The Great Plains (28 page)

May, 1935 – Payne County, Oklahoma

Seven days later they rested on the wide, shallow banks of a great river. When the mesas and flat plains country of the west had given way to thickly timbered areas and the gentle undulations of this more fertile environment, Jerome hoped for better things. They'd risked a campfire twice to roast wild quail, in spite of their uncle's disagreement. Captured while the birds roosted at night, they were careful to fan the cooking smoke and were quick to put out the fire. They crossed a number of railroad tracks and marvelled at the thick patches of post oak and blackjack that grew so closely together that it seemed at times that nature intended to stymie their progress, but railway loggers and farmers had eaten away at this natural barrier between east and west and they soon skirted the heavier timber.

Where trees were less dense, they foraged for the few edible greens that could be found beneath clumps of shrubby bushes and kept their eyes focused on the trees and plants they passed. They had munched on cracked acorns beneath Burr oaks yesterday and had grabbed hungrily at dark-coloured berries. Uncle George checked every bulb, root, grass and seed that was found and took to rubbing the specimens on the inside of his wrist to see if there was any nasty reaction. Only then would he taste it, before allowing anyone else to eat.

At the river Abelena splashed water on her face and neck, using the wetted hem of her skirt to scrub at embedded dirt. Her legs were pale and skinny beneath the folds of the material as she tucked up her skirt and squatted in the cold water to scrub their few items of clothing. When she was done, she lay the clothes on the ground to dry before handing out the last of the berries they'd saved.

Tess chewed disinterestedly where she lay on the bank next to Jerome.

‘Aren't you hungry, Tess?' Jerome asked. The girl shook her head.

‘She hasn't had a chance to rest,' Abelena replied. ‘When we were north of Oklahoma City we should have headed there. We should have found the Wade house and asked for help.'

‘Last time I was there I got a punch in the nose for my trouble,' Uncle George stated. ‘It's too late to expect help from them. If Serena had kept at Edmund, reminded him that she was entitled, then things might have been different, but she was too proud to go back. They are not our people, Abelena. They would not help us. They didn't want us.'

‘They didn't want
you
,' Abelena replied curtly. ‘What would have happened if our mother had arrived at that house alone?' The question went unanswered. Abelena pressed another berry between Tess's lips as Mathew walked up the bank from the river, where he and Mark had been splashing. Cramming his share of berries into his mouth, he waited for his brother. Mark licked up his share from his palm, wiping at the moisture that wept from his droopy eye.

‘Is she sick? She looks sick to me,' Mathew decided.

‘Yeah, sick,' Mark agreed.

Abelena ignored them. The twins had been difficult since Jerome had grabbed the cat from Mark's grasp and dumped it in the deserted street on leaving the ghost town. The boy had yelped like a coyote and only a slap from his uncle had finally quietened him. Since then Mathew had slowed them up at times, dawdling behind on purpose, arguing about everything from the lack of food to the distance they were forced to walk each day. His complaints were made worse by Mark's tendency to mimic everything his brother said and did. Jerome was ready to throttle both of them.

‘Maybe we should get some fish.' Mathew pointed downstream. ‘There's a deep hole not far away.'

‘Yeah, fish,' Mark repeated.

Uncle George opened a sleepy eyelid. ‘No fire,' he commanded from where he lay on the sandy bank. ‘Maybe tomorrow. We've rested enough; it's time to move on.'

‘I forgot, you Apaches don't eat fish.' Mathew's tone was accusatory.

‘I'll eat fish and so will Tess,' Abelena announced, touching the girl's flushed cheek. ‘Let's try to catch some, Jerome. We're starving.'

‘We'll have to risk a fire,' he replied.

‘No!' Their uncle's tone made them all turn and stare. ‘We're being followed.'

Abelena gathered Tess to her chest. The twins looked up and down the waterway. Jerome peered through the scattering of trees behind them. ‘Are you sure?'

The old man nodded and stifled a cough. From beneath the blanket he lifted one of the canteens they'd taken from the store at the ghost town. Unscrewing the top, he inverted the container and shook it. A slip of paper protruded from the neck of the bottle and he prised out a roll of greenbacks.

Jerome dropped to his knees by the old man's side. ‘Money? How much is there?'

His uncle poked the bills back inside and re-screwed the lid. ‘Enough for someone to want it back, I would think,' he replied, slipping the container under the blanket.

‘How long have you known about that?'

‘The day after we left the ghost town,' the old man admitted to Jerome.

‘And you said nothing?' Abelena accused, settling Tess on the blanket again.

‘What did you expect us to do,' her uncle chastised, ‘take it back? You were the one who wanted to steal it in the first place, woman. Always you are telling us what and what not to do. You have many lessons to learn in this life, Abelena, and this difficulty we now face is just the beginning of the problems that may follow you if you continue to ignore those who know better.'

