Edge of the Wilderness (5 page)

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the emotion that had overwhelmed him when, after weeks of uncertainty, he saw her, unhurt and healthy, safe at Fort Ridgely with Meg and Aaron; holding a blonde baby in her arms that she and Daniel Two Stars had found, miraculously alive in a ruined cabin. They had named the baby Hope and to Simon she had become almost a symbol of the future family he hoped to create with Gen.

This will not do,
Simon said to himself sternly. He jerked his head out of the room and closed the girls’ door firmly, standing with his head bowed for a moment while he tortured himself with memories. After being reunited at Fort Ridgely, Simon had taken his family to St. Peter for a few weeks. Aaron read the paper the day after Christmas and saw Daniel Two Stars’s name on the list of the condemned. Screaming “No!” Gen leaped on Simon’s horse and tore across the country to try to stop it. But she arrived too late. He found her, pale and trembling, seated on a boardwalk, her head in her hands.

Simon had never seen grief like that before. It nearly killed her. In the weeks that followed she grew so thin her clothes hung on her. She trembled with weakness and fear at every loud noise. Once, he found her hiding between the bed and the wall, her hands over her ears, her face streaming with tears.

And then . . . and then they had come to St. Anthony, been reunited with the other teachers, and slowly, over the past few weeks, Gen had come back to him. She began to smile again. She began to eat. Her slim figure filled out. Her blue eyes shone with health and a newfound peace. She laughed as she worked with the children.

Sighing, Simon ran his hands over his face and headed down the hall to the room he and Aaron shared.
Genevieve.
He whispered it aloud, listening to the beauty of the French name as it floated into the night air. She had been there when Ellen died. Had loved his children and waited patiently for him to recover. And when, instead, he sank deeper into self-pity and grief, she had pulled him out. She had set him straight and pushed him toward his children. How he loved her for it. Loved her for crying in his arms when overwhelmed by her own grief, loved her for listening as he read the Psalms to her in a desperate attempt to help her.

Simon crept into his room. Disrobing in the dark, he once again made the case for why Gen should marry him. They shared so much. And yet, Simon thought as he laid his head on his pillow and turned his face to the wall, he knew that Genevieve LaCroix had never once looked at him the way she had looked at Daniel Two Stars. Perhaps she never would. He punched his pillow and closed his eyes. He would not pressure her. He would give her time. By God’s grace, he would be patient.

But dear God in heaven, he prayed, how he loved her. How he longed to—
This will not do.

Just before he fell asleep, Simon decided. He would go to Davenport.

The way of a fool is right in his own eyes.

—Proverbs 12:15

“Are you out of your mind?!” Major Elliot Leighton nearly jumped out of the seat he occupied in his mother’s opulent New York dining room.

Margaret Leighton glared at her son and glanced meaning-fully toward the massive cherry-wood sideboard where the kitchen maid was preparing their after-breakfast coffee.

Elliot grabbed the gold damask napkin off his lap and dabbed at his mouth. He smoothed his black mustache around the sides of his mouth. “Aren’t you finished with that coffee yet, Betsy?” Elliot watched with satisfaction as a blush spread across Betsy’s cheeks. She quickly picked up the sterling-silver coffeepot and filled the two waiting cups. As the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room, Elliot smiled to himself. He had been right, of course. The little busybody was lingering to hear the rest of his disagreement with his mother.

Neither Elliot nor his mother spoke until Betsy had set a steaming cup of black coffee at their places and, with a nervous little curtsy, backed through the door into the butler’s pantry. Adding two lumps of sugar to his coffee, Elliot said, “You cannot be serious, Mother. It is absolutely out of the question for my sister’s children to be raised in the howling wilderness of Dakota Territory by a half-breed savage.”

Margaret sputtered, “Genevieve LaCroix is
not
a half-breed savage! Why won’t you believe me, Elliot?” She reached up to brush a wisp of white hair out of her eyes. “I won’t deny that last year when Ellen wrote that she and Simon would be bringing one of their students here, I had my doubts about housing an Indian. But, Elliot, Genevieve was nothing like what we have read in the papers. Everyone here was impressed with her.”

