The Holy Warrior (11 page)

Shocked silence filled the room. As he stared down at his brown hands, he wished desperately there was some way to soften the blow, but there was none. Defiantly, Knox raised his chin and announced, “I know what people say about
white men who marry Indians—but I don’t give a hang! He’s my brother and no matter what he does, nothing’s going to change that!”

“Your loyalty to him has never wavered, Knox,” his mother said quietly. She’d taken the news better than his father had, Knox saw. She had always been a woman of great faith, hearing from God on the most minute things. It came as no surprise to him to hear her say, “God made me a promise the night Christmas was born. He told me that the child would be used in His service.”

“Maybe that word was for George or Alex—or even Knox.”

“No,” Julie answered Nathan’s gentle suggestion. “It was as plain a word as I’ve ever gotten, and it was about our firstborn.”

Quickly Judith spoke up. “Tell us everything, Knox.”

His story poured out: how Chris had been adopted into the tribe, and looked more contented than he’d ever been. When his mother asked about Chris’s wife, he said, “Well, she was with him when he met us at the river. I can tell you this: She’s the prettiest thing I ever saw—white or red! She’s really only half Indian—her father was a white captive.” When pressed to describe her, he said, “Well, she’s got kind of a dusky skin, but not much redder than yours, Mother, when you stay out in the sun. Most squaws are kinda squat, but she’s trim as a deer. Got black hair, but in the sun it’s got a dark reddish glint and her eyes are gray, real big like.”

“She’ll put some good blood in the Winslows,” Nathan remarked quietly. “I’d like to meet her.”

“I wish you could, Father—but you’d have to go out there for that. Chris won’t bring her here. He already told me that.”

“Does she love him?” Judith asked, looking at him intently.

“You’d have to see it to believe it! Her eyes follow him wherever he goes—and he’s just about as bad about her.” He hesitated, then said in an off-hand way that fooled no one, “She’s going to have a baby.”

George looked startled. He started to say something, then
closed his mouth as if he thought better of it. That was the reaction Knox had expected.
Having an Indian wife is one thing, but adding a Sioux to the Winslow line... that’s different.
Knox could easily read his younger brother’s thoughts. He’d had the same misgivings when Chris first told him about the baby, though Knox had been ashamed of the reaction and tried to push his prejudice aside. After all, he’d been closer to Chris than any of them—and besides, he had been around a great many Indians all year. He should have been able to accept the idea more easily.

“Our first grandson,” Julie murmured with a soft smile. Turning to Nathan, she announced, “When you go to see them, I’m going with you.”

“Haven’t said I was going anywhere,” he replied defensively. Then he grinned and reached over and took her hand. “But I never could fool you, could I? Well, I am going—but it’s no place for a woman.”

“How dare you say that to me, Nathan Winslow!” Julie’s eyes flashed, and her voice was tart as she added, “If I could be a soldier in the Continental Army of the United States, I think I can make a trip to see my grandchild!”

She was referring, of course, to the time in her life when she had met Nathan. Knox had heard the story often. When Julie had been forced to flee from home after her father’s death, she took desperate measures—disguising herself as a man. Nathan had found her freezing on a Boston wharf, and had saved her life. Thinking Julie was a young man, Nathan had encouraged her to enlist in the army. With his influence, she met General Henry Knox—young Knox’s namesake—who discovered that the young “fellow” was an expert mapmaker and gave Julie a place on his staff.

Her identity remained a secret until she fell ill on the trip to Tyconderoga. There, she’d been left to get well at the home of Daniel Greene and his mother, who discovered her secret. When Dan learned the truth about the courageous young woman, he fell in love with her. Nathan did not find out
about her secret until later, but when he did he also fell head over heels for her—after nursing his hurt ego for some time.

Nathan smiled. Clearly his wife’s spunk had not diminished over the years. “I should know better than to try to stop you from doing something once you set your mind to it.”

Looking at his parents, Knox was warmed by the love they had always demonstrated. “Chris said to give you his love, Father.”

Nathan’s face paled, and his mouth jerked involuntarily. The memory of the stormy scenes he’d had with Chris still ate at him. “I hope to make him think better of me one day. I’ve treated him badly.”