Abelena stared back at her uncle, her gaze defiant.

Jerome ran a hand through his hair. ‘What do we do? Wait for them and give it back?'

His uncle laughed. ‘Do you think it will be that easy?'

‘It mightn't be the owners of the things we found in the ghost town. It could be the law following,' Abelena suggested.

‘After all these days?' Jerome kicked the dirt at his feet. ‘We've been so careful.'

‘Either way, they are not far behind us,' Uncle George told them. ‘A day at the most. Yesterday I could smell them on the morning wind.'

‘There's probably a reward out for you, Jerome, out for all of us.' Mathew folded his arms across his chest.

Uncle George agreed. ‘The boy is right, and if there is a reward, there'll be a description of us.'

‘We have to move,' Jerome decided, ‘now.'

His uncle nodded. ‘Abelena, I want you to take the children. Keep walking with the sun directly behind you, we'll catch up.'

‘No,' Abelena disagreed. ‘We have to stay together.'

‘It's too late for that.' Her uncle lifted a hand. ‘Don't argue, girl.'

Jerome clasped her shoulders. ‘If anything happens, keep on walking to Broken Arrow, Abelena. You'll make it, sis.' He thought she would argue. It was to be expected. Instead she told the children to roll up their blankets and gather the drying clothes.

‘Take this.' Abelena pulled the broken knife she'd found at the abandoned store from the belt at her waist and gave it to her brother. ‘Be careful.'

‘And you.' Jerome lifted Tess and, placing her in a piggy-back position against Abelena's back, he wrapped the blanket across the child and tied the ends of the material securely across Abelena's chest. ‘Carry her for as long as you can.'

‘Head downstream until you reach the railway line we saw yesterday. There will either be a bridge or a barge so that you can cross,' Uncle George advised.

‘What about the horse?' Mathew walked towards the gelding. ‘We should take it so Mark and Tess can ride.'

‘It's safer if you're on foot,' Jerome told him. ‘Go with Abelena.' He watched as his sister and the two boys began to walk along the bank of the river. The group turned at a bend to look briefly at the two men they'd left behind before disappearing into the trees. ‘Now what?'

Uncle George lay back down on the ground. ‘Light a fire. We might as well get this over with and see if you can find something to eat. I'm hungry.'

May, 1935 – Payne County, Oklahoma

Jerome had just started to rub a twig against a piece of bark to light the dry litter he'd gathered when two men on horseback appeared out of the trees. Unshaven and dirty, they wore suit-coats and carried rifles.

‘Looky here, Harry, we've got ourselves a ready-made campfire and a couple of Injuns to boot. Shouldn't you two be on the reservation?'

The man who spoke slipped from his saddle. Lifting the rifle he carried, he gestured for Jerome to move next to his uncle. ‘Well? Can't you speak?'

Uncle George's expression never altered. ‘You following us?'

‘Maybe. You left a trail as wide as the Red River.'

The one called Harry dismounted and ran an admiring eye over the Blums' horse. ‘Nice piece of horse flesh you've got there. You Injuns wouldn't have stolen it, by any chance?'

‘What do you want?' Jerome asked.

The first man walked to the river's edge. ‘There's more of them all right – they're heading downstream.' He knelt and examined the footprints. ‘Children. That matches the description.'

Harry rubbed the thick stubble on his chin. ‘I'm thinking you'd be the Wade half-breed that murdered that homesteader's son. The same half-breed who was stupid enough to snitch our belongings back at Fork Gully.'

‘Didn't know it had a name,' Jerome replied. The blunt end of the rifle's butt hit him squarely in the stomach and he fell to the ground, winded. George got to his feet.

‘Steady, old man,' Harry advised.

Jerome watched as his uncle retrieved the canteen from under the blanket and tossed it to the man called Harry.

‘Obliged,' he answered. Harry nodded to his companion. ‘For thieves you're not very good at it.' He threw the canteen to his friend, who proceeded to slice the sides open with a knife.

‘All here,' he confirmed, stuffing the wads of notes inside his coat.

‘Not much point being a bounty hunter if your reward is stolen,' Harry told them.

‘We didn't realise what was in there,' Jerome gasped, clutching his stomach.

‘Well it doesn't matter, because the chase is up, boy.' Harry cradled the rifle in his arms. ‘I'm not sure we need the old Injun, Wendell, just the boy.'

Wendell cocked the rifle and aimed it at George's chest.

‘Don't be an idiot,' Harry complained, ‘it's a waste of a bullet. He's harmless.'

