The Bride Wore Feathers (44 page)

He took her trembling shoulders in his hands and told the story he'd settled on. The one he would tell for the rest of a life that had been miraculously returned to him. "Just before the Seventh pulled out, your uncle assigned me to guard a prisoner. I got stuck on guard duty watching some guy I never seen before. The general didn't even bother to tell me what the prisoner had done wrong, just told me to watch him till he got back."

"But," she said, eyeing the bloody bandage wrapped loosely around Barney's skull, "you're wounded. If you didn't go with them, how were you hurt?"

"I didn't say I was too good a guard. The prisoner got loose somehow, then split my scalp open when he made his escape. I got a lump the size of my fist on the back of my head."

But Dominique wasn't listening to his woes. She was frantic with worry, desperate to learn where Jacob had been during the battle. Had he been fighting against his own people, the Lakota, alongside her uncle Armstrong?

Or had he ridden into battle as a soldier, only to turn on the cavalry once the battle erupted? Or had he lurked on the fringes of the battleground, unable to do either? Dominique swayed against Barney's chest.

"Let me help you back to the ship, Miss DuBois," he offered as he noticed the glazed look in her eyes.

"What's happened to Jacob?" she said in more of a wail than anything. "Where do you think Jacob is now?"

"Honey," he said solemnly, "I think you'd better forget about him. I think he went the way of your family."

At his words, Dominique's tears finally fell. Jacob
was
her family, as much a part of her as the Custer blood chilling her suddenly frozen veins. A painful flood burst from her, splattering the front of Barney's shirt, soaking her own. She allowed the tears to fall for several minutes, gave in to the feelings of hopelessness and anguish. But then, as she thought of Jacob, of his strength, and of the love they'd shared, her tears ebbed as quickly as they'd begun.

Dominique stood erect, her shoulders square and proud. She glanced back toward the ship, heard the moans of the dying men, and wiped the final tear off her cheek.

"If you can manage that bump on your head by yourself, Barney," she said, her voice curiously distant, "I'd better go see what I can do to help the wounded." Then, without waiting for his reply, she turned and marched back to the gangplank.

"Well, I'll be damned," Barney muttered, thoughtfully stroking his straggly mustache. "If she don't beat all."

Then, as he'd done almost continuously since Jacob cracked his skull, Barney continued talking to himself, "Either that gal is a bigger chip off the ole Custer block than I thought or she's gone totally insane from living with those danged Sioux."

* * *

Although every available inch of space was occupied by over fifty wounded men, the
Far West
was assigned the unenviable task of speeding up the Yellowstone River, then on to the Missouri River to deliver the terrible message to Fort Lincoln and the world. In record-setting time, the steamship plowed through over seven hundred miles of water in only fifty-four hours. It was nearly midnight on July 5 when the overworked engines of the
Far West
finally shut down.

Sequestered in her cabin for some deserved rest after tending to the injured men for yet another full day, Dominique sat bolt upright on the bunk. The silent engines, producing more noise than her troubled mind could bear, coaxed her to place her aching feet on the floor. She stood, wobbly and dizzy, and staggered over to the porthole. The streets of Bismarck swarmed with men from the ship and townsfolk roused by their excited voices.

By the light of dawn, she would be transported to the fort. Too soon she would have to face her aunt, find a way to ease Libbie's grief and endure her own.

Dominique took a breath of the stale night air. She'd grown strong over the past few weeks, she thought, wondering how she would handle this latest test. Finding a way to assuage Libbie's loss and control her own feelings about losing the general and the others would be difficult but not impossible. What would she do with the part of her she would have to hide? Who would help her bear the loss of her own husband? Who was there to care?

Dominique rested her forehead against the glass as a new wave of panic swelled up in her throat. Still she thought of Jacob. Still she dared to dream he was alive.

"Jacob?" she said in a smothered whisper. "Jacob, please hear me. Please remember that I love you."

* * *

To the southwest, deep in the Bighorn Mountains and farther from Dominique than either of them could have imagined, Jacob struggled for lucid thought. Unable to remember how he'd been saved from his own confused mind, he realized that he'd somehow been pulled from the icy waters of his nightmares. Now he fought another element, one even more frightening than the cold death he'd faced.

Somehow his skin had become parched, felt as if his body had been buried in the scorched earth of the summer plains. He tried to move his limbs, to crawl along, digging into the blistering dirt and sand with his fingers on a search for life-giving fluids.

His tongue, swollen and cracked, filled his mouth. And still, though his voice was feeble, he managed to call for his woman. "Dominique."

A vast nothingness surrounded him, yet flames reached out, stabbing his fevered flesh at will, burning his already blistered body unmercifully. Jacob tried to open his eyes, struggled to get his bearings, but when he finally managed to crack one eyelid, the shock of the bright light sent a spiraling flame through his head. Never before had his pain been so overwhelming, so intense. But still he fought, still he struggled to find the way to his sanity, to his life. To his woman.

"Dominique," he whispered thickly, again renewing his fight.

His cries and struggles were suddenly tethered as strong hands swooped down on him, pinning him against the blistering earth. He opened his mouth to cry out, but his efforts filled his lungs with the same flames licking his body.

"Bring more water. His fever rises," a deep masculine voice ordered.

"He will die," a woman wailed through an anguished sob. "He will die."

"Silence," the man said. "Get the water."

