The Coming Storm (9 page)
“I have to confess something to you, Dianne,” Faith continued. “I didn’t want to come here.”
“But why? You know how much I care about you,” Dianne said, genuinely hurt that Faith should feel this way.
“I know, but I didn’t want to be beholden to another white person.”
“But my skin color shouldn’t matter. I’m a human being, same as you. A Christian woman, same as you. Color isn’t important to me.”
“No, I know it isn’t, but you have the luxury of feeling that way. Some folks will call you progressive and praise you for your attitude. For me, it’s a constant battle. I’ve always been taught that color does matter—so even
I
don’t feel like you do. The color of your skin tells you what’s expected of you—where you’ll be allowed to go, how folks will treat you. Believe me, Dianne, I don’t want color to matter. I don’t want it to be an issue between us.”
“Then let’s not make it one,” Dianne said more sternly than she’d meant to sound.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, but with the door open I couldn’t help but overhear,” Koko said as she joined the two women on the porch. “Dianne, you must understand that for you, a white woman, things are different. As Faith said, you have the luxury of taking up whatever feeling or cause you desire. Some will admire your ambitions and others will scorn your beliefs, but it will only be your philosophies they come against. Not you personally— not the color of your skin. People look at me and say, ‘Ah, she’s Indian. That makes her a heathen child who has no understanding of anything more than chewing hides and raising more heathens.’ ”
“And for me,” Faith declared, “it’s, ‘Oh, she’s Negro. That makes her dim-witted, lazy, and incapable of being educated.’ And some will add that I practice black magic and superstitious nonsense too.”
Koko nodded knowingly. “It’s the same for my people.”
For Dianne the discussion was becoming increasingly painful.She knew she was naive. Knew, too, that her feelings about color were definitely not the thoughts she had heard expressed by so many others. But she honestly didn’t want to look at people in the ways Koko and Faith were suggesting.
“I can understand your heart, Faith. I understand not wanting to take another bit of charity or be at the mercy of white people. But you don’t have that here. And you
won’t
have that here. You are loved simply because you are my friend. And Koko, you know my feelings in this matter. My mother was a very prejudiced woman, sharing many of those beliefs you mentioned. But it’s not me. It’s not how I feel.” Dianne got to her feet. “I love you both more dearly than any friend I’ve ever had. Just as dearly as I loved my little sisters. I despise the sorrow you’ve known because of heartless people, but here on this ranch, we don’t have to live as the world does. We can make a change right here. We can raise our children together—share our hopes and dreams together—find a better way, a way that God would have us make.”
“That’s exactly the conclusion I came to last night,” Faith said, smiling. “Remember I was telling you about Hebrews eleven?”
Dianne nodded.
“Well, the last couple of verses in that chapter really caught my attention. After talking about all those wonderful folk in the Bible—all those great men and women of God—it said . . . let me see if I can remember.” She paused a moment and closed her eyes. “‘And these all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise: God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect.’ ” Dianne shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I think it means that our Bible forefathers found their faith commended, but they had only a part of what God promised. It wasn’t that God didn’t know what He was doing, but He had His own timing for all these things, and because of His timing, we come together in His plan and the promise of Jesus. Folks didn’t understand why He promised something and then they died without seeing it come about. We don’t always understand why God does things the way He does.”
“ ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord,’ ” Dianne quoted from Isaiah fiftyfive. “I know that’s true.” She smiled. “So many times I have no idea why God allows for the things He does.”
“But we must walk in faith,” Koko reminded her. “And as Proverbs says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.’ ”
Faith nodded. “Exactly. My understanding used to be that when I found freedom, everything would be different. I would have my promised land, and life would be different. I would be an independent woman. But I know now, that’s not the way it is. I thought a great deal about those Hebrews verses, and I see that sometimes God brings others in to fulfill the promise He’s given. Maybe that’s what He did with me.”
“What do you mean?” Dianne asked, eager to understand.
