White Skies Black Mingo

In Ohio Country, 1854, twelve-year-old Margaret flees a terrible epidemic devastating her Ohio Seneca clan. Mentored in the ancient arts of medicine and healing at a young age, she travels to Wheeling, Virginia, in search of a new life with her mother and Shaman grandmother.

When Margaret finds herself suddenly orphaned, she is thrust into the wilderness and an impending winter storm. Abandoned amid fur trappers, wild animals, and fierce weather, she struggles to survive the treacherous journey along with her two beloved wolves, Hato and Kake.

An unexpected betrayal leads Margaret into servitude on a Virginia plantation. Her captivity changes the course of her life forever and sets her on a path of mercy as a medicine woman during the darkest hour of American History—The Civil War. A chance encounter with a Union soldier leaves Margaret torn between two very different worlds and one very forbidden love.

KEVIN D. MILLER

White Skies Black Mingo is Kevin D. Miller’s second book. His first award-winning book, Heart of Steel, is scheduled to be a feature film. Kevin was born in Canton, Ohio, and moved to Tempe, Arizona, at the age of six where he grew up. He has Bachelor degrees in Electronics Technology and Information Technology and is a professional Web Developer and Technical Writer.

A United States veteran, Kevin D. Miller, served in the U.S. Air Force eight years. Father and step-father to nine children, he and his wife, Annette, currently have twenty grandchildren between them. He currently resides in Southern California with his wife and two young daughters. Both daughters are pursuing careers in acting while they attend school.

KEVIN D. MILLER

White Skies Black Mingo

Kevin D. Miller

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books, Inc.

Terra Alta, WV

White Skies Black Mingo

by Kevin D. Miller copyright Š2021 Kevin D. Miller All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com Tel: 304-789-3001 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781951556501 Library of Congress Number is on file with the Library of Congress

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S T AT E S O F A M E R I C A

To my father, Robert J. Miller, who encouraged me to write.

To my wife, Annette, and all of our children who inspire me to write. In memory of my mother, Betty. To my great, great grandmother, Margaret Davis, whose love for my great, great grandfather, Charles Flagg, Sr., was the inspiration for this fictional story. A special dedication to the great Haudenosaunee Nation.

1 Black Mingo Fear creates a demon in the hearts of men. Fear provides that demon an illusion of great power. Remove the fear, and vanquish the demon.

EARLY SEPTEMBER, 1854 OHIO COUNTRY Death and disfiguration consumed us like a torch touched to a dry grassland. The devastation is behind us now. Grandmother, Mother and I are all who remain of our clan. Our wagon sits in front of a white man’s trading post in a small town with a name of little importance. We need their tools, clothes, blankets, and weapons. They want our tobacco, corn, squash, and beans. We all must learn to live in peace and harmony.

We’ve taken only what is necessary. What is most important.

A heavy overdress and leggings fight off the Fall chill. Moccasins warm frozen toes. A cherished cornhusk doll provides comfort and companionship when friends are scarce—an ancient tradition—colorful clothing, beads, and long black braids are sentimental reminders of home. Clutching the doll endears those memories.

It is wise to stay out of sight. Remain invisible among the woven baskets of goods stored on the weathered boards of our small family wagon. Out of reach of names like Black Mingo or Iroquois. Both offensive words to the Haudenosaunee and the proud Wolf Clan of the Ohio Seneca. But the white man sees 5

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the world through ignorant eyes and claims whatever lands that please him.

What is taking Mother and Grandmother so long? Do they need my help? No. I should wait here in the wagon until they return, as I was told. Grandmother will scold me if I disobey her.

Familiar, soft whimpering and whining reach her ears. A fine set of work dogs those two are. So impatient and restless from being tethered to the front of the wagon. They try so hard to sit and remain obedient. Maybe it won’t hurt to step off the wagon for just one minute. Their thick fur is plush and soft. Their necks heavily muscled. Father rescued them as pups. Hybrids of shepherd and wolf. Their tails slap the dirt. Warm, wet tongues lap her cheeks and nose.

“Kake. Aw. Such a good boy. Sit Hato. We’ll be leaving soon.

Just a few minutes more.”

Her cornhusk doll slips through her fingers and out of her arms.

“What’s this? Some kind of doll? It has no face! Ha-ha! Look.

Where are the lips? No eyes.”

“Toss it to me. C’mon. Let me have a look.”

“Here. Take a gander at this.”

Who are these boys? Why did they have to take my doll? “Give that back! That’s mine.”

“Whoa, she speaks English.”

“Yes. I do. I’ve been to your schools. Maybe you should learn to speak better English. Now give me my doll!”

“Here. Catch, Mingo.”

Her arms stretch high in the air, but the doll soars over her extended fingers and into the hands of the other boy. The doll flies back and forth, just out of reach each time. Their laughing and mocking words are hurtful and cruel.

“I didn’t know Injuns played with dolls. I thought ya’ll were savages, like your mutts over there.”

Why are the whites so cruel to us? I did nothing to them, yet they enjoy tormenting me.

It came out of nowhere. An instinctive reaction, perhaps. The sting on her hand raises a welt on the boy’s cheek. “Give it to me.

It belongs to me.”

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A pair of hands slam into her chest. She hits the ground in a heap. Dirt pelts her face and body. Breathing turns to choking.

The gritty crunch of sand fills her mouth. Brittle husks tear and crunch. The doll bounces off her chest in two separate pieces laying in the dirt beside her.

“There’s your doll, Mingo girl.”

No…no. The doll is broken. Why? Why be so mean?

A soft whistle penetrates the heavy air overhead. Splat! Blood drips from the lips of one of the boys. He yelps and clasps his mouth. His eyes widen, stumbling backward. A single bloody tooth drops into his hand. He shrills, then flees and disappears among the wooden buildings along the main road.

The other boy glances in the direction of the whistle. A stone pelts the knuckles of his right hand. He grasps his injured hand and cries out. He chases after the other boy, crying, “Isaac! Wait for me.”

Who is this boy standing over me now? His face is pleasant.

Friendly. He looks younger than me.

He holds a branch shaped like a V in one hand. A rock in the other, which he allows to drop. His dark bushy brows raise in unison with his smile. He extends a calloused hand.

His grip is strong. But…I am taller than him. Ha! The V-shaped branch now protrudes from a trouser pocket.

He retrieves the two halves of the cornhusk doll.

“Here you go. I’m sorry…looks like it’s broken…but hey, you have twins now.”

He’s kind. And sort of funny.

“Niá:wen.”

His nose crinkles. He slightly cocks his head. “What? I… don’t …”

“Thank you, I meant to say.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” He extends his hand toward her.

What is he doing?

He nods and extends his hand further. “Take it. It’s a greeting.

I’m Charlie. What’s your name?”

“I…I am called Kateri in my native language. Margaret Davis is my English name. How old are you, Charlie?”

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He glances toward the ground with a slight but crooked smile. He’s embarrassed. My question embarrassed him.

“I’m ten. But I’ll be eleven soon.”

“I am twelve years, Charlie. So, I am older than you.” She smirks.

“Well, pleasure to meet you, Margaret. What does Kateri mean?”

“It means ‘one who is pure in spirit.’ But I do not know if I am worthy of such a name.”

“I’m sorry…but I have to ask this. Why doesn’t your doll have any eyes…or a nose? Or a mouth, even? Is it finished? I mean, it can’t see nothing. How does it eat or smell? Kind of mean to make a doll go through life like that, isn’t it?”