Elliot harrumphed and stabbed the meat on his plate. Stuffing it in his mouth, he chewed, staring defiantly at his mother.

Seeing that her pleas were having little effect on her eldest child, Margaret pressed on. “She
is
half French, you know. And Miss Bartlett had only praise for her as a student.” She pleaded, “You weren’t here, Elliot. You didn’t see. Simon was completely undone when Ellen died. If it hadn’t been for Genevieve, I honestly do not know what would have become of Meg and Aaron. She brought Simon back to his children.” Margaret’s deep brown eyes filled with tears. “It was so touching, Elliot. Truly. Simon became a
father
after Ellen died. And Genevieve made it happen.”

Sarcasm dripped from every word as Elliot enjoined, “You mean the great, the all-righteous, the holy Reverend Dane came down from his throne?”

“If only you had seen it, Elliot, you wouldn’t be so disbelieving. God worked a miracle in Simon. And He used Genevieve to do it. The children adore her. She was practically their mother already by the time they left for Minnesota last August.” Defiance shone in her eyes as she said, “I think Simon
should
marry her.” While her son snorted his disapproval, Margaret withdrew a rumpled envelope from a pocket. She laid it on the table and pushed it across toward Elliot. “Read for yourself, son. You’ll see how the children feel about her.”

“Children haven’t the slightest idea what’s best for them,” Elliot said crisply. He ignored the envelope, reaching for a biscuit instead. Cutting it in half, he slathered it with butter. Taking a huge bite, he spoke as he chewed. “At least that’s what my mother told me when she packed me off to a military academy against my wishes.” He swallowed and stared across the table at his mother with icy gray-blue eyes.

Margaret paled and bowed her head. She fumbled with her napkin and blinked back tears.

Taking a boiled egg from a silver bowl to his right, Elliot laid it on his plate and began to tap the shell with the back of his spoon. “It’s all right, Mother,” he said. “I’m not chastising you.” He sliced the egg in half and removed the shell from each half with one hand. “In the end, you were vindicated. Military life suits me. Or should I say
suited
me.” His mouth turned down at the edges. “What a pity I won’t be able to continue the family legacy of stellar military careers.” He ran his hand through his long white hair.

The gesture sent a pang of grief through Margaret Leighton. She had given a healthy, raven-haired son to the Union. The Union had taken him first to Bull Run, then on to Shiloh. And on Bloody Monday, down at Antietam, the Union had taken his left forearm and hand, turned his hair white, awarded him a medal, and then handed him his discharge papers.

“You have served the cause well, Elliot,” Margaret said gently. She ran a finger absentmindedly around the rim of her coffee cup as she said, “I’m very proud of you, son. As is the entire village. As would be your father and your grandfather if they were still alive.” Margaret looked up. Her voice trembled as she said, “What you gave to preserve the Union can never be repaid.”

Elliot shrugged and took a swig of coffee. He looked down at his empty left sleeve and pulled the end of it across his lap before picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of boiled egg.

The simple gesture brought tears back to Margaret’s eyes. She looked away for a moment. When she could speak again without emotion clouding her voice, she said, “You gained a reputation for levelheadedness and compassion as an officer, son. Please don’t allow what you have read about the West—about Indians—to cloud your reason.”

Elliot set down his fork and ran a finger down a column of the newspaper that lay open on the table beside him. “Listen to this, Mother. It’s an eyewitness account of the recent release of a few white captives who were separated from the main group and kept all winter:

The poor creatures wept for joy at their escape. They had watched for our coming for many a weary day, with constant apprehensions of death at the hands of their savage captors, and had almost despaired of seeing us. The woe written in the faces of the half-starved and nearly naked women and children would have melted the hardest heart.

He continued, “This article speaks of wide, universal, and uncontrollable panic all across the southeastern corner of Minnesota. It says more than five hundred people were murdered, and it describes every mode of death that horrible ingenuity could possibly devise.” His eyes flickered with rage when he looked up at his mother. “When I think of my sister’s children, my own niece and nephew being subjected to that—” He shook his head.

