Blue Thunder (16 page)

His father laughed in a way he knew the man
was only half joking. He ignored his father’s teasing; and wondered
if he had made the pun consciously. It only added another sore spot
to his body, he would never live this down. Scowling, he grunted.
His father continued, disregarding his stormy features.

“I am tired of sitting here waiting for you
to join the living. The poison left your body, this is good. Now
you must rest and mend.”

Blue Thunder tried to sit. “Where is the
white slave?”

Dasodaha pushed him down. “Lie still so your
wound will not pull open,” he ordered firmly. “She is well. “Now
rest.” His father got up and left before he could ask anything
more.

Blue Thunder wondered why his Honey Eyes was
not in his lodge. Something was wrong; nothing made any sense. The
attack, her not being here. What was going on? He staggered to the
opening and made it outside before he collapsed. He was never so
weak before

and chided himself for being so foolish and
drinking too much white man’s whiskey. Two young braves helped him
back to his mat and a maiden came to nurse and tend to his wound.
He held his tongue; the girl wouldn’t speak the truth even if she
knew.

A little voice kept nagging at him and he
suspected that his father was not telling him everything. He needed
to regain his strength, to find out for himself. Did Honey Eyes
escape like he first feared? Was she dead? Did Dasodaha speak
falsely because of his love for him? His gut tightened; he didn’t
like being so weak and unable to find out the truth. The next
morning, Blue Thunder was stronger. It still pained him when he
tried to stand but he forced himself to walk to

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Dasodaha’s wickiup. Licks Too Much missed
his master and when he saw him come out of his lodge, he ran from
Laughing Tree’s dwelling to greet him. The dog pounced against his
leg, making him wince at the sudden attack.

“Ouch!” he cried but he didn’t have the
heart to scold his loyal friend. “Sorry, old boy, but it pains me
to bend. Go back to Laughing Tree, she’ll see to your needs for a
while longer.” The dog whined, giving his saddest eyes, but he had
no time for the animal’s nonsense. “Go!” He pointed, sorry for
being so abrupt. The dog went with his tail between his legs.

The flap was closed so he called to the
chief. “Will you give me permission to come in, father?”

“Enter, my son.”

Blue Thunder pushed the heavy skins back,
causing him to grunt. He took a laboring breath and said,
“Greetings, father.”

Dasodaha nodded.

Blue Thunder sat slowly, holding his wrapped
side. “My father knows why I am here?” His was a statement that
came out like a question.

“Yes,” Dasodaha sighed.

“I want to know what happened to my white
slave.” He didn’t take his gaze off his father and he didn’t miss
the hard lines set around the chief’s mouth. He feared the news was
bad.

Dasodaha cleared his throat. “After the
white girl tried to kill you, she ran from the camp but was caught
and brought back. The prisoner begged to be returned to her own
people. Her wish was granted for your sake.” His father’s eyes
focused on an invisible object over his shoulders, not looking him
in the eye and this did not sit well with him.

“We did not punish your slave for I knew you
had strong feelings for her. But she was trouble, because of her,
Little Turtle died. I decided it was too soon to tell you what
happened.”

This unbelievable information made Blue
Thunder’s head reel, feeling dizzy. “What’s this you are telling
me? My slave was responsible for my cousin’s death? Little Turtle
is dead?” His heart went erratic and eyes challenged his father.
Dasodaha shrugged as if he were trying to shift the weariness from
his shoulders before he told him what had happened.

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Blue Thunder sat dazed, not wanting to
believe his father’s words. Did the woman he loved truly try to
kill him? Yet, the constant pain in his side told him his father
didn’t speak falsely. She had tired to kill him when he was in a
drunken stupor, a state for which he had only himself to blame.
Blue Thunder wanted to grill him further but he could see his
father was very upset. He left some questions unanswered suspecting
the chief wouldn’t know what had really happened that night. All
the truth lay with the white woman.

He spent the next day rebuilding his
strength with light exercise, ignoring his father’s warning and the
ache in his side. His dressings were cleaned daily and new herbs
were placed over the wound. It wasn’t until the wrappings were left
open and the wound aired, did he notice the crisscross
stitches.