“Uh…no…yes, it is finished. We do not allow ourselves to be concerned with an individual’s physical beauty. We are all equal in our beauty and in our spirit. The cornhusk doll is faceless to reflect that truth. And it is a doll, Charlie.”

He shrugs, rolling his eyes, chuckling. “I see. I guess not having a face would take care of that, huh? Wonder if none of us had a face? What would that be like?”

He doesn’t get it. Another dumb boy, just like back home.

Patting and brushing her clothing forms a cloud of dust and an urgent need to cough.

“Kateri.”

Grandmother’s voice is stern and an alarming reminder that she should be waiting in the wagon. Certainly not standing here, talking to a strange boy.

“I have to go. Thank you…again.”

The weight of the basket stresses her shoulders as she helps Mother and Grandmother load the goods. She takes her place at the rear of the wagon, drawing her knees into her chest and glancing at Charlie as the dogs begin to pull the wagon along the road away from town. She tightens the braids of two thick ponytails, loosened by the fall, and re-secures them with colorfulbeaded leather bands.

What’s he doing now?

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Charlie crouches and approaches the slow-moving wagon, removing an object wrapped in paper from his pocket. Her throat tightens and her eyes widen as he nears the wagon. She glances at Mother and Grandmother, then back at Charlie. He hands her the object and resumes walking upright—clearly amused at her distress.

Scrambling to find an appropriate gift to exchange with Charlie, she removes a beaded bracelet from her wrist. A bracelet made of bone, blue seashell beads, and leather. The central bead has a pale-blue pearly sheen shaped like the moon.

She whispers, “I made this when I was seven. Catch…to show my gratitude.”

She tosses the bracelet into the air. Charlie snatches it before it can touch the ground. He stares at the jewelry, eyes unblinking and mouth slightly open. His gradual smile sparks a pleasant nervousness in her tummy and a slight sadness in her heart watching him grow smaller in the distance as they move away from the small town.

What is this gift? The waxy paper crinkles and slides away, revealing a small round biscuit. White powder highlights the top, like virgin snow powdering a mountain peak. Red jelly oozes from a hole in its side like a mortal wound. She sniffs. A combination of sweetness mixed with berry and the scent of the sap of maple trees fill her senses. The dough crumbles in her mouth. Her salivary glands burst and burn with an overpowering sweetness and unexpected combinations of saltiness and tartness. She spits and frowns. She tosses the sweetbread from the wagon and wipes her lips with her dress.

She gazes back towards town. He’s completely out of view now. He was kind. Funny. Different from the others. He has the spirit of the sky in his eyes and the spirit of the bear in his heart.

Thank you for helping me, Charlie. *** Our people have suffered. The white man’s theft of our lands devastates our way of life. But all the damage their weapons 9

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and greed have cost us doesn’t compare to the white man’s most lethal curse of all. A curse they brought with them from their many lands across the great waters. Their sicknesses. Their bad medicine. A curse ravaging and consuming our lands and villages like a quenchless plague of locusts.

Grandmother’s medicine and gifts of healing could not fight these evil spirits. She was powerless, even as Clan Mother and healer. Fevers raged within our clan. The marks began to show on the skin of both young and old—male and female.

Grandmother said the evil spirits traveled through the breaths of the sick, poisoning the air around us. Her grandfather was a great Shaman. While this position is traditionally reserved for a man, he passed it on to Grandmother since he did not have a son. Now, that gift passes to me.

She teaches me to be a healer. She says Mother did not inherit the gift—that it skips a generation. Since I was a young girl, she has told me I possess this gift. What good is such a gift if it is powerless to save the lives of our people?

Most of our clan have died. We could stay no longer. The ones who survive will soon die. The other Clan Mothers begged us to leave. The men burned our homes. Burned our dead in the traditional burial ceremony. Freeing their spirits. We took what we could carry. Food. Skins. Beads and shells for trade. And now we are here. On the trail. Headed for Virginia to find a new home. We left our brother and our father behind. Carrying their memory with us. Abandoning our home. Uncertain what we will find, or how we will live.

“Kateri.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“We will rest here for the night. Help your mother set up the shelter. Then help me build a fire and we shall eat.”

Wood crackles, popping cherry-red sparks into the night sky.

The sounds calm the spirit with hypnotic songs of whispering wood. Flames flicker casting a soft glow dancing off the faces of Grandmother and Mother. Grandmother’s face is aged and wrinkled from years of carrying important responsibilities for our clan. A strong face, weathered by time—time that has stolen 10

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teeth and dulled the shine from her once luminous nut-brown eyes. Eyes she has passed down to me. Her body is crooked and frail. But her spirit is strong like the mountain. Her voice carries authority like the raging river. The women of our clan are strong leaders. Highly respected by all.

Mother’s face was once youthful. Now her ebony eyes are swollen and sunken. She neglects her beauty—her thick hair unbraided and tattered like the ruffled feathers of a raven. Lips and cheeks chapped and reddened. She speaks very little. It’s almost as if the loss of Father and my brother has already claimed her spirit. Sweat beads on her cheeks and brow. She doesn’t eat. I do not know how to comfort her. Or what words to speak. Even Grandmother cannot find the wisdom or words to give her rest.

It was Mother who taught me the importance of keeping my hair tightly braided and sleekly oiled to manage its bulkiness. She taught me how to look pretty, telling me it will help me attract a good husband someday. But I don’t know if I’m pretty. I hate the scar on my chin. I stood too close watching a game of stickball.

A boy we call Kicking Elk whacked me in the face as he slung the ball down the field. And I have the body of a boy. Something I hope will change soon. My legs are long and skinny and I am taller than most of the boys. But I can run like the whitetail. I could outrun every boy in our clan. They made fun of me for it.

But I didn’t care. It made me feel special beating them. I wanted to play stickball, but girls weren’t allowed. Probably because they were afraid to lose to us. The boys told me I smile too much. And that stickball was a serious game. I told them I also smile when I race. They had no answer for that.

A full belly after a long day brings on a trance and a heaviness too difficult to fight.

“Goodnight, Grandmother. Goodnight, Mother.”

“C’mon, Kake. Here, Hato. Into the wagon, both of you. Let’s go. You’re keeping me warm tonight.”

I would sleep with Grandmother and Mother, but there isn’t much room in the teepee. The warmth of Kake and Hato beneath the deerskin are enough to feel safe near the fire and sleep well.

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*** Stars flicker across a vast purple-blackness as moonlight bathes the land with a soft, serene glow. The forest is alive with the sounds of the night mixed with soft incantations and the gentle shaking of a snapping turtle rattle. The sweet scent of burning tobacco permeates the air.

Grandmother’s voice? How long have I been asleep?

“Stay, Hato. Lay still, Kake. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

A pounding heart steals her breath as she lifts the flap of the small teepee. Dread reverberates through her bones from guarded anticipation. These incantations are familiar. Grandmother wears the wooden mask of her grandfather with its deep-set eyes, bent nose, horsehair, and red and black paint. A tobacco leaf tied to its forehead. She sprinkles ash onto Mother. A bowl of corn mush sits next to her as an offering to the spirit of The Old Hunched Man. “Mother? Grandmother? What is happening?”

“Margaret, close the flap. Sit next to me, granddaughter.

Repeat the chants with me.”

Mother’s sweats have turned into a raging fever. The marks have appeared on her arms, legs, and torso. After finding the rhythm and cadence of Grandmother’s voice, two voices now chant as one in the night.