“There are other stories, Elliot,” Margaret argued. “Stories of heroism and bravery—”

“Oh yes, I know. I know. The noble savages who protected the helpless whites.”

“Don’t be sarcastic!” Margaret snapped. “Simon wrote that one of them saved the children. At great risk to himself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elliot said firmly. He took another swig of coffee before continuing. “I was too young when Ellen married to do anything about her foolish choices. I was away fighting for the Union when she died. Then I was in that godforsaken military hospital for an eternity. But I am well now, and I will
not
sit idly by while her children wander along the edge of the wilderness with their weakling father and his half-breed concubine.”

“Elliot!” Margaret’s voice trembled with anger. “Stop it. Simon may have had his weaknesses in the past, but he has done nothing to deserve such contempt. He is a good father and a sincere minister of the gospel. Genevieve LaCroix is a woman of impeccable character.”

Elliot smirked. “Excuse me if I prefer to believe the obvious about the self-righteous reverend’s true reasons for keeping Miss LaCroix close by.”

Margaret frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that after a conspicuously proper period of mourning, the reverend has conveniently found it to be God’s will that he warm his bed with a beautiful young woman.”

Margaret inhaled sharply. Two circles of bright red color appeared on her already rouged cheeks. Removing the napkin from her lap she slapped it down on the table and stood up. “That will do, Elliot. You may be thirty-five years old, but you are still my little boy, and I’ll thank you to keep such improper thoughts to yourself.”

Elliot mumbled a halfhearted apology.

Margaret sat back down. She pushed her plate away before saying, “You seem to think that I am a complete idiot, swayed by romantic notions about noble savages and superhuman missionaries. I’m not a fool. I had months to observe both these people. And I’m telling you that your evaluation of them is wrong.” She took a deep breath and leaned forward.

Elliot got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. Leaning against the sideboard he said, “You are happy, then, for the reverend to be hauling Aaron and Meg off to Dakota Territory to be raised in the wilds? You think that is a proper fate for your grandchildren?”

Margaret hesitated. She shook her head. “I’ve never been
happy
about Aaron and Meg being so far away. That’s why I prevailed upon Simon to send them to me for their higher education.”

Elliot nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Our reasons may differ, but in the end we agree on what must be done. Aaron must certainly be ready for more schooling than they can provide in Dakota. And I can probably convince Meg to come at least for a visit.” He walked to the end of the table and put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “I’ve booked passage west, Mother. I’m bringing Ellen’s children home where they belong.”

“You—you’ve
what?”
Margaret looked up in disbelief.

“Booked passage west.” Elliot patted his empty sleeve. “As soon as I get fitted for my hook, I’m headed west. I’ve been rattling around home long enough.” He strode to the door and paused. “If the Reverend Dane has changed as much as you say, he’ll do what’s best for the children. He can’t possibly believe it’s best for Ellen’s children to grow up among savages. Once I’m there, he’ll listen to reason.” He smiled at his mother. “And however civilized the reverend’s dusky maiden may be, I doubt she really wants to raise two white children she didn’t know existed until last year.” Elliot picked up the newspaper and tucked it beneath his arm. “Trust me, Mother. Everything will be fine.”

Lying lips are abomination to the L
ORD
: but they that deal truly are his delight.

—Proverbs 12:22

“And so ya’ see, Reveran’, we jus’ had to come and see if the baby is our little Charlotte Marie.” The unkempt man who had appeared at the door introducing himself as Harlan Potts of Dayton, Ohio, leaned forward. Resting his dirty shift cuff on one knee he reached into his frayed pocket and withdrew a strip of rolled-up tobacco.

Just as he opened his mouth to take a bite, Simon interrupted him. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Potts, we don’t allow tobacco of any kind in the house.”

