August 17, 1866. Prairie Home.
Sallie is alive!
Our men returned the morning after the abduction, having followed the hostiles some distance before losing their trail. Many were willing to continue the search, but Mr. Bondurant warned that the renegades might join with a larger force of their brethern, and the men were ill-equipped to fight an Indian war. Besides, they had the care of families and farms. So, reluctantly, they retraced their steps and are now back on their homesteads. Several men went for the soldiers, who left in pursuit, accompanied by Mr. Garfield and Moses, who will do most anything that isn’t farming. Brownie went with them, too, though I do not know what earthly good he can be.
Mr. Bondurant, who accompanied the soldiers for several days, reported to Luke and Self, immediately he returned. He relayed the intelligence that Sallie was alive and as well as could be expected under the dreadful circumstances. She had been seen more than 150 miles from here, some three or four days after her abduction. Mr. Bondurant did not give the particulars, and, thinking he wanted to spare me, I excused myself. But I wanted to know her state, and so I lurked in the neighborhood to listen.
The man who had seen Sallie was hiding in the bushes not more than a hundred yards away and concluded she was more dead than alive. Indian women do not protect their heads, even in the most inhospitable weather, and Sallie was not allowed her sunbonnet. So her face was blistered from the sun. She was clothed with shocking indecency, the Indians having taken her shoes and other apparel and forced her to wear a filthy dress made from animal skins. She appeared so much like an Indian that only when she fell from the horse and cried out did the man hear his own language spoken and recognize her as a white woman. He told the soldiers he would have given his life to rescue her, though that was merely a pretty speech, as he did not trouble himself to go to her aid. But how can I condemn another for following the path I took?
The Indians stopped but a few minutes to water their horses, drinking their fill but refusing Sallie a single drop. Nor would they allow her a morsel of food. Instead of showing her the least bit of human decency, they taunted her with obscene threats. One bravado dealt Sallie a sharp blow to the head to silence her pleas, then fell upon her and ravished her. Poor Sallie! How can I forget the terror I felt when Brownie showed his detestable disposition. And he is a white man!
“She’d be better off if the Indians had killed her with the boy,” Luke told Mr. Bondurant, who heartily agreed. I am not so sure. As terrible as Sallie’s plight is, she wants to live, or else she would have done the deed herself. There is something in the human spirit that forces us onward, even under the most trying circumstances. After losing home and family in the War of the Rebellion, Sallie, in her weakened state, may not find the behavior of the savages so much worse than that of her hateful Yankees.
“I don’t suppose they’ll let her live much longer,” Luke ventured.
“If the men don’t kill her, their squaws will torture her or work her to death. Ain’t that nearly hell? If Mrs. Garfield’s lucky, some buck’ll protect her by taking her for wife.”
Luke’s head jerked up at that, and Mr. Bondurant added, “Or maybe if she’s unlucky. You think Garfield would take her back if she’s carrying an Indian’s brat? There’s not many that would. I heard of a white woman living two years of pure hell with the Comanches before she got rescued. Nothing she put up with from the Indians was as bad as the way her own kinfolk treated her when she come back to ’em. O, her own husband said how he was grateful and all, but he wouldn’t live with her as man and wife no more. He said mixtry of the races was agin the Lord, and he made it continual severe misery for her. So she drowned herself. Folks said it was an accident. It weren’t.”
I gave a gasp, and the two men discovered me.
“Don’t worry yourself about the heathens coming back,” Mr. Bondurant said, explaining it was his belief that they had gone east through Nebraska and were on their way to Dakota Territory, where they would meet up with the main branch of their tribe.
“Why then, perhaps their brethren will force them to return Sallie. Surely there are some among them who would want to prevent war with the soldiers,” I said, joining the men.
“It ain’t up to the tribe. They believe her to be the prop’ty of the buck that took her,” Mr. Bondurant said. “Maybe he’ll sell her.”
“How barbaric!” interjected Luke.
I thoroughly agreed. Still, here is the irony of it: The Garfields went to war to defend that very thing, the right to buy and sell human beings.