‘Fair enough.' Wendell took a coil of rope from where it hung on his saddle. ‘Come here, boy.'

Overhead there was movement. Jerome looked skyward as a golden eagle soared above. Immediately his heart increased its beat.

‘I said, come here, boy.' Harry levelled the rifle at the old Indian.

As if in slow motion Jerome watched Uncle George leap towards the armed man. Jerome dived at his uncle's attacker, a surge of strength propelling him forward so that he tackled the man side-on as the rifle went off. He plunged the broken knife his sister had given him into the man's side as a second bullet whizzed past from behind. He heard the heavy whack of lead hitting flesh and felt himself fall as the momentum of the man he'd knifed dragged him to the ground. Jerome fell face down in the dirt. He turned his neck sideways. The man called Harry lay next to him, unmoving. Feet away his uncle stared at him, his eyes wide. Blood stained his waistcoat.

‘Damn it.'

The voice belonged to Wendell. Jerome listened to the man's footsteps. Cautiously he slid his hand to where the knife protruded from the dead man beside him. His fingers grasped the broken hilt.

Wendell kicked at his companion's body before poking Jerome with the barrel of his rifle.

Jerome grabbed the cold steel and in an instant was pulling himself upwards and plunging the knife deep into the man's chest. Their eyes met briefly as Jerome pulled the blade free and Wendell fell. Jerome lay the edge of the knife against his scalp. The knife seemed to move of its own accord and he watched as a thin line of blood appeared. Something inside of Jerome wanted to take this scalp. The need for a trophy to mark this moment of victory was intense.

‘Jerome,' Uncle George said loudly.

Overhead the eagle flew in concentric circles before disappearing above the trees.

Jerome gazed at his bloody hands, at the two dead men lying in the dirt, and then knelt by his uncle's side. He laid a hand over the bullet hole, applying pressure to the wound. His uncle's eyes were glassy. ‘What can I do?' The blood staining the old man's clothing was dark.

‘Nothing, I have already outlived my time, Jerome.'

‘Don't say that.'

His uncle covered Jerome's hand with his own, blood seeped through their fingers. ‘You know it to be true. The night of the black storm I felt the spirits calling but I ignored them. Even without this wounding I never intended to travel as far as Broken Arrow. I must die here. Bury me deep, boy. Bury me at night and walk away.'

‘But …'

‘Take the history of our people, bury everything else I own and never forget who you are.' George took his nephew's hand, the strength of his grasp was surprising. ‘Take pride in your people, in being a descendant of Geronimo.'

‘How can that be?' Jerome stuttered. ‘You always said you didn't know my blood.'

Uncle George gave a pained chuckle. ‘Don't tell your sister. Abelena will never accept that Philomena was saved by the white man's enemy. My mother was found and rescued, and she was raised a favourite. Philomena was not a woman to be given to any Brave.'

‘What do you mean?'

Jerome's question went unanswered. He held his uncle's hand as his breathing began to ebb.

‘You must tell Abelena to accept the Apache within her. Until she does she will remain angry with our people. She hides it well but her heart cries out to belong. The white part of her fights an Indian heart, but she will never win. We are too strong … In the beginning the world was covered with darkness. There was no sun, no day. The perpetual night had no moon or stars …'

‘Uncle.' Jerome shook the man's shoulder.

‘Abelena has the heart of an Apache. Were she not so stubborn I would have trained her in our ways even though she is only a woman,' he moaned quietly. ‘One day, my boy, you will have to give her the history of our people.'

His uncle's tone was ominous. ‘So she will outlive me?'

‘Abelena's journey is long, her burial place far away from these lands, but she will leave behind another to take her place and this boy will be strong in the ways of the medicine man, like his mother.'

‘Abelena has the gift of medicine?' Jerome shook his head. ‘And what of me, Uncle? What of my journey?'

The old man coughed weakly. ‘The great Ussen calls me.'

Jerome bowed his head. The afternoon drifted. When the old man finally expelled his last breath, the shadows were lengthening. In the distance the wail of a coyote sounded, followed by the rush of wind. Jerome closed his uncle's eyelids and imagined him walking across the once fertile grasslands of The Great Plains.

It took two hours to dig the grave. Jerome used his bare hands to clear away the loose topsoil before digging the hole with a branch whittled to a point with the broken knife. It was a laborious process but finally he dragged the old man into the shallow grave located slightly upstream from their original camp. Then he retrieved his uncle's possessions and, according to tradition, placed everything in the grave; blanket and water carrier, a small woven basket. Only the painted hide remained unburied. The copied history of the Apache people belonged to Jerome now.

