The Coming Storm (10 page)

Oh, God, please get me home. Please give us a miracle
.

Sam woke Cole at exactly three. Cole sat up with a start. For a moment he gripped his revolver and scrutinized the young man standing over him. He could barely see him in the dark.

“Sorry . . . didn’t mean to scare you, Cole. It’s your watch.”

Cole calmed and released the gun. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he got to his feet. “Thanks, Sam. Sorry if I scared
you
. I rarely wake up shooting. I’m usually good about figuring out my targets first. What’s the situation?”

The young man shook his head. “Mr. Keefer figures there are at least fifty, maybe more. They’re waiting for first light— leastwise that’s how Mr. Keefer has it figured.”

Cole nodded. “Try to get some sleep. Nothing will happen for at least a couple of hours. No Indian in his right mind is going to try to fight us in the dark.”

“Guess not.” Sam didn’t sound convinced but nevertheless walked off across the camp.

Cole quickly gathered his things, then rounded up Buddy. He saddled the horse in record time, then tied on his gear. Daniel had plans to be ready to fight or flee with the first light. By Cole’s best guess that would come in about three hours. Maybe even a little earlier. They needed to be ready.

By five, the camp was starting to stir. A baby cried in one of the wagons. It gave Cole a sickening sensation in his stomach. He could hear other children talking in hushed whispers to their parents. Would any of these little ones live to see another day?

Oh, God, please deliver us from this battle. You know these folks aren’t prepared or capable. Our only sin is being here
.

Cole rode Buddy around the perimeter of the circled wagons. His keen eyes scanned the horizon for signs of intruders. Daniel suggested the Sioux would slip in early and low, but so far, Cole hadn’t seen any signs of them.

“What do you think?” Daniel questioned, riding up on his bay.

“I still think they’re waiting for sunrise. I’ve heard some rustling out there, but I haven’t seen anything.”

“Well, there’s no doubt they’re out there.”

Cole nodded. “I know.”

The next hour seemed to creep by, leaving Cole tense, his shoulder muscles aching and tight. The skies were a mottled blue-lavender just before the sun peeked up above the horizon. Cole scanned the land around him. Maybe they were mistaken. Maybe the Indians had given up the idea of attack. Maybe— The crack of a rifle being fired split the otherwise silent morning air. Cole felt the air go out from him. He turned Buddy back to the camp and barely made it before the screaming cries of nearly a hundred Sioux warriors descended upon them.

Cole freed Buddy and took cover behind one of the wagons.

“They gave no sign,” Cole announced as Daniel Keefer raced up.

“Figures. Well, we were as ready as we were gonna get,” the older man said, taking his position. As the Sioux came swooping at them from every direction, the settlers had no choice but to fire.

Cole emptied a box of ammo on the ground. “We’re in for the fight of our life!” The words no sooner left his mouth than a bullet ripped into Daniel’s shoulder. Blood immediately poured from the wound and his right arm went limp.

Without missing a shot, however, Daniel simply changed arms, firing with the stock against his left shoulder.

Cole heard the screams of children and women coming from behind him. He turned just in time to see a mounted warrior leap over a wagon tongue and enter the camp. Cole turned and fired at the man, dropping him to the ground.

Cole had no sooner refocused on the attack in front of him when a bullet grazed his arm. A burning sensation traveled down into his fingers. Ignoring it, he continued to fire the rifle, stopping only long enough to reload.

“This is hopeless,” Keefer cried just before an arrow pierced the middle of his throat.

Time seemed to stand still after that. Cole saw the despair— the death—in Daniel’s eyes. The injured man slumped, trying to speak, as another bullet caught him in the head. Cole couldn’t even stop long enough to offer him comfort. In the next second, Cole took two arrows himself, both in the chest. They impacted with a dull thud, stunning Cole enough that he dropped his rifle. He stared down momentarily, dazed at the sight of the protrusions.