Despite our concern for Sallie, our lives return to normal, for with hardship afresh each day, we do not dwell on what is past and cannot be helped. Sallie and the frailty of our lives are always on my mind, however. One moment, I was enjoying the pleasure of her company. The next, her boy was murdered and she a prisoner of his killers. I am much troubled in my dreams, hearing Sallie call to me. By daylight, my mind tells me the course I followed to protect Johnnie was the wise one, but I am not so sure at midnight.
Luke rode to Mingo early this morning. I begged to go so that I might pay my respects to Jessie, but Luke said he would make better time on horseback than in the wagon. So I take advantage of my time alone, thoroughly bathing both Boykins and Self. He lies in the cradle now, making his pretty baby sounds, whilst I sit in the sun in my clean dress, drying my hair.
The day is cool yet, due to a nice rain last night that turned the fields a brilliant green, sending up the rich odor of the soil. But there are great black clouds in the sky that spread their blotchy shadows over the earth like spilled grease, and I fear we are in for it. I hope it does not thunder, for that noise frightens me so, a weakness in Self that does not please Husband.
Just now, a wagon appeared on the horizon, heading in my direction. Distances deceive the eye here, and the wheat can grow an inch by the time the wagon reaches me, so I do not need to rush inside and bolt the door. I check my pocket for the box of cayenne pepper now kept there to throw into the eyes of Brownie or any who would try to accost me, and I sit on the bench to await the visitor.
August 18, 1866. Amidons’.
The caller was Tom Barley, come straight from the Amidons’ to tell me Emmie Lou was delivered of not one but two babies within the hour and required my presence.
“Did you do the honors?” I asked, making hasty preparations for the trip.
“It was Mrs. Osterwald,” Tom said, taking Johnnie into his arms so I could write a note to Luke informing him of my whereabouts. “I happened by just as it was over.”
“I think I should be jealous if you had officiated.”
Tom, who now has uncommon expertise for a man in the subject, said Emmie Lou was doing poorly, “not like you, who we could scarce force to rest.” It was Tom’s opinion that the babies, a girl and a boy (to Emmie Lou’s great relief, I am sure), are small. Mr. Amidon had gone to fetch Jessie, and Emmie Lou requested that Tom carry me to her.
When I arrived, I went directly to the patient, not even pausing to remove my sunbonnet. Emmie Lou was in a dreadful state, and I feared she had slipped into melancholia.
“The boy is dead,” said she. “Oh, if it’d been the girl, I wouldn’t have minded so, but a boy! That means Elbert will demand indulgence of me before I am ready. I love my wee ones, but I think I would rather die than have another.”
I was in complete sympathy with her remarks. She was greatly agitated, and she begged me to promise I would look out for her little ones if she were to follow the boy in death. I replied I did not think she was in danger, but she grasped my arm and said that she was sick with worry that something would happen to her and that Mr. Amidon would marry a woman who would mistreat the girls.
Just as I gave my promise, Jessie arrived, and her cheerful disposition calmed Emmie Lou. As is her way, Jessie quickly took over the sickroom, spreading good cheer and making my appearance unnecessary. So now I enjoy the coolness of the only parlor between St. Joe and Denver City to write in my book. I slipped it into my pocket when I saw Tom’s wagon and was pleased to discover a few minutes ago that I had forgotten to return it to the trunk.
Knowing I would be here, Jessie brought our mail with her. After riding all the way to Mingo, Luke will be disappointed to find the cupboard bare, as they say. There is a letter for me from Carrie and another from Mother, which I am anxious to read but put off in order to record the events of the week in my diary. After all, precious as they are, letters may be read at any time, but journal writing must be done whilst alone. There are letters for Luke, as well—one from his father and another, I think, from his precious mother, because it is in a childishly feminine hand. I am grateful he does not share Mother Spenser’s letters with me, for I suspect they contain complaints about me and suggestions for my improvement, which, thank you, I do not care to hear. If Luke is not satisfied, he may lodge his own complaints.
O, such wonderful news from Carrie that since Luke was at Fort Madison, Will talks of nothing else but Colorado Territory and would like to see it for himself. Carrie will not allow him to come here without taking her along. “What would you think if you heard a knock at the screen door and opened it, only to find your old friend on the porch?” she writes. I shall reply that I would be much surprised, and so will she if she thinks we have screen door and porch. She will find a humble prairie home, but a welcome grand enough for Mrs. President Johnson. I may even share parts of this journal with her, for sometimes when I write in it, I pretend I am writing to Carrie.