“I had my idea,” Faith explained, “of what freedom was. I wasn’t about to believe it needed to involve my being dependent on anyone else—especially not any white person. But instead, God has shown me I was just as prejudiced as those who held the color of my skin against me. I was holding your color against you. I know now that God has brought us together in this place to help one another. I feel, like it says in that verse, that God has provided something better—better than I could have ever imagined.”
Koko nodded. “I feel the same.”
“Me too,” Dianne said, reaching out for each woman’s hand. “I feel that even though I lost my two sisters on the journey here, God has given me two other sisters to fill that void. You will always be my family—my sisters.”
“My sister,” Faith said, nodding with a smile.
“Sisters,” Koko affirmed.
August 1870
C
OLE HAD NEVER BEEN MORE MISERABLE IN HIS LIFE.
W
HAT
should have been a nice easy trip west had been fraught with one problem after another. Sickness, bad weather, Indians . . . What else could possibly go wrong?
I should have been home by now,
he thought. He prepared his bedroll for sleep but wondered if he’d be able to relax. Lately the threat of attack had been greater than it had ever been before. Everyone was tense, even Daniel Keefer. It was clear a band of Sioux were taunting them—leaving just enough evidence of their existence to let the men of the wagon train know they weren’t alone. But why the Sioux had traveled this far west or wanted to continue giving this small band of settlers such grief was beyond Cole.
“I’ve got a couple of men posted—keeping watch until about three. Can you join me and take over after that?” Keefer asked, walking casually into Cole’s camp. He carried his rifle—a sure sign of his worry.
“Sure, Daniel. What’s happening out there? Have you managed to figure it out?”
Keefer squatted down by the fire and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t look good. That scare we had back in Nebraska still has everyone talking, but I have a feeling this is gonna be much worse. If we can make it another fifty miles west, we should be all right.”
“You think they’ll just ignore us and let us go along our merry way?”
Keefer raised his face and met Cole’s determined stare. “No, I honestly don’t, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to hope.” Cole felt the chill in his words. Keefer’s face darkened. “Look, take no chances. If you see or hear anything, alert the rest of us.” He stood and looked back down at the fire. “I know they’re out there. I just don’t know how many.” Standing, Keefer rested his hand against Cole’s shoulder. “If they attack and anything happens to me, get the train on through to safety.” He paused. “And . . . uh . . . let my family know what’s happened to me.”
Cole nodded, knowing it was futile to argue. There would be an attack. It was just a matter of when and where. This band of warrior Sioux hadn’t been following them for nearly a week just to offer them escort.
The camp settled in for the night. The wagons had been drawn together in a tight circle, with all of the livestock inside that perimeter. The smallest of fires had been used for cooking. It wasn’t that they could keep the Sioux from knowing their presence on the plains, but rather Daniel told them not to give their attackers any extra benefit. Now nearly all of the travelers were asleep—or trying to do so—and Cole couldn’t help but be awash in anxiety for the things that might come. He’d heard too many stories; the memories were still fresh from the tales told at Julesburg. While taking supper one night he’d fallen into a conversation with several townsmen. They were only too happy to relate all of the grisly details of an Indian attack on some railroad men who had been out making repairs to the line.
Cole felt his stomach tighten at the thought of the men whose scalps had been taken and eyes gouged out. Other atrocities had been meted out, but Cole couldn’t bring himself to dwell even a moment on them. Not when the same fate might well lie in store for him on the morrow.
He slipped into his bedding, knowing that rest was crucial. He needed to be alert when his turn for guard duty came. Cole tried not to worry or borrow trouble, as his mother would say. He couldn’t stop the Indians by fretting. Or by remembering what they’d done to those who’d passed through before them.
If we make it out alive,
he told himself,
I’m never crossing this prairie again
. Of course, it was probably silly to have such thoughts. He still had family in Kansas, and the transcontinental railroad was in place to make travel easier. The locomotive couldn’t reduce the number of miles between Montana and Kansas, but it could definitely shorten the number of days required for travel.
