Holding on to Heaven (14 page)

A deafening silence came to the lodge. Sage lifted her head and searched the familiar faces. Otter Woman, Storm Cloud, Crooked Back and her beloved husband stood in the shadows, their faces masked in grief.

Sage turned to Peter Pa. "You must tell her she can't leave. I can't bear it."

His lips trembled. "It's her time, child, and you can't save her."

Caught up in her own emotions, she shrieked, "I will not allow her to die!"

"She's run a good race." Peter Pa took Evrasina's hand. "Now it's time for her to begin another journey."

Sage shook her head. "Not yet, oh please, not yet!"

"You'll see her again one day, but now, you must allow her to leave in peace."

Sage drew Grandmother into her arms. "I'm not ready. Please open your eyes; speak to me."

Feverish eyes opened and a hard-earned smile tugged the corners of Evrasina's lips. She labored for breath, forcing Sage to accept the fact her grandmother would soon leave this place called earth. She'd heard the hated death rasp much too often to ever forget the gurgling rattle.

Evrasina's lips moved. "Come close, child. There's little time left and I must tell you¾"

Sage looked into her colorless eyes. "Whatever it is, it can wait. You must save your strength."

Her voice firm, yet filled with love, she rasped, "I must make my final journey without secrets on my soul. I've always loved you more than life. From the first time I saw you, I knew I could never give you back."

Confusion stormed through Sage's mind. "Give me back?" She looked into Peter Pa's eyes. When he averted her gaze, a sickening dread claimed her. The racking cough drew Sage to her grandmother again. She knew the words she was about to hear would alter her life forever. Yet she'd always known something, hadn't she? "What-what do you wish to tell me?"

With great effort, Grandmother drew out the words. "Sage, you are a McCain."

Numb disbelief washed over her. She heard a long breath escape Grandmother's lips. Her hand went limp and her head lolled to the side.

Five words hung in the air between them, her grandmother's last. Sage clung to her slack hand. Crooked Back and Storm Cloud began a reverberating chant, the undulating echoes rising and falling like a funeral dirge in the lodge.

Spasmodic sobs wracked Sage, her tears falling harsh and unrelenting. Her beloved Grandmother had passed.

Peter Pa rubbed Evrasina's still fingers, his shoulders shaking with grief. Like a man obsessed, he massaged her hand and turned it over in his as if to coax her into breathing again. His heartfelt sobs filled the lodge in unison with the mournful cries of the grieving. Wanapaya stepped from the shadows and pulled Sage from the ground. She slumped against his chest and cried her heart out.

They buried Evrasina Denzer in a Winnebago ceremony befitting a great medicine woman. Her weathered straw hat and knapsack hung from the burial posts, swaying in the soft breeze of morning. Sage had cried so much in the last day, not one ounce of fluid remained in her body. Numb throughout the short ceremony, she recalled only the last words her grandmother spoke. 'Sage, you are a McCain.'

Fifty members of the tribe occupied wooden platforms in the burial ground surrounding her grandmother¾victims of the small pox. The disease had finally run its course. It had claimed the souls of many on its destructive path, but Storm Cloud and Otter Woman were spared. Her own husband and children had lived through the epidemic, and for this, she’d be eternally grateful.

Two days later, Sage, Wanapaya, and Peter Pa left the Winnebago village. Snuggled into their cradleboards on their parents' backs the twins slept through most of the journey, and Peter Pa even dozed off once or twice while trailing in the wagon. Anxious to return home, Sage longed for peace, far away from the memories of death.

During the two-day journey, her grandmother's last words echoed in her mind. Questions from her childhood rushed forth, as they had so many times throughout the years. She'd asked Grandmother once if her mother was beautiful and whether her father had been tall. Her answers were vague; the subject changed so quickly, Sage never ventured down that road again.

Sage had always known that the truth, for whatever reason, had been hidden from her, locked away somewhere in her grandmother's past. Childhood intuition and her grandmother's dying words confirmed her worst fears—her name wasn't Sage Denzer. She'd have to find the answers, but where to begin?