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2 Red Plague Coughing and wheezing—mother struggles for a breath. Her face glistens. She fades in and out of sleep, twitching, unable to move. Very few survive the fever. Nothing can stop its fierce and merciless grip. Grandmother chants. She’s wearied from hours of incantations and prayers to the Invisible Agents—the lesser spirits who will call out to The Great Spirit on her behalf. She perseveres.

“Grandmother, please rest. Nothing seems to be working.”

“Child, you must pray with me. Continue to learn the incantations. Two spirits speak with a greater voice.”

Grandmother sways back and forth. Chants, prayers, and song follow the constant rhythm of beads slushing and sliding inside a turtle shell rattle. I haven’t her strength. I try to join her, but I cannot.

“Mother. Mother, please don’t leave us. Please fight. I can’t lose you, too. I don’t know what I’d do. Stay with us. Mother… please.”

Her tired eyes meet mine. Glazed. Swollen and red. Her left eye bleeding. Yet, I see her. Her tenderness rises above the sickness sending a silent message of adoring love into my heart.

I feel her love. She places visions in my mind. But, how is this possible? She paints pictures and images my spirit can visualize.

She was young. Suckling me to her breast. Her love for me is beyond spoken words. I grasp the depth of her love for me now.

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This is Mother’s gift. She’s not a healer, but she can embrace my spirit and whisper thoughts and visions into my mind. But why does she choose to reveal this gift now? At this moment?

“Mother. I need you. Please don’t leave me. Not yet. Please fight…fight for me. Fight for us.”

“Grandmother, I must rest. I’m so sorry.”

Grandmother’s lap. I loved to lie here when I was a small child while she braided my hair and stroked my scalp with soothing strokes. I’m safe. Her soft chanting and the rhythm of the rattle tranquilize my thoughts and fears. *** Many days pass. Travel is impossible, forcing us to remain.

Grandmother continues to chant and watch over Mother. Neither has eaten. Where does Grandmother find her strength?

Mother appeared to be getting better, then fell into another raging fever. I just don’t know if she’ll make it. I pray to the Lesser Spirits each day and night, hoping they will send my prayers to The Great One. Winter is upon us and the snows and deadly cold will soon come. We must continue our journey to Virginia sooner rather than later.

Grandmother devotes her time teaching me the healing arts—preparing me to understand how different plants, berries, and barks of trees interact and work together—explaining their uses and secrets.

“Grandmother, what is this one? This one in the bone flask.

Why is it black? It smells sweet.”

“Be careful with this one, granddaughter. This one is nightshade. It can be very useful, but in the wrong dosage, it is deadly. Our men would often dip their arrowheads with its poison to bring down game or enemies. Just a few drops can slay the mightiest of warriors. In tiny doses, it can ease pain and allow surgery. Guard its contents well.”

“I will, Grandmother. Is there a remedy?”

Grandmother displays a small corked flask with a brown liquid inside.

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“This.”

“When will I possess the tools of a healer?”

“First learn the mysteries, Margaret. When my days have passed, all that is mine will belong to you. The responsibility will be yours. Use it wisely and only for the good of others.”

“Grandmother? How will I know the boy who will become my husband one day? How will I recognize him?”

“Keep your heart pure, child. The Great Spirit will give you a sign. A wonderful sign of innocence and purity. No matter where that sign leads, you must follow and not question.”

Grandmother’s hugs absorb all my fears and wipe away my many tears. Her loving embrace eases my spirit of its restlessness.

“Kateri.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“Sleep inside with us tonight. Give your voice to me and to your mother. We must cry out to the Good Spirits and pray they will speak to The Great Spirit.”

Matching Grandmother’s pace is near impossible. Her energy comes from the heavens—from our ancestors. Her lap is my safe place. The droning song of her voice carries my mind into deep slumber. *** “Kateri…Kateri. Wake up, daughter. Wake, child.”

Is it morning?

“Mother? You’re awake. The scabs are healing. Thank you, thank you, Great Spirit.”

Mother’s lower lip juts from her frown. Her eyes wide with concern. Her pointing finger trembles.

“Oh, yes. I must wake Grandmother and tell her the great news.”

“Grandmother. Grandmother, wake up. Mother is feeling much better. Your prayers…our prayers have been heard…and answered. Grandmother?”

She is seated in a position of prayer. Her knees on the ground.

Her body bent forward. The mask remains firmly in place and her hands folded on her lap.

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“Oh no. No, no, no. Grandmother! Wake up…please wake up. Mother. What’s wrong with her? She’s gone…Mother, she’s gone.”

Warm tears well, wetting her cheeks, muddying her vision.

Sobs turn to wails. She trembles. Mother’s feeble hand gently massaging her scalp cannot prevent her heart from shattering.

Grandmother was Clan Mother and healer of our people.

She sacrificed greatly for all who needed and depended on her wisdom and kindness. I loved her. I was special to her. She favored me over my brother and the others. I don’t know what she saw in me. She was my shelter in times of trouble. The wisdom in her words and the authority in her voice quieted my spirit and encouraged my heart.

She has sacrificed herself. Making a bargain with The Great Spirit. No man or woman could refuse her stubbornness or her persuasiveness. Not even The Great Spirit could refuse her bargain. She forfeited her life in exchange for Mother’s. And now, I must take her place as healer.

The pyre’s flame consumes the physical. It returns to the earth what once belonged to its fertile soil. Grandmother’s spirit rises within the ashes to freedom, becoming one with the wind and the trees of the mountains. Our hair bears the scent of smoke.

Tears evaporate from our cheeks.

We must depart with great haste. But Mother is too weak to travel on foot. She will ride in the wagon, covered in deerskin and fur. Our race is against time and the threat of weather that looms. Our treacherous journey forces us south along the Ohio River in search of Wheeling, Virginia.

“Kake. Hato. Let’s go.”

“Mother, rest, and stay warm. I will get us to Wheeling. I promise you. I promised Grandmother.”

Fall has arrived in the Ohio Valley. A mixture of goldenrod, maroon, and burnt orange leaves scatter in the breeze and blanket the forest floor. Roiling gray clouds portend the oncoming weather. The crunch of leaves under the wagon wheels combines with hisses and whines of blustering winds.

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Follow the Ohio River southward, Grandmother said. The river will guide us to a new life and a fresh beginning. Travel is slow. Kake and Hato pant and struggle pulling the wagon carrying Mother and what is left of our supplies. Kake is the strong one.

He has the size and stature of the gray wolf. His youth makes him restless. Hato is the wise one. More, white shepherd than wolf.

His wisdom keeps Kake calm and focused.

The forests near the river are dangerous. Not only because of the terrain, but because of the fur trappers, bears, wolves, and other tribesmen. We are exposed while traveling along its banks.

No weapons to defend ourselves. Only Grandmother’s herbs, tree bark, rattles, surgical blades, and ceremonial mask. Tools of a healer that now belong to me. I have returned her mask to its ceremonial blanket. The mask must be treated and cared for with the same respect as an ancestor.

“Mother, that small clearing against those trees will make a good camp for tonight. I’ll gather wood for a fire and set up shelter while daylight remains. We can eat and rest.”

Her voice is a raspy whisper. “I would like that, daughter.”

Mother’s fever has cooled, but she has lost vision in her left eye. The scars mar a face that is thin and gaunt. Shadows and puffiness deaden her eyes and spirit. She is my responsibility now. I must take up the chant and the prayers and recall all that Grandmother has taught me of the trees, plants, berries, and the herbs of the forest—why each one was given to Mother Earth.