“I should have spent the money for the train and told Daniel to forget it,” he muttered, trying hard to get comfortable.
Then I wouldn’t be dealing with cantankerous travelers and hostile Indians
.
He supposed the hostility was understandable. Year after year, the land west of the Mississippi was being deluged by a storm of settlers who were looking to make their dreams come true. It was this very invasion that caused such a feeling of desperation in the various tribes who lived in this region. They saw their hunting grounds disappear, along with the buffalo and other game. The railroad was a nuisance to them. The wagon trains with their hundreds of new settlers, a threat to their very existence. No, it was no wonder they were hostile—even to the point of killing the intruders.
Cole prickled at a sound near his camp. He reached for his revolver, then noticed the slim figure of a man Keefer had hired to help with wagon mending. The young man touched the brim of his hat when Cole continued to stare hard.
“Evenin’, Cole.”
“Sam.” Cole relaxed. “Anything worth reporting?”
“Nah, it’s all quiet out there. Maybe too quiet.”
Cole nodded. “I’m gonna try to get some shut-eye.Wake me when I need to relieve you.”
“Sure thing.” The man ambled off toward the west, his rifle leveled at the hip, as if expecting an attack at any moment.
Cole settled down again and sighed.
Oh, Dianne. Why am I here and you’re so far away?
He knew the answer, of course, but still it troubled him deep in his heart. If he died here on the plains, it might be a long time before she ever learned what had happened. He was already over a month delayed from when he’d planned to arrive home. He’d posted a letter from Cheyenne, but that had been weeks earlier, before the constant sickness had slowed their progress to a snail’s pace. And then the clouds had unleashed freakish summer storms upon them, deluging them with torrents of rain, leaving the trails horribly impassable. They’d waited nearly two weeks just to progress twenty miles, only to have a bout of cholera hit the train hard.
I should be home. I should be working on the Vandyke ranch, helping Bram build the new house
.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what the place would look like. Dianne had described her uncle’s plan in her last letter. It sounded wonderful. A huge two-story house in a U shape, with quarters in the middle upstairs for guests and two wings— one east and one west—for the two families living there. His family. His and Dianne’s. And Bram’s family. There would be a large wraparound porch for warm summer nights and a huge stone fireplace for cold winters when they’d remain cooped up until spring.
Dianne was quite excited about the design, having worked alongside Bram through the winter months helping with the plans.
I should be home helping. I should be with you, Dianne
.
Sitting back up, Cole scooted closer to his fire and pulled a small book from his coat pocket. He’d been keeping a journal on the trip since he’d left Topeka. He thought to share some of it with his mother and father but knew he would pore over each detail with Dianne, telling her where he was each night and what had happened in the camp. Now he feared there might not be another chance to tell her of his situation. If the Indians attacked at dawn, as seemed likely, he’d never have a chance to explain if he managed to get killed.
He dug into his other pocket and procured a pencil. Feeling the night chill on his back, he wrote.
Indians—Sioux, we believe—have been following us for nearly a week. We think they’ll attack at dawn. All the signs point to it.
Dianne, I can’t risk dying without writing once again of how much I love you and how very sorry I am for the delay in getting home to you.
You are all I think about, and even now, faced with the chance of death, my only regret is in leaving you—of never seeing you again. I think of you with every waking moment. I long for your touch, your embrace. No matter what happens tomorrow, I pray that you’ll somehow be able to read these words and know that I went to my grave loving you
.
Cole put the pencil away and yawned. He couldn’t keep writing and get enough rest to properly do his guard duty. Instead of replacing the book in his pocket, he stuffed it down inside his boot and eased back onto his blanket.
He could see her smiling face—could remember how her hand felt in his. God just had to get him back to her safely. He’d brought them together, Cole reasoned. Surely He wouldn’t stop there. Drifting into a restless sleep, Cole remembered the way she felt in his arms and how very much he wanted to have a chance to share a life with this extraordinary woman.