Damn! No Apache did this!

His slave was the only one who could do this
work. Why would she stay to save his life, then flee. It was time
to find the undeniable truth. He believed that his aunt had to hold
some of the answers. That night he would wait for her return from
the mountain.

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TWENTY-TWO

After asking permission, Blue Thunder
entered Laughing Tree’s wickiup. She was lying on her mat as Star
Gazer attended to her. She appeared very exhausted but for a month
she would have to keep up her lamentations with low wails at the
sunset.

“Aunt, I have come to give condolences, it
was a sad day to learn of Little Turtle’s death. My cousin will
always hold a special place in my heart.” Star Gazer stood to leave
but Blue Thunder shook his head, giving his younger brother
permission to stay.

Blue Thunder had mixed emotions. He was
indeed saddened by Little Turtle’s death but believed she was in a
happier place. He still couldn’t fathom that his Honey Eyes was
actually responsible. He sat by his aunt and held himself
accountable, knowing his cousin had been jealous.

“Laughing Tree,” he took her hand; it was
ice cold. She looked at him as if he weren’t there but he believed
she heard him. “We must talk. Tell me the truth about the white
girl.”

His aunt’s lips trembled as tears rolled
down her cheek. She turned her head away from him.

“I am too ashamed to talk.”

He coaxed, squeezing her cold hand. “White
slave stitched my side.” He knew his statement sounded more like a
question. His aunt nodded. “She did not run away,” he made that a
definite statement. Her response was another nod of her head. Then
he asked the dreaded question. “Father said the white girl was
responsible for Little Turtle’s death.” His eyes searched his
aunt’s face for answers; it held only sorrow. “You must tell me,”
he insisted sternly.

After a long moment of silence, he heard his
aunt whisper, “It was I who was responsible for the death of
daughter.” Stunned, a cold shiver passed through him. His throat
tightened, preventing further words, but before he was able to find
his voice, his aunt spoke.

“Your slave spent many hours nursing you. My
daughter took advantage of the white girl’s fatigue and tried to
kill her. I wished only to stop Little Turtle but she landed on her
own

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knife. She brought great shame on our
people.” She placed her hand over her face and wept bitterly.

Blue Thunder comforted his distraught aunt
and said, “You must mend your body and mind; you are not
responsible for the evil that was in Little Turtle’s heart. You
will hold your head high knowing you made a great sacrifice when
you went to the aid of my captive. It was an accident that the
blade found your daughter’s heart. I know the truth but our people
would not understand why you would protect a white slave. Laughing
Tree you saw the good in the captive that others could not see. I
am grateful to my aunt for this.” He then turned to his brother,
questioning him with his eyes.

Star Gazer hung his head saying, “Father and
I knew the truth. He said it was better for

you and our people that she is taken away.
Please do not be too hard on him, he loves you very much and did
this for your own good, and ours. His heart is heavy with guilt for
the lies. Since she did attack you, it was no longer right for her
to stay. Your slave violated your feelings and it was this act that
said she wanted her freedom at any cost, she never said
otherwise.”

“Then why did she remain to nurture me?”
Laughing Tree’s low sobs put a bad taste in Blue Thunder’s mouth
and he waited for an answer.

Star Gazer just shrugged as a warm breeze
wafted into the wickiup. “Maybe, she knew she could not get far
without help and changed her mind.”

“Where did they take her?”

Star Gazer sighed and murmured, “To the
fort.”

Blue Thunder left camp without a word to
Dasodaha. He fared he might have said things in anger; such words
could never be taken back. On his first night out, he met three
braves returning from their travels; they told him the white girl
was in good health and unharmed. They also tried to talk him from
going after her but he ignored their pleas. He would get her out of
the fort or die trying. He clutched his side, for the hard ride
reopened a few stitches and he was bleeding slightly. Three nights
later, tired and weak he reached the Fort. It was dark; the moon
was hidden behind storm clouds that rumbled in the distance. Luck
was with him, he would become just another shadow in the night. He
dismounted Night Rider and slapped the horse’s quarters ordering
him to stay close by. The animal snorted and trotted a short
distance away.