Mr. Potts bit thin air. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, then nodded vigorously. “Oh. Sure. ’Scuse me, Reveran’. Shoulda known that.” He shoved the plug of tobacco back into his pocket.

Simon settled back in his chair, trying to hide his nervousness. He looked out the window, praying that their outing with a group of church friends would keep Gen and the children away until—well, until he could think what to do. He cast a prayer for wisdom and patience heavenward.
The very thing we’ve feared has come upon us, Lord. Help. Please help.
At least, he thought, the Pottses had arrived before he left for Iowa. At least Gen didn’t have to deal with them.

The birdlike woman with the dark circles under her eyes sitting next to Mr. Potts coughed none too daintily into a gray handkerchief. She leaned against her husband to catch her breath. Potts shifted uncomfortably in his chair. When he felt Simon’s gaze on him, he put one arm around his wife. “There, there, Sally, darlin’.” He looked up at Simon. “She’s been feelin’ poorly for some time. Seems like ever since we read the awful news of the uprising. She took it hard, thinkin’ on her own sister out in the West, right there in the center of things. We woulda come sooner, but we had to save up money for passage upriver.”

“Where exactly did you say your sister and her husband located their homestead?” Simon asked.

“Don’t know as we can say ’zactly,” Potts said, scratching his chin. “Somewheres near the agency.”

“The Yellow Medicine or the Redwood?” Simon asked. When Potts responded with a blank stare, Simon said, “There were two agencies a few miles apart. Which one were your relatives near—the northern or the southern agency?”

“Well now,” Potts said, twirling his stained felt hat in his hands, “Sally’s kin didn’t write regular, you know. There was only the one letter tellin’ us how they was settled and the baby was a little girl.”

“When can we see her?” the woman intoned abruptly, her eyes pleading. “I’ll know soon as I see that baby if she’s my sister’s. Blood tells.”

Simon cleared his throat. “She’s on an outing with the rest of the children.” He looked down at the floor, his heart beating.
And dear Lord, please keep them there.
“We’ve become very fond of Hope. My own children think of her as a sister.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall and Gen peeked in, Hope in her arms.

Hope pointed at Simon. “Pa!” she shouted happily.

With a glance toward the Pottses, Simon stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll just—”

But before Simon could wave Gen and the baby out into the hall, Potts jumped up and whirled around. “That’s her, ain’t it, Reveran’?”

Instinct made Gen put a protective hand on Hope’s shoulder. “Come in, Genevieve,” Simon said, crossing the room to cup his hand under Gen’s elbow.

Her heart pounding, Gen walked across the room and perched on the edge of an empty chair with Hope on her lap. She looked at Simon uncertainly.

Simon cleared his throat. “The Pottses saw my notice in the Dayton newspaper. Apparently Mrs. Potts’s sister and her husband were settled somewhere across the river from one of the agencies. They had a child—a girl. Mr. and Mrs. Potts are hoping—”

Potts leaned forward, tilting his head and inspecting Hope carefully. He looked back at the woman seated next to him. “That’s her, ain’t it, Ma?” he said, grinning and nodding. “The spittin’ image of your own sister, ain’t she?” Potts reached out to touch the baby’s cheek.

Hope frowned at him and leaned away. “No!” She clutched Gen’s shoulder tightly and hid her face against Gen’s neck.

Gen stared at the Pottses and then at Simon. She swallowed hard. “I was—I was j-just putting Hope down for a nap.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Potts crooned, “don’t take her away so fast. Can’t we jus’ hold her for a minute?” She held out her hands, imploring.

Gen looked at Simon. When he nodded encouragement, she struggled to unleash Hope’s death grip on her dress. “It’s all right, Hope. Say hello.” In spite of Hope’s protests, Gen handed the child over to Sally. Hope strained to get away, reaching for Gen and screeching, “Ma! Ma!”

Finally, Mrs. Potts set Hope down on the floor. Immediately, the baby crawled to Gen and pulled herself up, demanding to be held.

“It’ll take her a while to know us, I ’spect,” Harlan said. He shook his head. “We hardly slept these past nine months, worryin’ over our own kin.” He turned to Gen. “You the one that saved Charlotte Marie?”