There is more exciting news, though I should have wished it could wait. Jessie confirms my suspicions that I am once again enceinte. I have thought so for some weeks but felt I should discuss the symptoms with her before telling even my journal. I had been of the opinion that nursing mothers were “safe,” as we women put it, but we are not. So “that’s what’s the matter,” as the songwriter says.
After assuring me my conclusion about pregnancy was correct and that the babe should arrive early in the spring, probably March or April, Jessie looked at me closely and said, “There’s things I can do for you if it’s not wanted. Rhubarb compound and pepper.”
I quickly silenced her, saying she should save her knowledge for Emmie Lou, who may have greater need of it in future.
I had intended to stay with the Amidons to help, so that Mrs. Osterwald might return home, and I told Jessie as much.
“Lucinda don’t want to go home any sooner than she has to. Can’t you see the way of it?” Jessie replied.
“Her son is a trial, and I understand her desire to be rid of him for a few days,” I agreed, hoping Jessie would not inquire as to the reasons for my feelings against Brownie.
Jessie snorted. “Brownie’s no good. It’s a fact. But the old man is a hundred times worse. The way he beats her, and her being such a little thing that can’t fight back, it’s a wonder she’s alive. He does it every chance he gets, not just when he’s drunk, like Connor does. La! Haven’t you seen the bruises she wears?”
I had never heard of a man acting in such a beastly manner toward his wife, and I protested that Mrs. Osterwald’s wounds were the result of her own clumsiness. Jessie shook her head. “I could tell you things about the Osterwalds. You know Brownie… .” Of a sudden, Jessie stopped and put her arms around me, saying, “This is a hard place, Mattie. Women have to be hard, too, to make it here, but maybe you don’t. You’re a lady. I hope the land don’t do to you what it’s done to the rest of us.” She stopped then, as if she had said too much.
Just as Tom was to carry me home, Mr. Garfield and Moses returned from their mission, accompanied by Brownie, even though he is not welcome at the Amidons’. His presence was allowed only because of his mother. They report no sign of Sallie, which I interpret as good news, for it means she may yet be alive. If she is returned to us, I vow to do whatever is necessary to restore her to sanity, for Sallie’s sake as well as my own troubled mind.
The soldiers encountered hostiles and engaged them in a lively battle, killing two. Moses took a pair of moccasins as a souvenir, presenting them to Jessie, who was much pleased, as they are soft and nicely made. Brownie himself took a memento, a foul trophy, which he displayed to all, including the ladies, whose disgust he enjoyed. It is the scrotum of an Indian, which Brownie hacked off the fallen enemy and says he will tan and use for a tobacco pouch. The Red Enemy are not the only savages in this place.
August 30, 1866. Prairie Home.
Luke at Mingo, and came a thunderstorm at noon with lightning and so much noise that I took Baby to bed and held him tight. By the time the dreadful event was over, I had one of my headaches. I fixed tea to soothe myself, and I felt right proud of my return to calm, when I opened the door and discovered ’twas not just rain but also hail. The house and outbuildings are safe, but I fear the crops from the good Fort Madison seed are ruined. Nothing seems to grow in this country—excepting potatoes and me. Luke is much pleased that Johnnie is to have a sister or brother. When I told him of the impending arrival, I said I wondered if I could love another as much as I do him and Johnnie. Well, of course, I will, because love is not limited.
September 4, 1866. Prairie Home.
The hail was meant for us alone. Luke saw no sign of it until he reached our fields, and he discovered much of our crop is gone. For a time, he was furious, seeming to blame me for my failure to stop it.
“Did you expect me to sew an umbrella big enough to cover forty acres?” I asked, trying to lighten the situation. Luke did not find the remark funny, however. Sometimes, he is a hard man to keep in good humor. After a few days, his anger is gone, and though Luke does not say he is sorry for his outbursts (marriage has taught me that women are the only ones who apologize), he acts contrite and is once again my Darling Boy.
He brought word from Mingo that a Nebraska man who trades with the Indians heard of a white woman living with them, although he did not see her. He waited two weeks to report to the soldiers and by then, the savages had decamped.