Holding on to Heaven (19 page)

"I'm so frightened, Polly." The woman's lips quivered in her chalk-white face. "What should we do?"

"We must separate again," Polly whispered. "Perhaps one of us will make it."

Another strange voice called out. "You are safe now, come out."

The pulse pounded in Polly's head, matching her erratic heartbeat when nearby stalks rustled. She separated two and peered through them. Raven hair glistened beneath the sun's harsh rays, and red and yellow war paint covered the savage's face, contrasting hideously against the amber stalks. Minnie exploded into pitiful screams when the face of the enemy loomed before them.

Polly's eyes locked with his and he let loose a triumphant cry. He grabbed her by a lock of hair, lifted her from the ground and dragged her from the field. Minnie clung to her wounded leg, and she couldn't decide which hurt worse, her head or her hip.

Through a blur of fear and pain, she watched a brave lower his hatchet into a cluster of stalks to her right. Ansonia and her children's gut-wrenching screams stopped. Despite her wounds, Polly fought her enemy with every ounce of her strength. A war club slammed into the side of her head. Reeling from the hard blow, her broken body tumbled to the ground forcing the brave to release her.

Paralysis turned to devastation when the Indian turned his weapon on Minnie and split her head open in one crushing blow. Sobs tore from Polly's throat. She clawed her way through the earth to reach her daughter.

When a foot stepped on her hand, she looked up into the hideous faces of six ghouls. She opened her mouth to scream when the first blow hit her near the collarbone,
before
she curled up into a fetal position. A dozen more rained down on her. "Mother of Jesus, help me." She wondered if she'd merely mouthed the words. She looked at the sun overhead—merciless, like the savages that killed her family. A black cloak descended and she wondered what she’d done wrong in her life to merit Satan’s wrath.

* * * *

Polly didn't know how long she'd been unconscious, but the sun's harsh rays had taken another huge toll on her body. Brown dirt mingled with dried blood and her long hair clung to her damp neck reminiscent of black leeches. A white-hot pain shot through her pelvis every time she moved or even twitched. She poked and prodded, looking for more broken bones and then breathed a sigh of relief that, other than her hip, she seemed to be intact.

Attempting to stand, dizziness overtook her and a loud, ringing noise that sounded like a thousand echoes took flight in her head. Collapsing to the ground again, she grabbed the earth in a feeble attempt to stop her world from spinning out of control. Long minutes later, determined to get her bearings, she drew several deep breaths.

She listened to the still air around her and heard nothing but the frantic beating of her heart. Like a crab, she crawled toward the cornfield, ignoring the flies buzzing around her head. At the edge of the rows, she found Minnie.

A series of gasping sobs left her lips as she cradled her youngest daughter in her arms. She kissed her forehead and next her lips. "Goodbye, my little darling."

Dragging herself into the stalks, she came upon Sam and Ethan. Her beloved husband lay on his side with one arm stretched over his head. A multitude of arrows protruded from his chest and neck, but the bullet between his blue eyes tore a horrendous path of grief through her that could never be exorcised. She kissed him for the last time, the source of her emotional torment now stronger than her physical wounds.

She crept toward a tangled thicket near the edge of the woods. Prickly thorns tore at her arms and face, adding fresh wounds to her ravaged body. Near collapse, she crawled inside a large, hollow log and covered herself with branches and leaves. A ray of hope came to her when she thought about Martha and Jack, and a litany ran in her head. She repeated the words as she drifted in and out, "Not them too. Please, Dear Jesus, spare them."

In the recesses of her brain, she wondered what caused the Sioux to attack the settlers. They’d lived in peace among them for years. She tried to recall her attacker's faces, and despite their colors of war, she recognized several.

She couldn't think about what had happened, or think about the death of her loved ones. If she wanted to live, she’d have to forge through a mile of dense thicket, stay off the main road and pray the savages wouldn't find her.

She left her cradle of safety and followed a well-concealed path along the river. Between hobbling on her good leg and making frequent stops to rest, progress crept along at a snail's pace. Exhaustion and pain companioned her and the mosquitoes became her closest friends. Yet onward she journeyed, alternating between a crawl and a drag. She had to make it to the ferry crossing.