A gust of wind bore down on the land. The gnarled, twisted limbs of the oaks launched into a frenzied dance, sending a shiver down Sage's spine. Moments later, a great stillness swept over the terrain and a warm rush coursed through Sage's veins. She felt Grandmother's arms around her, heard her voice in the stillness of the air.

"Be happy, child, be happy," she whispered.

Chapter Nine

With morbid attention, Polly Gatlin cast her eyes on the gray clouds overhead. Creed couldn't measure the weight of his father's heart as the man embraced Finn.

Their mother slipped her hand into Finn's trouser pocket. "Wherever this journey takes you, son, our love goes with you. Now and again, open the locket." Creed heard her take a deep breath. "We'll be here waiting."

Finn looked down, but not before Creed saw his eyes mist over. He knew the boy was torn between leaving his family and his patriotic duty to serve.

False bravado edged Finn's words as he kissed their mother's cheek. "Creed will be with me and we'll beat those Johnny Rebs, be back before you know it."

Straight-faced, his father looked at him. "I'm counting on you, Creed, to watch over Finn."

"Yes, sir." The weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "God willing, we'll return in one piece."

The pained look on his mother's face wrenched his heart. "We know you'll do your best." It was the first time he saw his mother cry. "Finn is young, his head filled with foolish notions." She brought her apron to her face and wiped away the tears. "You'll be in our prayers."

Belle, Emily, and Martha stood beside their parents, blotting their tears with hankies. Creed looked at two-year old Minnie and the baby of the family, Jack. Oblivious to the sorrowful farewell, they played in the dirt at his mother's feet.

A short time later, Creed, Finn and Brand rode down the long dirt drive and headed for Red Wing.

"It doesn't seem right that I'm staying behind," Brand said.

Creed pinned him with a serious look. "Get it out of your head. I don't think Ma would live through sending three sons off to war."

"And Pa can't work the ranch alone now," Finn added.

When they reached town an hour later, The Northern Belle sat anchored near the docks, a sprightly steamer commissioned to transport them south. Creed steeled himself for another farewell. Damn, he'd never been good at goodbyes.

Finn stepped forward and offered his hand, but Brand drew him into a bear hug and lifted him off the ground. "I should be there to watch your back."

"You know I'm a better shot," Creed said. "Your job is to take care of Ma, Pa, and the kids."

Brand laughed. "That should be easier than watching over Finn."

Creed turned his head at the blare from the steamboat announcing their departure. "That's our signal."

People lined the streets and nearby, a local band struck up a patriotic tune. Cheers from the crowd,
Hooray for the First Minnesota
, echoed around them. They waved once more to Brand and like the other volunteers, felt the steamer push away from the dock.

* * * *

The following morning, dawn crept over Fort Snelling, casting its pale morning light on the empty parade grounds. Creed went looking for Finn. After searching his barracks, he found him in the mess hall devouring a plate of flapjacks, grilled side pork and biscuits.

He loaded a plate with the same fare and settled onto the bench beside him. "Orders came this morning. We leave for Washington tomorrow."

Unnerved and with a ring of naïveté in his voice, Finn shrugged. "'Bout time. After four weeks of sloth, I'm beginning to think the Union doesn't want to win this war."

Suddenly losing his appetite Creed pushed back from his plate. "I don't care what the Union wants or doesn't want. My only concern is bringing you home alive."

"Well, at the rate we're going, I don't think we'll ever see battle."

Gloomy thoughts slunk through Creed's mind, and a foreboding hard to dispel. "Finn, this is no picnic, and anyone who thinks it is should have their head examined. Once we arrive in Washington, the game changes."

"Good, the sooner we beat those Rebs, the sooner we can go home."

The First Minnesota boarded the Northern Belle in the morning and left for LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Railroad cars transported them from there to Chicago. Stuffed together like sardines for eighteen hours, they arrived long after midnight. Ill-tempered after the miserable trip, the recruits disembarked and stumbled to hastily erected cots to catch a few hours of sleep. Twenty-four hours later, they reached Washington, D.C.

Their orders to leave for Manassas arrived the first week of July. Increasingly restless, Finn had pestered him with questions and when the time came, Creed worried his brother's inexperience and overzealous nature would be his undoing.