Mother’s lips tremble with each bite I feed her. Her eyes tear.

She grimaces, attempting to find comfort in her bedding. A touch of oil of lavender glistens across her upper lip and nose. It will help her to rest and quiet her spirit.

“Goodnight, Mother. Sleep now. I’ll be right here beside you if you need me. I love you.”

Her fingers run through my hair, relaxing my body, creating tingles of electricity as she glides her fingertips across my scalp.

As her fingers slow, her breathing softens to a steady wheeze.

Crickets chirp and toads belch. The howl of a wolf in the distance blends with soft trickles of the river’s water splashing against the riverbank. Night is upon us.

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*** We have traveled many weeks, following along the banks of the Ohio River. Staying out of sight and blending as one with the trees of the forest. Mother grows weaker each day. She eats so little. I pray over her and chant as Grandmother taught me.

Feeding her herbs to calm her pain. I will make her well again.

Cold weather swept upon us—enwrapping us with its bitter embrace. Our travel is slow. The snows have not yet arrived, but Mother Earth warns of their approach. We will make it to Wheeling. I promised I would get us there, and I will keep that promise.

“Mother, here is my pelt. It will help keep you warm tonight.”

“Kateri. Look at me, child.”

Her gentle hand strokes my cheek. Her touch speaks affection to my heart words cannot. My eyes are reluctant—fearing the truth that might be revealed in hers. Maternal eyes growing dim of life, but glowing strong in their adoration.

“Daughter. I am slowing us down. You know this. We will not reach our destination if we continue at this pace.”

“No. No, Mother…I’m not listening.”

“Hear me, my sweet child. Winter is upon us. The snows will come very soon. We won’t survive out here alone. Take what you can carry. Take Kake and Hato and travel quickly along the river.”

“I cannot leave you here, Mother. You cannot ask me to do that. I will not do that. I promised you…and I’ll keep that promise. Please. Please stay with me. Don’t give up, Mother.”

“Rest, my precious child. You are a healer now…like Grandmother. You have a great responsibility. Grandmother’s spirit lives within you, as will I. Rest now, my daughter. As I must.”

“Yes, rest Mother. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s journey. I am sure we are close. We’ll be there any day now. You’ll see.”

Mother’s soft breaths rise and fall in a gentle rhythm. Her maternal face graced with peaceful dreams.

A kiss on the forehead and a whisper, “Goodnight, Mother.”

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Anxiety breeds a dagger of fear. Twisting and turning its harassing blade. Stealing away precious sleep. What if she can’t lead them to Wheeling? What if she isn’t the person Grandmother believed her to be? Grandmother passed this responsibility to her. But what if its burden is too demanding? *** Sunlight bathes her face with hues of rust and amber. Her deerskin vibrates from inside with shivers. The fire has gone out. Only embers remain. Smokey puffs fade and blend into the frozen morning air. A painful reminder of how late in the season it has become. Mother remains asleep.

Opening the flap of the teepee reveals a new layer of frost on the ground. A couple of fresh logs and the fire rages again, providing warmth and comfort. Shivers subside. Her eyes close, allowing the heat to bathe her cheeks. Tails smacking the ground and rapid panting interrupt her moment of solace. Two bodies plop next to her. Kake whimpers. Hato yips and barks.

“Ugh. I know, I know. I just need to warm up. Then I’ll make breakfast and wake Mother. Be patient, you naughty boys. All you two ever think about is food.”

Hato tucks his tail between his legs, rubbing his head along her arms and attempting to lick her face.

“Yes, you’re such a bad boy. But I still love you.”

Kake flops on his side and whimpers.

“What’s the matter, Kake? Why are you being such a crybaby this morning? Why aren’t you chasing birds, or running around on those crazy long legs of yours? Are you sick or something?”

Kake rolls onto his stomach and flattens his body against the ground, resting his head across his paws. His eyes glance at her then look away.

“Okay. I’ll wake Mother and we’ll eat and get moving. Will that make you both happy?”

Mother continues to rest. Her face is peaceful. I hate to wake her, but we must keep moving.

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“Mother, it’s time to wake up. I’ll make food, then we must go. It’s very cold out this morning…Mother?…hm…okay, you rest a little while longer while I make breakfast for us all.”

Our baskets are nearly empty. Only scraps remain. We’ll need to fish and hunt. Skills the boys were taught. Skills we’ll have to learn on our own. My days were spent weaving baskets and learning to grow food from the land.

“Here, boys. Your favorite. Beans and squash wrapped in cornbread. C’mon, eat it. It’s all I got. Eat it or starve. Or go find your own breakfast. There you go. Good boy, Hato. Kake, what is the matter with you? Eat.” Ah. How can Mother still be sleeping? The ground is coarse against her knees. She nudges Mother. Then nudges her again.

She caresses her face. A face cool to the touch.

“Mother? It’s time to wake up now. I have made our morning meal. Mother. Please wake.”

No movement. No response. A dull ache develops in the base of her throat. She gulps a pocket of air. Tears well and drip from her long lashes, creating tiny pitter-patters atop the furs covering Mother. Her breaths are quick and shallow. A paralyzing realization of dread flows from her chest to her feet. A cruel truth she already understood but refused to accept now grips her heart with sobering reality.

“Mother?”

I lay my head on her bosom. Waiting for her gentle touch. A touch that doesn’t come. Listening for her gentle heartbeat. Finding only silence. Winds whistle a haunting melody through the flap of the teepee. My heart empties like Autumn leaves from a tree. My mind in a trance, numbed by denial. How cruel and wicked the spirits can be. Why? Alone. Alone in an enormous world. Everyone gone. No one to hold my hand, or rub my scalp. Nobody’s lap to safely rest my head upon. No place to hide myself. Desolation has found my soul and claimed it.

She slips beneath the furs and lies next to Mother’s rigid body. Holding her. Gently pulling at the thick strands of her hair.

Kissing her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she rests her head upon the 20

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bosom that once suckled her. Hours pass. Her hopes and dreams drain into the earth like spilled milk. The end of the journey. A journey of unimaginable loss.

The Great Spirit can claim us all now. I won’t fight him. You can take my soul, too.

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3 Nightshade Winds push the pyre’s flames in every direction, forming wisps of smoke rising and blending with the graying skies. Warm tears cool as they run along her cheeks. Emptiness envelops her.

Reddened eyes blankly focus on the smoldering embers and Mother’s remains. Forlorn loneliness paralyzes her spirit with a realization of the terrible finality she faces.

She’s with Grandmother now. How I wish I were there with you both running through the Great Meadows beside the clear trickling streams and crystal waterfalls.

Hato and Kake lie at her side. Kake whimpers. Hato rests his snout across her lap. Winter snows loom. Time is growing short.

We must keep following the river and search for food. If the snows arrive too soon, we won’t survive the bitter cold without shelter—without food.

There’s no point in pulling the wagon any further. Most of the food is gone and its weight and bulkiness are a hindrance. The little food that remains can be carried. The teepee is cumbersome.

It must be abandoned.

Hato presses against her thigh as the journey continues along a path of the winding river. Guarding her. Kake darts about, barking and nipping at the air, trying to catch birds or anything that moves. The pace has hastened and their purpose urgent.

Freezing drizzle dampens her clothes and tingles her cheeks.

The road ahead is foggy. The temperature has dropped. It is too dangerous to travel.