Gen shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Simon interrupted her. “Actually it was a Dakota Indian named Two Stars. He stole a canoe and took Genevieve and my children out of the captives’ camp under cover of darkness. They traveled downriver toward Fort Ridgely by night and hid during the day. One morning, they found they had spent the night just below a deserted cabin. It was growing colder, and Two Stars went up to the cabin hoping to find some blankets. He found the man dead out by the barn. The woman was in the house, curled around her child. She’d been scalped. Of course Two Stars thought the child was dead, too. But Hope was only asleep.” He continued, “Two Stars and Genevieve buried the couple beside their house. They couldn’t find anything that identified the family.” Simon asked abruptly, “Do you have children, Mr. Potts?”

“Sally and me ain’t been blessed.”

“Where do you work?”

“Wherever,” Potts said. He began to twist his hat in his hands. “Unloading at the railway station. Hauling for one or t’ other.” He swallowed hard. “They’s plenty of jobs about, what with all the young fools goin’ off to fight.”

“It has been a terrible time for our country,” Simon said carefully. “My late wife’s brother lost a hand and part of his arm at Antietam.”

Potts reacted quickly. “Well, the fact is I woulda volunteered by now, if it weren’t for my Sally here bein’ so poorly” He rushed to add, “But then I wouldn’t have been at home to read your notice, Reveran’.”

Simon nodded. “You know, Mr. Potts, my son and I have made more than one trip back to the cabin looking for the surveyor’s stakes. We never did find them. We advertised in the Dayton newspaper based on a neighboring tract of land.” Simon paused. “It’s not uncommon for settlers to come in groups. I hoped that might be the case with this situation. I’ve been writing letters to the Dayton newspaper for months. I had just decided we could give up the search in good conscience—we’d done all we could to locate Hope’s relatives. It’s a wonder—since you were so worried about your wife’s family—it’s a wonder you didn’t see my notice before now.”

Potts cleared his throat. “Well, now. Fact is I don’t read the newspaper all that often.”

“Now Harlan,” Mrs. Potts blurted out, nudging him. “You know you cain’t read a-tall.” When her husband glared at her, Mrs. Potts blushed and averted her eyes.

Harlan cleared his throat. “Sally and me was upriver all winter with my kin. We got back t’ Dayton last month and I heard someone talkin’ about all the orphans in Minnesota. Then I heard ’em talkin’ ’bout your notice,” he said quickly. “And I rushed right down to the newspaper office to have them read it to me.”

Simon nodded. He stood up abruptly. “Why don’t you see to Hope’s nap, Genevieve? And I’ll—I’ll make us all some tea.” He looked at Mr. Potts. “Or coffee?”

“Coffee,” Potts answered gruffly.

“Coffee, then,” Simon said quickly. He helped Gen up and turned to the Pottses. “If you’ll excuse us for just a moment—”

He could feel Gen trembling when he cupped his hand under her elbow and guided her to the door. Hope had snuggled into Gen’s shoulder and was nearly asleep.

“Simon,” Gen whispered brokenly the moment they were outside.

“I know.” Simon nodded.

Gen blinked back tears.

“Take Hope upstairs to bed. Then meet me in the kitchen.” He made his way down the long hall.

Gen went upstairs and laid Hope in her crib. Covering her with the new quilt she and Miss Jane had just finished, she prayed desperately,
God—dear God you can’t mean for those people to have her. You can’t.
She slipped out of the room and down the back stairs leading directly to the kitchen.

Simon had stirred up the fire in the stove and set a pot of water on to boil. As soon as Gen came into the kitchen he asked, “Are the rest of the children—”

“Having a wonderful time. They won’t be back anytime soon. I only came home because Hope was exhausted and she was so fussy she was ruining everyone’s fun.” Gen inhaled sharply, trying to smother a sob.

Simon set the coffee grinder on the table before her. Gently taking her hand, he motioned for her to grind the coffee. “Don’t cry, my dear.”