Jerome pushed the soil down around his uncle's body. He sang for a life well lived as he sprinkled earth over the man's face. And it was then that he noticed the faded strands of the medicine cord poking out from under his shirt. The izze-kloth was sacred, he knew this, and Uncle George had told him more than once that it had to be buried with him upon his death. He'd been told it would be worthless to him and yet Jerome knew that it had been made by a di-yin specialising in war. Where were such men now? His soiled fingers poked at the strands of animal hide. It was wrong to take the medicine cord. It was said it would lose its powers if looked upon or handled by strangers and it was certainly not a possession to be passed on, yet Jerome wanted this most sacred of his uncle's belongings, believed to give Apache warriors extra strength in battle. He plucked at the strands of animal hide and then reached for the knife and cut them, pulling the medicine cord free of his uncle's body. Quickly he wrapped the dyed strands around the pollen-filled pouch they were attached to, admiring the stone beads made of sacred green chalchihuitl, which served as decoration.

‘I am sorry, Uncle.' As he spoke, the moon showed itself above the treetops. He tucked the izze-kloth safely in his shirt, slung the history of his people over a shoulder and finished patting down the grave. At the place where the two dead men lay, he unsaddled their horses. Once this was done he rummaged through their belongings and took what was needed, including a pair of the men's boots. Ernst waited patiently as he mounted up and then, leading the other two horses, he left the dead to the night.

Jerome caught up with his sister and the three children at midnight. He could smell the fire they'd lit and the musky scent of their bodies. Only Abelena stirred on his approach. He watched her slip from the clearing where the campfire glowed and walk through the timber to crouch behind a tree, a sturdy branch in one hand. Jerome whistled softly and called her name. She ran to him and waited until the horses were tethered.

‘Where is Uncle?' she asked, looking into the dense trees from which he'd appeared.

Jerome squatted as the embers fizzed and the branch ignited. Tiredness washed over him as he held his palms towards the blaze. ‘There were two of them.'

Abelena sat beside him. ‘And Uncle George?' Her voice trembled. She was staring at his blood-and-dirt-encrusted hands.

Jerome raised a finger to his lips. The twins were huddled close to the campfire. Tess was lying on her back, swaddled in a blanket. He touched the child's cheek, noticing the dried blood caking his skin. ‘He was shot,' he whispered. ‘I buried him and took the horses.'

Abelena gave a sob and bit hard on her knuckle to quiet herself. Jerome clasped her shoulder as she rocked back and forth. ‘Be strong. It was a good death, Abelena.'

‘But it's my fault. If I hadn't taken those things …' Her voice trailed off. She wiped her face. ‘Always he has told me that I am wrong, that I am only a woman, that I must do this or that or –'

‘Be calm, sister, and listen to me when I tell you that his death was inevitable. He only lasted this long in order to save us.'

‘And the men?' she finally asked, her voice wavering.

‘Dead. I left them for the coyotes. We have to keep moving, Abelena. The sooner we get to Broken Arrow the better.' He walked back to where the horses were tied. He'd removed the saddles from the newly stolen horses in case of recognition, only retaining one of the rifles, a blanket and the bloodstained notes he'd retrieved. ‘Here, I forgot.' He'd found dried meat in the dead men's possessions. The jerky was tough but flavoursome.

Abelena bit down hungrily on the strip of meat and chewed. She looked guiltily at the sleeping children but continued to eat. ‘How much is there?'

‘Quite a bit. The children can have some when we wake them and tomorrow at dawn I'll share out the rest. Take another piece and chew it up for Tess. How is she?'

‘The same. Worse.' Abelena lifted the child and dribbled water into her mouth from a canteen. ‘The dust still eats at her chest while her body starves.' Wiping the girl's mouth, Abelena spat out a wad of the moistened jerky and pushed it into Tess's mouth. The child chewed slowly.

In spite of the urgency to keep moving, Jerome knew that they would have to slow down. ‘Tomorrow we'll hunt, light a fire, cook ourselves some decent food. There is food in these woods. I've seen quail.'

‘I know we should keep moving but you're right, brother. We need to rest and eat, all of us.'

‘If Tess doesn't improve then you and she should probably stay in Broken Arrow, at least until she's better.'

‘And then what?' Abelena paled.

‘I don't know,' Jerome admitted. ‘I don't want the family to be separated either but if it means saving Tess …'

Cupping the little girl's face, Abelena looked up at her brother. There were blue-black circles under her eyes. ‘Don't leave me by myself.'

‘Shush, sister, be calm, we'll think of something.' Jerome doubted his words. ‘In the meantime we must watch Mathew. Uncle George and I did a good job of covering our tracks after we left the ghost town, but Mathew was always dragging behind and those men said we left a pretty obvious trail.'

Abelena looked at the sleeping boys. ‘You don't think …?'