Dusk had settled over the land by the time she reached the river. Up ahead she'd find the crossing. Hysterical sobs escaped her when the man who ran the ferry came into view.

Herbert bounded from the raft to assist her. "Polly... for God sakes!"

"Thank the Lord you're still here."

"I'm here, been transporting wounded settlers all day long."

"They killed everyone!" Polly cried. "Sam's gone, Minnie, Ethan Garrett and his wife, their two boys¯everyone!"

Herbert helped her onto the ferry and fastened a bandana around her thigh to stop the flow of blood. "Polly, listen to me," he said amid her incoherent rambling. "Where are your other young children¾Martha and Jack?"

"She ran, oh God, she ran through the cornfield with the baby. I told her, 'run as fast as you can until you reach the woods.'" She covered her face with her hands. "I don't know if they made it out alive."

"Now, now." He patted her arm. "It's going to be all right. There's a family waiting on the other side. They have a wagon and said they'd wait until I returned one more time. They'll take you to the doctor at Fort Ridgely¯if they haven't killed him too."

"What about you, Herbert?" Her eyes searched the woods. "You must come with me; they'll find you out here and kill..."

"I can't leave, ma'am. There's more like you out there trying to reach the ferry."

Polly rode into Fort Ridgely with a group of settlers in the middle of the night. The timbered walls bore evidence of recent battle. The wounded straggled in as the fort's inhabitants prepared for another attack. Polly recognized friends and neighbors she'd known since settling in the area. Horror stories of their plight filtered throughout the fort. Savages had set upon them mercilessly and their wounds proved it.

The women looked pale and dazed, the children blank-eyed and lethargic. Their clothing in tatters; most had lost their shoes. What an odd thing to notice at a time like this. What had happened to their shoes?

Someone transported Polly to the barracks. A surgeon removed the bullet from her hip after administering a heavy dose of laudanum. Night descended on the fort and memories of Sam, Minnie and their life crushed her.

The hostiles attacked Fort Ridgely at dawn. Polly watched the horrific scene through a window in the barracks. Although vastly out-manned and out-gunned, the defenders repelled their attack and sent the Sioux scurrying into the woods with their tails between their legs.

Despite her debilitating pain, Polly let out a loud hoorah, limped back to her cot and wondered how she'd live without Sam.

* * * *

Brand stood on the front porch at Full Circle, sipping his coffee, mesmerized by the magnificent view this morning. He'd never truly appreciated the beauty of the ranch until he came to live here. Golden shafts of sunlight cut through the vivid sky, bathing the pines and hardwoods in a surreal amber light. The sound of footsteps over his shoulder broke his reverie. Earth-brown eyes flecked with gold appeared in his line of vision when he turned around.

"Good morning." Lauren took a sip of her coffee and leaned against the railing beside him.

"Morning yourself, beautiful." Any endearment from his lips made her blush. "I'm enjoying the morning breeze before it runs away."

"It looks like another scorcher will roll in soon," she said, lifting her long, heavy hair from her neck. "What are your plans for the day?"

"Thought I'd check on what's astir in New Ulm."

"Not you too?"

One brow lifted. "What do you mean by too?"

"You can stop treating me like a child any day now." She chuckled. "Uncle Mason filled Aunt Estelle and me in about the trouble brewing with the Sioux."

"I wish he wouldn't expose you and your aunt to the idle chit-chat of old timers."

"Really?" she said. "If it's just idle chit-chat why are you so anxious to ride into New Ulm?"

"I'm concerned, that's all; want to see for myself what the ruckus is all about." He tossed the remainder of his coffee over the railing.

"Do be careful, Brand." She sounded like she really meant it. "Hank came back this morning, said he got caught in the middle of an explosive conversation while picking up supplies."

"What happened?"

"One of the chiefs said their children are starving and the army refuses to open the warehouse to give them food. Their annuity payments from the government haven't arrived yet."

"Late again, huh? The government claims they need the gold for the war, so too bad for the Indians."

