who are you kidding?
She ignored her smart voice knowing she was
only deceiving herself.
When Blue Thunder first regained
consciousness, he was enraged to find that he was tied to a wagon
wheel. So much so that he growled between clenched jaw. He sat in
the dirt, angry with himself and cursed the gods for his
carelessness. One moment of compassion for a white child cost him
his freedom; a foolish decision he would live to regret, if he
lived.
His thoughts went back to what had happen
when he had slipped past the hail of bullets and climbed into a
wagon. He immediately saw a dark woman holding a child in her big
arms. The youth had short curly hair and stared at him with big
brown eyes. He knew this one would not give him trouble and he
would not kill a child, but the big woman was a different story.
The black woman cowered when he entered the wagon. She screamed but
his tomahawk crashed
51
down on her head, silencing her cries
forever. Blue Thunder looked into the dark eyes of the child, they
were wide with horror. Tiny squeals emitted from her quivering
mouth.
“I will not harm you, little one,” he said
in English.
He didn’t want to hurt the hysterical child
but he had to silence the youth. He knelt, grabbing her tiny
shoulders; his slap never reached its original target because the
girl’s arms shot
out to protect herself from harm. His large
hand hit her on the side of her stomach and his blow made her
double over in pain. At a closer glance Blue Thunder noticed the
child was a pregnant girl and regretfully he touched the roundness
of her belly with his palm. It saddened him; he had no reason to
hurt an unborn babe. His concern caused him to let his guard
down.
Now that young woman with new-wheat hair
seemed to take an interest in seeing him trussed up like a wild
turkey. The golden-eyed beauty seemed to be glad he was captured.
Was that the reason she strolled by him every so often? If given
the chance to escape, he would make sure she would be his prisoner
this time. Her beauty surpassed any woman he had ever seen. As she
studied him, he took the time to inventory her womanly assets.
That night, when all was peaceful, Melissa
poured leftover stew into a bowl and quietly crept over to the
Indian. The man who was guarding him was asleep; an empty bottle by
his side. She was glad the guard was unconscious; it would make it
easier so see the prisoner. Again she foolishly told herself that
this was the Christian thing to do. Her hands trembled and she
thought she would drop the bowl.
“Do you speak English?” she whispered.
Silence was her answer. “Do you speak English?” she asked again. “I
brought you some food.” She pointed to the bowl and then to her
mouth. Melissa sighed, and sat down forgetting that his hands were
tied; she would have to feed him.
Blue Thunder thought her voice was like a
soft breeze on his ears. He mimicked her. “English?” Shaking his
head, he lied. He would hold his tongue to see what she was up to.
He
had watched the girl come toward him,
curiosity written all over her face. It galled him that his loins
stirred every time she looked at him with her honey-colored irises.
She stood there with terror in her eyes and a blush to her lovely
cheeks. He had prayed for help and he believed it had
52
appeared. Brave and foolish, she didn’t
realize the danger she was in if he were to get his hands free. The
brainless girl stood before him under his defiant gaze.
He watched as the delightful, but simple
creature tried to communicate with him. He couldn’t decide whether
she was naive or stupid to feel sorry for an enemy. Didn’t she
realize the danger or the consequences? His tribe would not feel
sorry for her if she was tied in his camp, but he had admired her a
little. She was brave to go against her own kind and when she
becomes his slave, he’d remember her kindness.
The white woman scooped up a spoonful of
stew and with a shaking hand put it to his lips. Refusing to open
his mouth, she forced the spoon against his tight lips.
“Why won’t you eat? You must be starving,”
she asked keeping her voice low.
Blue Thunder was hungry but he wouldn’t
allow a female to spoon-feed him like a child; he’d starve first.
His belly rumbled at the delicious aroma but his pride rumbled
louder. Returning the spoon to the bowl, the woman snapped,
“Stubborn ape! Well, you can starve!” she shrugged with
indifference. “You don’t have long to live anyway; they’re going to
hang you in the morning.”
He saw her frown and he realized that she
did not mean to blurt the outcome of the meeting of the men folks
he had seen gather earlier. His jaw twitched. He wasn’t afraid to
die with dignity but hanging was a white man’s punishment; his soul
could not leave his body to find