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“Kake, c’mon. Let’s head into those trees. C’mon, boy.”

An umbrella of treetops filters the drizzle. She tucks beneath a deerskin and furs. Kake and Hato huddle on either side, adding their body warmth to hers.

“We’ll wait it out here, boys…till the weather clears.”

The squash has become mushy and barely edible. She gags.

Voices! English voices. Along the river.

“Kake. Hato. Sh. Stay still. Let them pass.”

Her heart pounds. Blood swooshes inside her ears. She conceals herself beneath the skin and furs. Her panting slows as the echoing voices fade in the distance, replaced by the peaceful trickling of the river.

Hato growls. Kake leaps to his feet and barks. After throwing off her coverings, her heart goes rigid, stifling her breathing.

Standing several feet away is a large white man. A trapper.

Wearing heavy skins and furs, a thick, peppery beard and a scowl. He holds a long flintlock musket. Kake stands his ground, growling, ears pinned, baring teeth dripping with saliva. Hato snarls and positions himself between her and the trapper.

“Call off your dogs, Mingo. Or I’ll put a musket ball in this one.”

“Kake. Kake, easy boy. It’s okay. Hato, calm down.”

Kake continues a low resonating growl. Hato stands steadfast by her side, eyes focused on the trapper.

The trapper grins, revealing several missing teeth. The ones remaining are yellow with rot. He carries the stench of a dead animal.

“Where’s your tribe? You lost out here, girl?”

She braces her back against the heavy base of a tree and slips one of grandmother’s surgical blades from her satchel into her palm. She grips it, pointing it at him. Trembling.

He guffaws. “What are you going to do with that, little girl?

Pick my teeth?”

He raises the musket. “Toss me that satchel. While you’re at it, toss me your skin and pelts.”

“No! Leave us alone, thief.”

His chuckle is raspy and grumbling. “Then, I’ll just have to take them from you, girl.”

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White Skies Black Mingo

Kake lunges, gnashing his canines and growling. The musket fires. Kake yelps and squirms, lying on the ground howling and whimpering. His coat, soaked in crimson.

“No! Kake! Why did you do that? You dog-faced animal!

Kake! No…no. You are a devil! Attack him, Hato!”

He drops the musket and yanks a wad of netting from under his coat. Hato’s charge is met with a weighted web of rope, entangling him and pinning him to the ground.

The trapper bites off a chunk of tobacco, cackling, and hacking as he approaches. He spits brown syrupy juice onto Kake’s face.

Her blade trembles. She discreetly reaches into her satchel and removes the small bone flask of black liquid. Her heart races, her breathing ragged and shallow. She pours several drops of the liquid across the blade with quivering hands and braces herself.

He drops a leather backpack from his shoulders, allowing it to hit the ground behind him with a thud. He grabs her ankles and drags her towards him, leaving her flat on her back and at his mercy. Her breath is pushed from her lungs from his weight.

She’s suffocating!

Stab him! Stab him!

Her wrist. He’s crushing it with his meaty grip. The blade slides from her hand. He tosses it into the brush.

“Let’s see what you have under these leathers, girl. Maybe something wet and warm for me?”

Her body is jerked upward, cloth rips, buttons pop. He snorts and slobbers like a wild pig. His breath mixed with rotting fish and tobacco. He sniffs her neck, the sound of his putrid lips, smacks inside her ear. His filthy beard chafes her face.

He whispers, “You’re gonna enjoy this, Mingo.” He chortles, raspy, and guttural. He pins her wrists to the ground.

Kake yelps and howls making a desperate lunge at him, tearing his ear and ripping beard and flesh from his face. He groans, releasing her wrists. He pulls a twelve-inch Bowie knife from his hip and drives it into Kake’s ribcage. Kake squeals then lies motionless and silent. He wipes blood from the blade onto his pant leg and jams the blade back into its sheath. He chuckles.

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She grasps the bone flask, raising it to her lips. She sips the sweet black syrupy contents and holds it under her tongue.

He turns his attention back towards her. “Sorry about your dawg. Now ready yourself, girl. It’s gonna hurt.”

His crusty lips brush against hers and his rancid tongue forces its way into her mouth. She spits every drop of the black liquid and gnaws at his tongue. He gulps and rips his tongue from her clenched teeth. He leaps to his feet, wiping his lips across his sleeve, spitting and spewing a fine mist of blood, saliva, and black liquid into the air. Tinges of blood stain his filthy beard.

“What was that, Mingo? What’d you spit into my mouth, bitch?”

She recoils, bracing herself against the base of the tree, spitting and wiping her lips and tongue across her sleeve. She glares and grins, defiant, and focused like a viper waiting for its venom to take effect.

“I have given you what you deserve, dog-face. Now you will answer to The Great Spirit for all your evil deeds. The EvilMinded One will claim your soul this day.”

“What the hell you babbling ‘bout?”

“It’s too late for you, now. The poison is in your mouth and already fills your veins.”

His eyes widen. He gags. Foam drips from glistening crimson lips. He drops to one knee with a thud, gripping his throat.

He unsheathes his Bowie and glares. His eyes wild, his pupils blackened. He hurls his blade barely missing her head. Its cold steel nicking her cheek and embedding deep into the tree trunk with a shuddering thump. His eyes roll white as he collapses. His body convulses, writhing in the dirt. Gasping and gurgling.

Her temples throb. The world becomes hazy. Trees bend, changing hue. Her lips tingle. She throws open the satchel and grabs a corked flask. Removing the cork with her teeth, she sucks every drop. Its vinegary flavor causes her to gag and salivate.

Light becomes intense and blinding. She falls forward wheezing.

Am I dying? If I am, I am ready. Kake. Hato. Where are you?

Grandmother? Mother?

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Swirls of confusion grip her mind. Visions of a blazing fire flash through her memories. Mother’s face smiles, twisting and deforming. Pustules form and burst, bloodying the fading images. Thunder explodes.

“Mother!”

She can’t control the twitching or the shivering. An ominous rotating vortex engulfs her turning her world to blackness. *** Hato whimpers. She lifts her torso upright and braces herself against a tree, gathering her thoughts and pulling her senses into focus. Head throbbing. Disoriented. The twisted body of the trapper stares at her with protruding lifeless eyes—bloodshot and opaque. Dried blood and vomit matt a ratty beard.

Her eyes meet Hato’s. His tail wags. He yips and barks, still entangled by the web of ropes.

“Hato. I’m coming, boy. I’ll get you out of there.”

Gripping the hilt with both hands, and one foot braced against the tree, she wrenches the twelve-inch Bowie from the trunk. Hato bursts through the sliced ropes and leaps on her. His warm tongue wets her chin.

“Good boy, Hato.”

She kneels next to the body of Kake. The spirit of her old friend has departed. He sacrificed his life for her. Somehow finding the strength to pull himself off the ground to make one last lunge at her attacker. Hato whimpers, licking and cleaning Kake’s snout, then dropping to the ground beside him.

The Bowie creates a shallow grave where she lays the body of her beloved Kake to rest. She gently smooths the earth over him, lining his grave with stones. She sits next to the dirt mound, legs crossed, remaining still. The weight of Hato’s head rests upon her lap. His white coat runs thick through her fingers. Streams of tears drip silently upon the grave—tears that bless the earth with their purity.

“Rest well, old friend. We will miss you, wild one. Run with the spirits of the wind. Chase the birds of the sky and always 26

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remember us. We will never forget you, my brave and fearless Kake.”