He gasped for breath. Stretching, he reached for the rifle. It seemed like it had fallen a hundred feet away. He tried to raise it, but the muscles in his arms and chest refused to work. He felt the rifle slip from his fingers as dizziness overtook him.

Cole closed his eyes. He could smell smoke, hear the Sioux war cries.

“Dianne,” he whispered, pulling his revolver from his holster. “Think about Dianne.” The thought gave him strength.

He raised the gun and squeezed off two shots before a Sioux bullet grazed his head. Cole was surprised the pain was only minimal. How many hits could he take before his body gave up?

Cole fell back, the revolver in his hands. Daniel Keefer lay dead not a foot away—his open blank eyes staring at Cole.

The world tilted, first left and then right. Cole looked down at his blood-covered shirt. He touched the arrows, marveling at the skill it must have taken to create such accurate weapons. How strange, he thought, to consider that now—at a time like this.

They were completely overrun now. Cole saw a woman cut down with a tomahawk. The man who’d tried to defend her fell at her side, his body riddled with bullets and arrows.

“Dianne,” Cole panted, the pain searing his chest. Breathing seemed a pointless labor, but still he would not die.

And then the world went completely silent. Cole was certain this must be the precursor to death. He listened, hoping to hear angels. His mother had once said that heaven was full of angels singing choruses to God. He wanted to hear the music. Closing his eyes, Cole smiled. He could hear it. He could hear the angel songs.

CHAPTER 8

D
IANNE STOOD AT THE TOP OF HER FAVORITE HILL.
T
HE
long walk had given her much time to think. September was already upon them, and there was no sign of Cole. She searched the trail that would bring Cole to the ranch, but it was empty. Just as it had been the day before and the day before that.

“Where is he, Father?” she prayed aloud. “I’m so worried about him.”

Aspens in the valley below rustled whispers on the wind, but they offered no comfort. Dianne pushed back strands of unruly blond hair and tucked them under her wide-brimmed hat.

With her hand to shield her eyes further, she strained to see any sign of life on the hills beyond the ranch. She didn’t even see any deer or elk. “Lord, I just want him to come home safe. Please bring him home.”

Dianne knew God cared about her and would definitely hear her prayer, but she also knew that His plans were not always hers. Turning back to gaze upon the ranch, Dianne couldn’t help but smile. Uncle Bram had worked hard all summer to put his plans into motion for the big house.

To Dianne the new house was reminiscent of a palatial mansion she’d once seen in Memphis. The main portion of the house was already in grand order. Bram had hired extra men from Virginia City to help with construction, and when the livestock didn’t require their attention, every hand on the ranch was busy at work on the new house. Dianne had marveled at the transformation.

Wagonload after wagonload of lumber had been brought in from area sawmills, while other supplies were shipped in from the east by train, then transported over the mountains to the ranch. Bram had spared no expense, and the amassed goods were quickly transformed into a house that would rival any eastern society home. Bram had told Dianne he would take great pleasure in putting Koko in such a regal home. She deserved good things, and Dianne agreed. If it weren’t for Uncle Bram and Koko, Dianne knew she and her brothers would probably never have made it in Montana Territory.

Sitting down on the browning grass, Dianne let her thoughts wander. Uncle Bram hoped to have the house completed by winter, but in order to do so, he’d had to let other important ranch duties slide. Gus Yegen, his foreman and best friend, had been handling things quite capably, but soon winter would be upon them, and before the snows set in, the herd would have to be driven to winter range.

Thoughts of the herd gave Dianne a real feeling of contentment. The herd had been small when she’d first come here in 1865, but now, five years later, it had grown to a respectable size. Each year, at Gus’s direction and insistence, Bram brought in more animals from Texas. Gus had good connections in that southern state, and his friends were only too happy to cut Bram generous deals that profited them both.