“He’s sorry about that time, too,” Knox said, adding, “I’ve got to tell you all—I’m going back.”

“To the mountains?”

“It’s what I’d like to do.” He wanted so much to make them see it as he did. “Look, you know that the fur trade is about done here. Not much left but rough fur. But I’ve seen enough beaver to make a million hats, Father! And there’s nobody there now, except the English—and the Indians.”

“I’ve been thinking that way for some time now,” Nathan responded. “What’s your plan, Knox?”

“Why, we move quick! Go in with as many men as we can get and establish forts along the river. We’ll be there first—and believe me, it won’t hurt to have a Winslow who’s a member of the Sioux nation! Chris brought in the best furs we came back with!”

“Did he now?” Nathan looked across the table with renewed interest. “He trapped them himself?”

“Some of them—but the Sioux do it better. But he made us pay high. Not bead and trading goods, but real things. Things they really needed—rifles, shot, metal goods.”

“It’s only right,” Nathan nodded.

“Sure—but most traders get their furs with whiskey. The stuff sure drives the Indians crazy, I tell you! But Chris
wouldn’t hear of it—he gave me a list and I’m taking the things back when I go.”

He was not asking permission, his father noticed. Nathan admired this new-found confidence in Knox: a surer, deeper mark of manhood even than the black beard that covered his son’s face. The year of hard living had tempered the boy, and now there was an air of independence in his face and in every action.

Nathan studied him, then said quietly, “I reckon you’re right, Knox—I’ve been thinking the same thing. When we fought the Revolution, we were just a few colonies strung out along the coast—I’m sure even Washington himself never dreamed how God would pull together this great country of ours. Back then, all we thought about was freedom for ourselves—we never had a chance to think about growing west. But lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the western territory. It’s the richest chunk of land on the face of the earth!

“And America will grow west—it’s only a matter of time,” Knox put in. “That’s why I want to go back now. It’s a big land, and I want to be a part of it.”

They sat around the table and talked until Julie finally said, “Well, you won’t be going back until summer, Knox. I’ve got that long to pray about it—and to get my husband used to the notion of taking me to see my grandchild.” She got up and admonished, “You get to bed now—and tomorrow I’m taking the shears to that hair and beard. You look like a wild bear!” She stopped and gave him a quick look. “I suppose you told the Greenes about Chris?”

“Stopped on the way—Chris sent them all presents. They’re worried about him.”

He did not miss the pain in his father’s response. “We all are, son—we all are.”

The next few days passed quickly, and most of the time, Knox enjoyed being home. He was warmed by the avid curiosity that drew people to hear his stories of the western territory.
This feeling of goodwill, however, was slightly ruffled after the church service his first Sunday home.

Rev. Josiah Landers was a fine minister, and welcomed Knox home from the pulpit. Afterward, when the church members gathered around Knox and his family to welcome him home, Deacon Simms’ wife Martha overheard Julie say, “Our son Christmas is married now.”

“Oh, how nice!” gushed Sister Simms. “Who is his bride, Sister Winslow?”

“Her name is White Dove.”

Her quiet words fell like a bolt of lightning on the group, stunning them into shocked silence. In that moment Knox was proud of his parents’ courage; he was well aware of the embarrassment Chris’s marriage would probably cause them here.

“I see.” Mrs. Simms cleared her throat and looked at Julie carefully. “Does that mean that he has married... an Indian woman?”

Julie’s face was calm, and she smiled sweetly. “Why, yes. Our daughter-in-law is a member of the Sioux tribe. And you may wish us double joy, Sister Simms, because Chris and White Dove are going to give Nathan and me our first grandchild.”

Sister Simms seemed to have trouble breathing just then, and gave something like a snort before she turned and stalked away, her back stiff. Mrs. Landers, the pastor’s wife, had been on the outskirts of the crowd, but now she came forward and put her arms around Julie, saying with a smile, “Well, now! Isn’t that fine? I’ll be so jealous of you with a grandchild... and me wanting one so bad!”

Knox watched as the crowd divided itself into two groups: those who came forward to congratulate the family, and those that turned and walked away. The latter group, he noted, was much larger.