The trapper’s body is frozen with animation. His stench grows.

She removes a large leather pouch tethered to his shoulder. One of the trapper’s smaller furs has a slit where it can be worn over the shoulders like a cloak.

“Hato! Time to eat, boy.”

She pulls several strips of jerky from the pouch and hands one to Hato. He devours it.

“Bad manners, Hato. Mm…mm…this is very salty. What kind of meat is this?”

The deep pouch stores colorful dried fruit and berries, strips of jerky, and the small body of a dried fish. She closes the flap and slings it around her shoulder.

A small leather bag drawn with a leather string is attached to his overcoat. Inside are several round metal balls, small tools, and a metal flask. She tosses it aside.

“We’ll keep the pouch, Hato. Maybe we can use it. What’s in his backpack?”

She steps to where the trapper dropped the backpack and cautiously peels back the leather flap. Hm. A large tin cup. A singed pan. Two small beaver traps attached to a single chain.

“We can learn to use these. Maybe trap small game. I can carry the backpack on my shoulders. But we can only carry so much, Hato…let’s take his blade, his food and his pack. Let’s take his two beaver pelts. Maybe we can use them for trade.”

The backpack stresses at the seams from the deerskin, fur, and other items stuffed inside. Her head slides through the opening of the fur cloak and her arms slide into the straps of the backpack. Top-heavy and awkward, she adjusts her weight to accommodate her balance.

“The musket is a mystery to me, so I will leave it here with him. He will need it in the afterlife to fight off the evil spirits that will surely come for him. C’mon, Hato. We have a few more hours of daylight. Let’s keep moving.”

Hato flanks her right side as they move along the riverbank of the Ohio River, continuing southward. Thick puffs of white and 27

gray clouds gather, roiling and blanketing the sky. They diffuse the light, leaving an ominous shadow over the land. Wisps of bitter winds whip and groan through the trees. Feathery flakes swirl as they fall, whipped into a frenzy by small eddies and gusts. A thin, soft blanket of virgin snow covers the earth. A bad omen that the Great White Storms approach.

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4 White Death It hit. With the ferocity and thunder of all the heavens. Heavy winds blast snow and icy pellets into a wintry explosion, quickly blanketing the land with mounds of white. Erasing every detail of her world. Light illuminates powdery air, blinding every creature unfortunate enough to be caught in its fury. Tucking her chin into her chest, she squints, searching for cover.

“Hato! Follow me. This way.”

Her voice is swallowed by the roar of howling winds.

Moccasins sink deeper with each step, challenging her balance and slowing her pace. Icy pellets and bitter cold sting exposed flesh like a thousand angry hornets. Heaving the frigid air burns her throat, forcing shallow breaths.

Every step creates a greater challenge to take the next. Muscle fibers burn across her thighs in waves of painful cramps. She drops to her knees.

Keep moving. Got to keep moving.

“Come on, Hato. Stay with me. Almost there.”

Help me. Great Spirit, please help me. Spirits of the Winds, guide me safely to shelter.

Gusts of frigid winds assault her, knocking her face-first into the ground. Drifts pounce upon her, attempting to bury her in a frozen grave. Hato yanks at her sleeve. Numbness steals the strength from her legs. Sensation departs her fingers. Gripping the backpack, Hato drags her across the snow, fighting his way backwards through the drifts.

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Illuminated whiteness conceals each direction with confusing blindness. No sense of left or right, forward or backward.

Deafening winds howl and swallow all sound. They’re trapped.

The whiteness changes to brilliant hues, winds fading to silence. A warm sense of peacefulness and calm embrace her.

“Kateri…Kateri. Wake, child. You must wake.”

“Grandmother? I can’t. I want to rest here. I don’t want to wake. I want to stay here with you. I want to be with Mother. I miss you both so much…I’m afraid, Grandmother. Please let me stay here with you.”

“You must wake, granddaughter. It is not yet your time. You must stay and live your life. Wake, my child. Quickly.”

Whistling roars of raging winds return along with the white blindness. A warm wet tongue licks her cheeks. He must have dragged her into a circle of trees and brush away from the winds, safe from the mounting drifts.

“Hato? Hato, the furs. Help me get warm.”

Uncontrollable shivers travel along her spine to every extremity of her body. Teeth vibrate. The furs and deerskin trap precious body warmth. Hato’s body heat calms her trembling.

Small drifts form around them, insulating their tiny shelter.

Hato’s coat cushions her head. The great snows have arrived.

What will we do now? So little food. No shelter. No fire. Storms like these can last for hours. Sometimes, days. *** Blackness engulfs her. The frosty air burns her lungs. We dare not leave the safety of the shelter. Her head bobs for a few fleeting moments, only to have the frigid air steal away precious sleep. Joints ache. Limbs tingle. It’s impossible to find comfort or relief. Hato’s weight pressed against her seems to increase by the minute.

“Hato. Move. My turn to lie on you now…don’t whimper. It’s my turn.”

Time is suspended, waiting for daylight. Her stomach cramps and gurgles. Grandmother taught us, water, food, shelter, 30

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and fire. These are the brothers that sustain life. Love, loyalty, wisdom, and courage. These are the sisters that create life. Our songs and chants tell the stories of our lives, passed down from generation to generation. Grandmother and Mother taught me so many. I will sing for them. To remember them.

Singing fades and pauses with every bob of her head, then resumes where she left off. Her head is too heavy to support.

Exhaustion overrides the brutal elements and carries her into a diminishing slumber. *** Panting and whimpering forces her eyes open. Daylight!

“Hato? Listen. The winds are no longer angry.”

Cool air prickles her cheeks through a slit in the furs. It’s quiet. Icy trees and enormous white mounds of powder lay across a glistening white landscape. Heavy clouds of gray and white hang low in the sky. A brilliant halo shines through the clouds appearing more like the moon than the sun, bathing the land with magical glitter.

They travel mindlessly along the riverbank of the Ohio River.

Hours pass, slogging through deep fresh snow. They attempt to remain on well-worn paths forged by travelers, settlers, and trappers, only to be hindered by a blanket of snow.

“We need to make camp, Hato. We need a warm fire and shelter. Another storm is sure to follow.”

Several large boulders near the river provide a break from the icy breeze. The loamy soil is ideal to lay bedding upon. It’s much too wet to build a fire.

“I’m sorry, Hato. This is the last of our food. We’ll save some of this fruit for the beaver traps…see if we can catch something.”

One hundred paces. That should be far enough from camp.

Okay. Drive this stake into the ground with this big stone. Perfect.

That’s good. Now, how to set the triggers?

“Come on…stay. Okay. That one was easy. Oh…this one’s rusty. Almost there …”

Agonizing pain shoots through the nerves of her hand, traveling to her elbow.

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“Ah! Noooo…Let go…let go.”

The rusty trap is stuck. She wrenches the jaws open with her free hand. Rusty metal bites her fingertips. Her thumb slides out, stealing a piece of flesh across its jagged teeth. Wrapping her thumb tightly with her dress holds off the blood. She sprinkles pieces of dried fruit into the set trap.

“That’ll have to do. I can’t set the rusty trap. I need to look at this wound and see what I did. I’m so dumb…I should know better.”

Night falls. Hato tucks beneath the furs adding warmth to the snug rock shelter. Washing the wound in frigid river water earlier aided the swelling and cleaned the gash—a gash now throbbing and pulsating.