"Do you blame them then?"

He shook his head.

"What about the traders, can they get supplies from them?"

"They're not willing to grant them credit." Brand looked toward the horizon as if something caught his eye.

"What's wrong?" Lauren followed the direction of his gaze.

"Nothing, I thought I smelled smoke again. Someone must be burning something in the woods."

"Well back to the traders." Lauren snarled. "According to Aunt Estelle they share much of the blame in the entire scope of things. Throughout the years, they've cheated the Indians when they bring in their furs."

"I agree with your aunt. The traders band together and refuse to grant credit, and when the natives finally receive their annuity payments, the traders raise their prices."

Her eyes sparked, an indication she didn't approve of what was going on. "The natives don't comprehend what money is worth and now they've sold their land to the government and must wait through a thousand excuses to receive what's owed them. We need a new Indian agent, an honest man who cares about the plight of the natives."

"Listen to you," he said with a sincere smile. "You just might turn into a benevolent philanthropist yet."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you poking fun at me?"

"No, as a matter of fact," he drew her into his arms, "I'm very proud of you." Secretly, he thought the word
beguiled
would also fit. "You're more like Estelle every day, and like her, hold immeasurable compassion in your heart for the downtrodden."

"You think I've changed?"

Intoxicating
and
utterly beautiful
would also work in place of proud
.
"You've changed immensely from the girl who stormed in from North Carolina a short time back." He looked toward the woods again and tried to shake the unsettling feeling clinging to him. "Just to be on the safe side, maybe you and little Finn should come with me. We could stay at the new hotel until this trouble with the Sioux blows over."

She scanned the boundaries of Full Circle. "Thank you, but I wouldn't feel right about leaving Aunt Estelle and Uncle Mason if something is truly brewing."

"If you need anything while I'm gone, you'll find Hank and Justus in the barn."

"Go." She gave a playful push to his shoulder. "And stop acting like an old fusspot."

He delivered a kiss to her cheek. "I'll return by nightfall, but just in case, load the shotgun and keep it near."

"Brand!"

"What?"

"You're frightening me."

"You, scared? Ha! That'll be the day."

"You know I don't like shotguns, but if it makes you feel better, I'll load it."

"That's my good girl."

The ominous feeling returned as he walked from the porch. He never liked to leave Lauren, but this morning, leaving her seemed harder than ever.

He stumbled upon Biddle near the corral. "Where you headed with that fishing pole?"

The old black servant pointed toward the river. "I got my eye on a passel a fish jess hankerin' to get caught, Master Brand."

"Save one or two for me."

"Yessah, I will."

Brand mounted and headed for the road leading to New Ulm. In the distance, he heard Biddle singing
Go Down Moses.
The roan beneath him ambled along without direction. He pulled the hat over his brows to block out the bright rays of the sun and thought about the letter his parents received from Creed last week. Like his brother, the missive was direct and edgy.

He didn't know what had made Creed so vicious at times. The man was like a rock, solid and impenetrable. He'd never shown emotion as a child, not even when Billy Bates beat the shit out of him at school. Three years older than Creed, Billy had it out for his brother and proved it during the nasty, bloody fight.

Creed took the beating standing up and fought back the best he could, despite the broken nose, regardless of the blood pouring down his face like a leaky sieve. Brand stood on the sidelines and winced every time his brother took another blow to the face.

The teacher broke it up and sent Creed home with a note. He couldn't come back to school until he wrote a hundred times on the slate
I’ll never fight at school again.
It took their ma and pa two weeks to convince Creed to do his penance, but even that didn't stop him from fighting.

Two days after he returned to school, Creed waited for Billy and caught him on the narrow path in the woods. This time, Creed was ready and so were all the boys who heard the rumor Creed and Billy would fight again. By the time Creed had finished with Billy, the boy's face looked purple eggplant and he cried out for mercy. Brand wondered at the time who in hell woke the rabid dog. From that day forward, everyone cut a wide path for Creed, including Billy... and including him. Damn, his brother could be a ruthless son of a bitch.