None of them mentioned the incident after it was over. Later in the week Adam came in from Boston, and after he
had eaten dinner with the family and rested a bit, he went on a long walk with Knox. He listened carefully to Knox’s story, as always, before he said anything. Finally, he observed, “It’s a hard way Chris has chosen.” The old man lifted his head and looked west as if he could see the mountains where his grandson was. “He’s trying to run from God, Knox—but God will catch him sooner or later.”

“Chris doesn’t say much about God, Grandfather. Or if he does, he seems angry.” Knox looked embarrassed, but he added, “Matter of fact, he’s downright outspoken about his views on religion.”

Adam smiled at him. “Men who run from God are angry men, Knox. Chris is like Jonah, I think. A reluctant prophet who has to be swallowed by some monstrous fish before he’ll give in.”

Knox spent much time with his family, for he knew that by summer’s end he would be leaving for the mountains. The days sped by, turning into weeks, then months. Knox and his father worked long hours planning the trip, and it pleased him to see that his father trusted his judgment on many of the details.

Chris’s name was seldom mentioned during this time. Then late one August night, Julie sat with her second son, talking about Chris and his wife and child. To her, the matter was simple: Her son had married a woman who would now give her a grandchild. Period. Her joy was not marred by racial prejudice. Knox had never loved his mother more than he did that night.

But there obviously was more that weighed on her mind. “Knox, are you a Christian?”

He stared at her, astonished. “Why, Mother, I’ve been a member of the church since I was thirteen.”

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I know.”

The silence grew uncomfortable, and Knox’s face became flushed. He tried to speak, but all he could think of was the way he’d lived for the past year. Finally he whispered, “I—I’ve
not done right always, Mother.” Still she did not speak, but only looked at him, and he bit his lip, saying, “It’s hard to be a mountain man and follow God.”

“It’s always hard to follow the Lord—no matter what you are.”

With those words every excuse he could think of was stripped from Knox, and he dropped his head with the shame he could no longer bear. A momentous struggle was taking place in the young man’s soul. And his mother, who saw it, could only sit by him, praying for her son as she never had before.

The next thing she knew he was weeping, his head in her lap. His mother listened quietly as her son poured out his heartfelt confession to the Lord, stopping only when his conscience accused him no longer. The battle was over.

The next day the change was evident; Knox’s heart was so light that he even walked with a new spring in his step. His father, misunderstanding the source of his son’s joy, was annoyed. “Blast it, Knox, the closer it gets to the time you leave, the happier you are! Can’t you at least be a little sorry to leave us?”

Knox laughed and put an arm around his father. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, Father. Mother and I had a long talk last night, and I’ve made things right with God. It’s made a world of difference—I was getting pretty far from Him.”

Nathan smiled and gave Knox a hug. “Oh, that’s it! Well, I’m happy for you, son—although I don’t know why your mother didn’t tell me. Your mother has been praying for you—for all her children—since before you were born. And when she prays, the very gates of heaven rattle. I’ve been on the receiving end of those prayers a time or two myself, come to think of it.”

Julie appeared in the doorway, a smile playing about her mouth. “Breakfast is ready.”

A few days later, Knox rode out with Con and Frenchie as
his parents watched from the porch. The last they saw of him was when he stood high in his saddle and turned back to wave.

“I’ll miss him, Julie,” Nathan said wistfully. “If our boys keep going west, pretty soon we’ll have to pack up and go, too.”

He looked down and saw the tears in her eyes. “Aw, don’t cry, Julie! He’ll be back in the spring—and maybe he’ll bring Chris and his family with him.”

Julie did not answer. She stood quietly for a moment, looking at the trees that covered the pack train, and as she turned to go back into the house, there was a stoop to her shoulders and a pain in her eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE REVENGE OF RED GHOST

The trapping party traveling up the Missouri that season went in eleven canoes instead of four, loaded to the gunwales with trading goods. Knox discovered he could now keep up with any of the others and remembered with amusement how pitiful he’d been at paddling only a year earlier.

This time Con and Frenchie would go on to the Yellowstone country once the group got to the White River, pausing only long enough to throw up a stockade, which they dubbed Fort Winslow. The single log building, surrounded by an eight-foot fence made of logs, would be used for storing the trading goods and the furs.