“Goodnight, Hato.” *** The morning air is bitter, but the traps must be checked. Hato pauses on the river’s edge and laps the chilly waters. Dipping her swollen hand into the river eases the throbbing. Cupping her other hand allows her to sip. She shreds a strip of cloth from her dress, wrapping the wound and cinching it.

A small bundle of gray and orange fur lies trapped and unmoving in the sprung beaver trap. Her tummy flutters and growls.

“Let’s see what we have here, Hato. Maybe breakfast?”

The fur is soft and the kill fresh, preserved by the cold weather. She struggles, but carefully wrests the jaws of the trap open. The body falls. Before the dead squirrel can hit the ground, Hato snatches it and runs in circles.

“Hato! Bad boy. Bring that back here. You have to share.

Hato…come on.”

Hato pins the squirrel to the ground with his paws and begins shredding the meat from the corpse, devouring it in minutes. She chases after him, but he snatches the corpse and dashes about, avoiding her pursuit.

“Hato…that was mine, too. What am I going to eat?”

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She yanks the stake from the ground, dragging the traps, stomping towards the camp. Hato chases after her, rubbing against her and yipping.

“Get away from me. You’re a bad dog. Bad dog. I’m angry with you.”

A warm fire would be a welcome luxury. But the ground is wet along with all the wood in the surrounding area. Even if there was dry wood, it would be difficult to start a fire with one hand. An achy grumble cramps her stomach. No fire. No food.

At least Hato enjoyed breakfast. Her thumb pulsates and stings.

She squats by the river and gingerly unwraps the bandage. The wound is puffy and reddened. It oozes. Freezing water numbs the pain. A strip of her dress provides a new bandage.

“Let’s go, you bad dog. Maybe we’ll find a better place to sleep tonight. And maybe you’ll sleep by yourself. Outside!”

The weather holds steady throughout the day as they continue to move southward along the river towards Wheeling. The day is peaceful and uneventful. Hato hovers close by. She stumbles, stopping long enough to regain her focus.

As they move around a bend in the river, a small cave reveals itself. Not really a cave, more of a hollow or a cavity in the side of a mountain.

“I can’t go any further, Hato. Sorry.”

Blanketing the floor with a fur and draping the cavity entrance with a deerskin provides cover and camouflage.

“We’re going to sleep good tonight, boy. I only wish we had something to eat.” She folds her arms and scowls. He lowers his head and whimpers—glancing at her, then looking away.

It’s early afternoon, but snuggling into the cavity provides a comfort she has lacked for weeks. She lies on her side. Eyes weary. The faces of Mother and Grandmother materialize in her thoughts. Loneliness flows like a dark deep river through her heart. Wells of warm tears flow across her cheeks, running over her lips and dripping onto the fur. She hugs Hato, easing her trembling. Emotions arise like smoke from an abyss in her soul.

She whispers in her native Seneca tongue.

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“I miss the warm days of summer, Hato. Days when we ran and played in the mud with Kake. Watching the boys, pound each other playing stickball. Listening to Grandmother’s stories.

Learning to weave baskets and plant crops. I used to complain when the time for planting arrived. I long so much for those days now.

I miss Father and my brother. I even miss how they played tricks on me. Where are my friends now? What are they doing?

Do they even miss me?”

Reaching into her satchel, she removes the broken pieces of her cornhusk doll. She holds them together—clinging to the powerful memories and magic they possess.

Grandmother. If you can hear me. Plead to The Great Spirit for me. I don’t think I can make it to Wheeling. I’m scared. I miss you all so much. I only pretended to be brave when you were here. But I’m not. I’m not brave like you and I don’t have your wisdom.

Goodnight, Grandmother. Goodnight Mother and Father.

Goodnight my brother. And goodnight brave Kake. *** Winds whistle through gaps in the deerskin draped over the entrance. The night was restful. Her thumb is swollen. Each pulse sends a stabbing jolt along her wrist. The wound oozes emitting a putrid odor.

Oh no. It’s infected.

Hato rises and darts outside. She sits upright. Light shining through gaps of the deerskin covering the entrance obscure her vision. She lies back, easing her disorientation. Rolling onto her belly she lifts her body supported by her knees and her one good hand. She pauses and inhales then carefully rises and exits the shelter. The cold is jarring. Silvery clouds roil and light flakes float over a majestic white countryside. So much beauty disguising a dreadful danger.

Why am I so dizzy? I need water.

Kneeling by the river, she scoops icy waters and sips. She winces, washing out the wound. Tearing a fresh strip from her 34

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overdress, she rebandages her hand. The waters reflect a tattered dress. The nick from the Bowie knife on her cheek has scabbed over. It itches.

Hato leaps into the water in front of her.

“Hey!…Hato. Why did you do that? Look what you’ve done.

Now I’m all wet.”

Hato moans and whines, nearly forming words of human speech.

“What? We have no food. I can’t feed you. And we don’t have any dried fruit left to use as bait for the traps…not that it would catch anything for me…before you steal it. Thief.”

Hato rattles his body, spraying mist and droplets.

“Stop it! That’s cold. Do that over there.”

He lays on his belly and uses his paws to crawl to her, yelping and howling.

“Yes. I still love you. But you’re a bad boy…Okay…Come here, big baby.”

His hard head bangs against her legs. His wet tongue laps her cheek. Hugging his neck calms his wild spirit.

She gazes across the landscape. “Hato, what are we going to do? I just don’t think I can walk very far today. I’m light-headed.

I think we’ll stay here and rest a little more, okay? I just need to sleep…and it’s snowing again.”

Gathering a few damp branches and twigs, she creates a small pile of firewood inside the shelter. Maybe they’ll dry enough to use for a fire. She snuggles in between the thick furs. *** Winds howl and moan. She sits upright gasping. Hato raises his head. Staring. Waiting for her to speak. She crawls to the entrance. The deerskin ripples from the powerful winds. Peering out the flap confirms her worst fears. The snow is heavy. The winds are fierce. Drifts pile against trees and rock. A snowdrift is forming in front of the shelter. She stretches the deerskin to the floor and anchors the bottom with the wood she gathered earlier—pinning it shut. She scurries under the fur. Sitting and 35

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watching as the deerskin is sucked outward, then pushed inward.

Screeching winds attempt to enter like an intruder.

They huddle for endless hours. Waiting for a sign of slowing.

A sign that never arrives. Winds pound the shelter, pushing piles of snow outside their door. Damp cloth clings to her body. Fever brings on shivers. Joints ache and her temples thump. Sounds of the outside world muffle. Eerie darkness shrouds the shelter.

They are sealed within a frozen tomb.

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5 A Tomb of Ice The blackness casts an illusion of blindness. Her breaths are shallow and rapid. Salty sweat burns her eyes. Her thumb is ablaze like a hot cherry ember. Her mind swirls in feverish confusion.

Images flicker in the darkness. Faces of ancestors appear then dissipate. Terrifying demons cackle and shriek. Glowing scarlet eyes, blackened teeth, and bent horns. Hideous bellows and screeches of torment.

The heavens unveil before her. Visions reveal themselves like windows of faint light illuminating through time. Visions of soldiers dressed in blues and grays. Brothers, fathers, and sons slaughtering one another. Black soldiers and Indian warriors, side by side, taking up arms. Thunderous canons explode, blowing bodies to pieces. The wounded and dead amass. Men cry out to the heavens for mercy lying across blood-soaked grassy fields. Mother’s voice whispers, “Heal them, my daughter.”