Watching the ranch grow had blessed Dianne in a way she couldn’t begin to explain. With Faith and Malachi now on hand, they were better equipped than any outfit in the territory. Malachi’s blacksmithing talents had brought in neighboring ranchmen and in turn had given the former slave an extra source of income. Bram never begrudged his employee the opportunity to earn money. In fact, he encouraged it, and Dianne had nothing but the highest regard for her uncle’s generosity.

“We’re all blessed by Malachi’s ability,” Bram had told her once. “No sense trying to hoard that all to ourselves.”

Dianne couldn’t have agreed more. The former slave was only now appearing to be comfortable with his role at the ranch, and Uncle Bram’s generosity helped to teach both Malachi and Faith that not every white man was out to get what he could from them.

To Dianne’s relief, Faith was showing signs of healing. She took great pleasure in helping with the house and the children, and in turn, little Susannah seemed to delight in Faith’s company. To Dianne’s amazement, Koko never seemed ill at ease with all the attention exchanged between the two. Dianne wondered if she herself would feel as content to give her child over to another woman’s care—even Faith’s. But Koko seemed to understand the importance of drawing Faith into her little circle of family. In some ways, Koko almost forced her small daughter into the care of the wounded woman. Koko had a way about her that suggested she was purposefully choosing this path in order to see Faith made whole. Her kindness to a woman who until last January had been a total stranger was impressive. Dianne could only hope to emulate such generosity.

The sound of a horse approaching at a rapid pace caught Dianne’s attention. She jumped to her feet and wheeled around, wondering—hoping, really, that it might be Cole returning. Instead, she found her brother. Morgan brought the horse to a stop just a few inches from where his sister stood.

“You up here moping?”

“No, just dreaming.” She smiled and added, “There’s a difference.”

“Well, dream no more,” he said, thrusting an envelope at her.

“He’s written.”

Dianne’s smile broadened. “Truly?” She grasped the envelope, recognizing Cole’s scrawled script. She pressed the letter to her breast. “Oh, I’m so happy.”

“I kind of figured you would be—that’s why I rode as hard as I could to bring it to you.” Morgan took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Hope it’s good news.”

“I’m just happy to have news, but I hope it’s good too.”

“Well, you gonna read it or just hug it?”

“I kind of figured to read it in private.”

Morgan pushed his hat back on and shook his head. “I rode all that way and you’re gonna read it in private?” His expression suggested she was completely unjust in her thinking.

She took pity on him. “All right.” She opened the letter and sighed at the disappointingly short missive. “‘Dearest Dianne,’ ” she read aloud, “‘We’re in Cheyenne and I figured to send this out on the mail train. Travel west has been impossibly slow. Sickness has overtaken us on more than one occasion, and the travelers are discouraged. Hope to be home by September, but only if the weather holds and we can avoid Indian trouble. Love, Cole.’ ”

“That’s it?”

Dianne nodded, already rereading the words, as if she might find hidden meaning in the few lines. “That’s it.”

“Seems hardly worth riding all that way for,” Morgan said.

She met his teasing gaze, realizing he was trying to cajole her into a better mood. “I suppose he couldn’t write much on the trail. I remember how hard it was. Given his duties, he did well to send this.”

“Well, it was posted in early August. I would think he’d be home any day now, so you’d better lose that dreary look and get a smile back on your face.” He remounted and reached down. “Come on. I’ll ride you back home.”

“That’s all right. I’d rather walk. I want to pray and thank God for giving me this much.”

Morgan nodded. “I’ll see you at the house, then.” He rode off , his pace much slower than it had been when he’d approached.

Dianne tucked the letter into her skirt pocket and headed back toward the cabin. Bram hoped to have them in the big house soon, but in some ways Dianne knew she would always miss the little cabin they shared. That house was a true home of love for Dianne. That home had made the losses in her life seem so much less severe.

Dianne was about a quarter of a mile from the house when Faith appeared from her own home and waved. She and Malachi had been in their new place since late in the spring. Malachi especially loved having his very own blacksmith shop, which was just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Smiling and waving, Dianne was pleased when Faith headed out to meet her on the trail.