Creed looked across the tent and studied Finn while his brother cleaned his rifle. "Time you penned a letter home. I suspect after all this time, Ma must be worried."

Finn nodded, finished his task and rummaged through his haversack for writing paper. Returning to the small fold-up table, a smile lit up his face. "Should I send your regards to Lauren McCain?"

Creed met his gaze without smiling.

"I know you think about her."

"You’re a mind reader now, Finn?"

"Don't have to be much of a mind reader. Whenever I mention her name, you get this strange look on your face."

"Oh, yeah. What kind of look?"

"Remember that old Bluetick hound we had when I was a kid—the one with the big, brown lovesick eyes?"

Creed felt his jaw twitch. Finn was right; at the sound of her name, he had difficulty swallowing. Visions of their afternoons by the pond came rushing back and his longing for her became unbearable. He hadn't forgotten one tiny thing about her, the soft curves, the way her body felt beneath his or her tears when he told her he must leave.

Finn's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "All right, don't get riled. I just wondered if you wanted me to deliver a message."

Creed licked his lips. "Yeah, tell Ma I'd give a week of private's pay right now for a piece of her chocolate-walnut cake."

"Sergeant's pay soon."

"What did you say?"

"I forgot to tell you. Rumor is you're being promoted."

Creed shook his head. "I don't care about any of that. I'm here for one reason and one reason only; to get you through this godforsaken war." He added, "It's only because most of the troops are younger and have little to no battle experience."

"Do I have to take orders from you now?"

"You won't be my brother if they promote me, just a dumb private."

"Reckon I better finish the letter as ordered then." Another broad smile. "I'll tell Ma what a fine job you're doing of keeping those Rebs off my ass."

Creed stifled a laugh. Finn had a way of upending somber conversation, pitching the family into fits of laughter with his antics.

* * * *

The first Battle of Bull Run left thousands dead on the battlefield. Creed and Finn survived, but many of the young men who hailed from Minnesota rested eternally now beneath southern soil.

Weary after the battle and huddled together in a bunker, Finn and Creed stared at the stars overhead. "Can you hear it, Finn, the sounds of men dying?"

He sniffled. "I hear nothing but death."

"Close your eyes and listen. This is what the politicians call winning."

The hideous moans of men haunted the night air. Wounded animals screamed and distant cannon roared. Exhausted, Creed dropped his head to his knees and willed his mind to wipe out the hellish sounds. The physical exertion of battle left him drained. He'd thought only of keeping Finn alive in the last seven hours.

His brother's voice cracked under the strain. "I'm sorry I got you into this mess, Creed. I never realized¾"

"Everything will be all right." He looked into his moist eyes. "Keep your wits about you and watch your back."

Despite the grave situation, Finn's lips curled into a half-smile. "I thought that's why you were here."

The First Minnesota enjoyed a long rest after Bull Run. Between engagements, Creed, Finn and the other enlistees held lice races, played cards, and wrote letters home. By the third week of October, the Battle of Ball's Bluff roared around them. With every battle fought, the volunteers gained confidence in hand-to-hand combat, yet despite their courageous deeds, the casualties escalated.

Watching his own back during battle left Creed physically spent; watching Finn's rendered him mentally insane. Between engagements, Creed dissected his feelings about war¾not just this war, but all wars from the beginning of time.

He likened it to a great love affair, luring a man in with promises of heart-pounding excitement and an unshakeable belief in commitment. Not to mention thrilling rendezvous that left a man dizzy and weak-kneed. When the mystery wore off, the distant illusion unfolded, wrought with pain and heartache.

He wondered what Finn thought about war now. He didn't blame his brother for the mess they were in. How could he? A naïve kid, Finn got caught up like all the rest when he volunteered. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Creed no longer cared why they were fighting. He'd heard all the reasons and even the officers, ordinary men like him, had no idea why the hell they were here. Maybe he'd never cared why. He had only one purpose in mind, get them home alive.

He thought about Lauren more often than he cared to admit. She'd unlocked his heart, hijacked his soul and every day away from her grew more tortuous. He vowed he'd never lose his heart, yet the boundless love and depth of his feelings for her intensified with every passing day.