Jacob heard those excited voices, wondered if the footsteps accompanying them belonged to an angry god. But then his battered brain gave up on him again. The flames of hell sucked him back into the abyss.

Chapter 21

Bismarck,

July 25, 1876

Barney watched Libbie Custer walk over to the boardwalk, then he turned back to the rig. Holding out his arms, he smiled and said, "Now it's your turn, Miss DuBois. Lean over and put your hands on my shoulders."

With no outward emotion, still as unresponsive and tight-lipped as she'd been over the past two weeks, Dominique did as she was told and allowed Lieutenant Woodhouse to lift her from the buggy.

"There you go, honey," Barney said as he set her on the street. Still trying to get through to the nearly catatonic woman, he suggested, "Why don't you go stand over by your aunt and get out of the hot sun until your train is ready to leave?"

With a blank stare and a shallow breath, Dominique lifted the hem of her black silk mourning dress and followed his instructions.

Behind her, his heart breaking for both of the unfortunate women, he babbled on, even though he knew no one listened. "That's right. You get on out of the sun. I'll just go back to the buggy and unload all your luggage."

As Dominique neared the boardwalk where her aunt paced restlessly, a whoosh of steam caught her attention. Slowly turning, she glanced at the train that would carry her back to Michigan, back to her father, and away from what might have been.

The heaving machine beckoned, drawing her anguished mind to a lovely day in May. She'd stood in very nearly the same spot then, watching Jacob. Loving him. Soothed by the memories, Dominique wandered over near the tracks. Even though billows of steam jetted toward her, adding to the discomfort of the miserably hot morning, she continued, caught by the shiny black engine. As she approached, she thought back to Jacob, to the wonder in his eyes and to the child she could see exposed in them that day. Suddenly feeling close to him again, wanting only to share some small part of him, Dominique reached out to touch the engine, mimicking the action she'd seen him perform so long ago. The hot metal seared the pads of her fingers.

"Oh," she called out, as much with pain as with a sudden flash of insight. "Oh, my stars."

Reality shattered her reverie, drove its point home as if on the tip of a saber. And finally Dominique understood what her heart and body had been trying to tell her for the last two weeks.

Jacob lived.
Not as her husband, not as the lover she ached to hold in her arms again. His life had been returned, continued, through a gift, a miracle of love. Jacob's fire still flickered, grew even larger within her womb.

Through a sudden rush of tears, of joy, Dominique stumbled backward, lurching in a half-circle as she tried to regain her footing, her composure.
Jacob, oh, Jacob, did you know? Could you have guessed what you were leaving behind?
Overcome by the surge of emotions, drowning in a sudden wave of love, Dominique reached out, searching blindly for her balance.

Libbie watched, terrified that her niece would fall face down in the street. She called to Barney as she hurried down the boardwalk. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant, quick, grab Nikki. She's going to faint."

In a daze of another kind now, Dominique barely noticed the strong arms supporting her or the dainty hands guiding her along the boardwalk to a bench. She sat when Libbie gently pushed her shoulders down, but she stared at the train, her eyes moist and trancelike.

"There, there, dear," Libbie comforted as she sat down beside her. "It's going to be all right. Someday it's just got to be all right again." Struggling to hold in her own tears, Libbie lifted her handkerchief and began to fan her niece.

Flushed with joy, blooming with the first bud of happiness she'd felt since her last night with Jacob, Dominique allowed her lashes to flutter down on her florid cheeks.

Alarmed, Libbie looked up at Barney. "Well, don't just stand there, Lieutenant. Quick, go get a glass of water. Hurry."

Then she turned back to her niece and tried to put her own pain aside. "There, there you poor dear. Don't let your grief or the horrible memories of your time as a captive overcome you. You must be strong. Autie would want it that way."

The sound of Libbie's voice, the words she knew must be terribly painful for her to speak, brought Dominique out of her trance. "Oh, Aunt Libbie, please don't worry about me. It's not that I'm so upset or that—"

She cut off her own words as she realized what she'd been about to say. How could she possibly tell Libbie about Jacob, about her love for the man she also called Redfoot? Her aunt would never understand. Dominique had no one with whom to share this moment of joy. She would have to hide her happiness at discovering the knowledge of her destiny, the newfound purpose in her life. Now that existence, her future, would include the birth of Jacob's child, she thought, suddenly radiant. She could go on with her life, fulfill this obligation lovingly, and perhaps deliver a special message as well. How could she ever explain what she must do now to her family?

She needed more time to think. Dominique's head slumped and her eyes closed as she feigned another dizzy spell.

"Oh, please, Nikki," Libbie begged. "Hang on. Be strong." She turned her head, peering around the corner, and muttered, "Where is the lieutenant with your water?"

Prepared now, Dominique straightened her shoulders. "I'm all right, really I am. It's just that I've finally realized I can't leave here. I can't go home with you."

"What? But of course you can. You have to, dear."

Again she hesitated, more sure than ever what she must do, still uncertain exactly how to do it. Finally settling on a half-truth, Dominique worked to produce the necessary distress in her voice. "We haven't talked about this before, but while I was a captive in the Hunkpapa village, certain things happened to me, things that need to be discussed."

"No, Nikki." Libbie pressed a finger to her niece's mouth. "I understand these savages practice unspeakable abominations on white women. There is no need for us to discuss this. I've taken it for granted that you were badly used. It's best if you try to forget it."