Gen closed her eyes, inhaling the aroma of fresh ground coffee beans. Presently she retreated to the pantry to get four cups and saucers, sugar, a tray. When a cup hit the floor and shattered, she slumped in a chair. “I can’t,” she croaked. “I can’t be hostess to people who are determined to break my heart.”

Simon knelt before her and picked up a piece, of the broken cup. “No one is going to break your heart, Genevieve.” He reached up and laid one finger on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Something isn’t right here. The Pottses claim to have been desperate to have news of their relatives. And yet they didn’t see my notice in the newspaper. Don’t they have
friends?
Wouldn’t someone have told them about it before now? And they don’t even know which agency the homestead was near.” He stood up and began to pace back and forth. “Did you watch Mrs. Potts when I described the scene Two Stars found? The woman bawled like a calf when you handed her a baby she’d never seen. But when she learns that her own, supposedly very beloved, sister has been scalped and left to decompose—she doesn’t flinch.” Simon shook his head. “Something isn’t right. I can sense it.”

“What—what can we do?” Gen asked nervously.

“I’ll think of something. For now let’s serve the coffee.” When Gen went to pick up the tray, Simon intervened. “Let me get it.” He smiled down at her. “
One
broken cup is quite enough to have to explain to Mrs. Whitney.”

When Gen and Simon reentered the parlor, Mrs. Potts squeezed a tear out of one eye and dabbed at her face while she made a strange mewing sound. “Poor orphaned baby,” she muttered. “Poor Charlotte Mary.”

“I thought you said your sister named her child Charlotte
Marie,”
Simon said while Gen poured coffee.

With a fearful glance at her husband, Sally Potts nodded. “That’s right. Charlotte Marie. My sister’s name was Charlotte Mary.”

“Mr. Potts,” Simon said as he handed Potts a cup of coffee, “I must tell you that it has been a shock to both of us having you suddenly appear at our door expecting us to give Hope up.” Simon sat down. “Do you happen to have any family records with you? Anything that might help us verify Hope’s parents’ names so we can check the land office records more carefully?”

Potts squinted at Simon. “What kind of family records?”

“A Bible. Church baptismal records. Something like that.” Simon looked down momentarily and then smiled. “You say your sister wrote about the baby. Perhaps you have the letter?”

Mrs. Potts rolled her eyes toward her husband.

He cleared his throat nervously. “We didn’t keep the letter. But that’s Charlotte Marie or my name isn’t Harlan Potts.”

“Please don’t take offense, Mr. Potts,” Simon said. “It’s just that we must be careful—for the child’s sake.”

Potts seemed to relax a little. Sitting back in his chair, he rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

“You wouldn’t want us to just hand your niece over to anyone who came knocking,” Simon continued.

“’Course not,” Potts agreed.

“Well, then, please don’t take offense when I say I am somewhat disturbed by a few things.” Simon stared at Potts as he enumerated, “You don’t seem to know the exact location of the homestead. And you didn’t keep the one letter your beloved sister-in-law wrote.”

“Now look here,” Potts said, shifting nervously on the couch.

Simon pressed on, “You must understand, Mr. Potts, that we love Hope as if she were our own child. The fact is,” he said firmly, “we really aren’t prepared to give her up at all. Not without some very convincing proof that we must.”

Potts glared at Simon for a moment. He stared across the room at Gen and then back. Anger flickered in his deep-set eyes. Mrs. Potts swallowed hard and stared down at her hands.

“The news that your brother-in-law was murdered, your sister-in-law scalped, left you strangely unmoved.”

“I was tryin’ not to embarrass
her,”
Potts protested, nodding toward Gen. “Anyone can see she’s part Injun’.” He looked back to Simon. ‘And anyone can see you two ain’t even married, so don’t be talkin’ to me about lovin’ my Charlotte Mary—uh, Marie—like she was your own. You got no claim to bein’ anybody’s
parents,
unless the church has changed its rules about sich things since I was a boy in Sunday school.”