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Melissa sat at Captain Sander’s table. She
heard a loud, coarse voice but could not pay attention to what he
said. Thoughts of the day she walked up to the big wooden gate of
the fort intruded her mind. A guard had shouted, “A young lady is
coming!” The big doors creaked open and a soldier ran out to get
her. He scanned the distance to make sure it wasn’t a trick and she
assumed that the soldier feared at any moment Indians might gallop
over the ridge. Quickly, he escorted her inside but kept watch over
his shoulder.

Once inside the barracks a bearded soldier
walked over to her and said, “Miss, where in hell, err, excuse my
bad manners but where did you come from? Are you all right?” She
nodded but didn’t speak but heard another man yell, “Hey Ted! Look
at her dress. There’s blood on it. This white girl is dressed like
a squaw.”

“Must be in shock,” another voice assumed.
Well, she was but not from her experience but from the way the
white people were treating her. And then men and women mulled
around, whispering to one another. “Poor thing,” she heard a woman
say, making Melissa clutch her hands tightly. How she wanted to
slug these small minded folks. “Hate to think what those pagans did
to the child. Her cold stare looks like she lost her mind or seen
something awful.”

She was definitely seething but held her
temper although they kept on thinking the worse. “Maybe its better
she doesn’t remember. I hear those savages take turns with a white
woman until she goes crazy or dies,” was the judgmental conclusion
of another. Women shook their heads. “She’d be better off dead,”
reasoned a man. “Looks like she put up a fight,” said the beaded
man, “Maybe killed one of those heathens.”

The droning of voices went on all around
Melissa until someone shouted, “What’s going

on?” She winced at the gruff voice and saw a
soldier of high rank part the crowd. He was older with a head of
pewter colored hair.

“Sorry, sir, she appeared out of nowhere,
Captain Sanders, sir. We believe she must have escaped,” he
saluted.

Sanders omitted protocol and picked up the
exhausted girl carrying her to his quarters. His wife quickly
arrived at his side when he laid the dazed young woman down on a
bed.

“My stars,” his wife exclaimed with her
pudgy hand over her heart. “Who is she,

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Captain? What happened? Where did she come
from?” Her eyes looked softly on the young woman who was
resting.

Sanders shook his head. “I don’t know,
Blanche. She was found outside the fort. See if you can get clean
clothes for her. Ask Mrs. Winters if she could give you a suitable
dress; they seem to be the same size. Maybe after she’s rid of that
bloody garment, cleaned up and fed, she might tell us something
useful. I’ll be back later. I think she needs the company of
another woman right now.”

His wife nodded in agreement. “The poor
dear, her life at the fort, as long as she remained, won’t be
easy,” she spoke her thoughts aloud. “White women who are captured
and used by Indians are looked upon by some folks as being dirty.”
She clicked her tongue, as if she was disgusted with the human
race.

Sanders nodded his head in agreement, and
left.

Melissa opened her eyes and saw an older
lady standing by her side. There was no

mistaking the tenderness in her gray eyes
and she believed that she was safe in the presence of someone kind.
The woman’s smile made soft folds on her countenance, a smile that
reminded her of her mother. Her hair was copper color, with silver
threads haloing her small face. She was cared for as if she were a
frail doll. No questions asked, she was fed a good meal and tucked
into bed. When she awoke later in the day, she was much better and
said, “I want to thank you for all you are doing for me.” She said
the words slowly. “I’m sorry I acted so strangely but a lot has
happened to me. I don’t want to explain yet.”

The kind woman pulled a rocker close to the
bed. “We understand, child. It was my husband, Captain Sanders, who
brought you here. I am Blanche Sanders.”

Melissa smiled with a gentle smile hoping it
relayed her gratitude.

“I’m glad that you’re feeling well enough to
talk and that your mind is all right. Many captives never come back
from a trance. Now,” she patted her hand, “the Captain will be here
soon. He’ll be glad you’re better because he needs to talk to you.
I made you hot tea and brought you biscuits. Now, eat some. I’ll be
back later.”