Violent winds shrill, jolting her awake. She pulls herself upright, taking a moment to locate her bearings. Her arms stretch through the darkness, guiding her to the entrance. She removes the wood holding the deerskin to the floor. Behind the skin, a wall of solid snow and ice have imprisoned them. Her hands slide blindly across the floor. The pouch. Found it. She unsheathes the blade and chips away at the block of ice.

Hato whines and sniffs, digging and clawing at the ice wall.

Together they chisel an opening to the outside world. Blizzardy 37

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winds howl stirring loose flakes from snow mounds. The flakes swish upward, uniting with fresh flakes from the sky. A new whiteout develops. They’re not traveling anytime soon. Staying inside means staying alive. The wall of snow insulates the rocky shelter. But with no food and a feverish infection, how long can they last? Hope diminishes like the smoke of an extinguished candle.

Her visions are troubling. What was its meaning? Was it the fever? How could men be so cruel to one another? What could cause such a brutal war among families and races of people?

Fever inflicts aches in her joints, confusion in her mind, and profuse sweats. Sweats that intensify the effects of the chill. She huddles beneath the furs. Hato rests on top of her—watching over her. *** Days pass. She fills a tin cup with snow, allowing it to melt.

She’s thin and only leaves the shelter to relieve herself. Time has lost its place. Day and night…the same.

“Hato? Hato, where are you, boy?”

He must be outside.

Her mind drifts in and out of consciousness. No sense of awareness. Hato bursts through the entrance throwing a spray of snow and moisture into the air. The cool droplets melt on her skin. He hovers, wagging his tail, clutching a dead rabbit in his jaws. He drops the bloody bundle of fur onto her lap.

She whispers, “Hato? What do you have here? You brought me food? Oh, Hato. You’re such a good boy. What would I do without you?”

Hato’s weight pins her legs to the ground. He pants and stares. He licks the rabbit and barks. She strains to sit upright.

An annoying buzz fills her ears.

“I don’t know how to clean this, Hato? The boys were taught these skills. I’ll try.”

The Bowie is heavier today. She slices a hind quarter and strips the fur and skin from the meat. She feebly shreds and tears 38

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the soft-pink muscle with her teeth. Chewing and swallowing small rubbery bits.

Hato’s fur is wet and cold. His moist tongue is warm across her arm. She lifts the rabbit and outstretches her arm.

“Eat, Hato. You deserve this. Your spirit is as pure as your white coat.”

Hato gently grasps the rabbit in his jaws and pushes through the entrance to the outside. She grips the Bowie. Slicing bits and pieces of meat. Chewing. Swallowing. Cleaning it to the bone.

Her stomach rumbles and churns. Chewed bits rise into her throat. She rushes to the entrance, poking her head through the deerskin covering. Vomit spews across the snow. She returns to her bedding, crawling beneath the warm furs and curling into a ball. Tears won’t form. Her will is exhausted.

She closes her eyes. This will be the last she will see of this world. Her family and ancestors await her in the afterlife. She tried her best and failed. The lonely journey was too difficult, especially for one so young. Grandmother will understand and forgive her. Hato will be fine. Her lips curl at the corners, accepting her fate. Drifting into unconsciousness. *** Stars in the heavens encircle her. Distant sounds of Hato’s barking bring sadness to her heart. Her spirit rises to a faraway place, yet she hears muffled sounds around her. Voices speaking from afar. Faint images before her eyes.

“Wake, child. You’re safe now.”

“Grandmother? Oh, Grandmother. You’re here. You came for me. I knew you’d come. Are you my spirit guide? Where’s Mother…and Father…and my brother?”

The gauzy youthful face of Grandmother smiles lovingly upon her. A sweet touch caresses her cheek.

“I’m ready, Grandmother…ready to join you and my family.”

“It’s not your time, precious one. It’s time for you to live. You have much to do.”

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Grandmother’s face morphs and gradually takes shape. It isn’t Grandmother anymore. It’s the face of a stranger. A white woman. About Mother’s age.

“Rest, now. We found you, thanks to your white wolf. We’re going to carry you out of here. We have a wagon and we’ll take you across the bridge into Wheeling. Do you have any family there?”

Words won’t form on her lips. She shakes her head.

“Here, sit up. Drink this. It’s warm coffee. The scald will take away your chill. My husband cleaned your wound and rebandaged your hand. It’s healing. My name is Clara. We’re gonna help you.

Do you understand?”

She sits upright with Clara’s help. The coffee bathes her throat with waves of warmth, sending relaxing shivers throughout her body.

“That’s good. Now take a bite. It’s bread. It looks like you haven’t eaten in quite a while, young lady.”

The bread dissolves in her mouth. She can’t recall a food tasting so delicious and satisfying. A white settler peeks his head into the hollow.

“Glad to see ya awake. We were worried for a spell. If yer ready, I’ll put you in the wagon, then I’ll gather yer things.”

Her voice rasps, “Thank you. Thank you, both.”

He scoops her into his arms, slightly ducking his head as he exits the shelter. He lies her on a bedding of warm blankets in the rear of a flatbed wagon.

“What’s yer dog’s name?”

“Hato. His name is Hato.”

He whistles a short quick shrill. “Hato! Come on boy. Jump in.”

Hato leaps into the wagon and curls up next to her. His ears are soft and moist.

“Thank you, Hato…for saving us.”

Wagon wheels crunch and squeak over packed snow and ice as the wagon pulls away led by a Morgan gelding. Bracing herself against the wooden backboard, she gazes at the countryside. The snow is thick. The trees covered with shimmering ice. Brilliant 40

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streaks of heavenly light peek through patches of blue sky, illuminating gray and white fluffs of clouds.

As they round a wide bend in the road, a massive metal bridge appears. The bridge to Wheeling, Virginia. She was so close to completing the journey. But what awaits her across those beams of iron, cables, and rivets?

From atop the bridge, she spies miles of winding, frozen river—putting into perspective how far she has traveled—how distant her old life and the world she once knew has become— crossing over an iron passage from death to life.

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6 The Place of the Skull Wheeling, Virginia. Named by the Delaware Tribe. Years ago, white settlers descended on the Ohio River by boat, stopping where the Wheeling Creek enters the river. The settlers were killed for trespassing. The head of one of the trespassers was placed on a pole facing the river. To guard the river. Or maybe as a warning to other trespassers. The Delaware named the spot Weeling, meaning The Place of the Skull. Later changed to Wheeling.

Strange. I have never looked upon such buildings until now, as we enter town. They burst with color, like paintings.

Toy houses. Many shapes and sizes. Beautiful brick and stone.

Peaks at the tops like the teepee. Archways, many windows, and sculpted pillars of wood with strange patterns and designs. Too much detail for one pair of eyes to absorb.

I once read about Wheeling in the white man’s schools back on our reservation in Ohio. They forced us to attend their schools.

To give up our way of life. Learn their religion. They want to kill our native life and save us by absorbing our people into their white culture. Kill the Indian and save the man, they would say.

Remove the savage from our blood. But who are the real savages?

She flinches from a tap on her shoulder.

“Child. You never did tell us your name. As I mentioned, my name is Clara, and this is my husband, Henry Jackson.”

“My name is Kateri. My English name is Margaret.”

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“Let me see your hands.”

Why would she want to see my hands?

The School Masters would ask to see your hands right before they would whack your palms with a rod. Anticipation creates hesitation. She cautiously rolls her palms upward. Ready to yank them away at any sign of a rod. Clara’s touch is gentle, examining, and stroking her palms and fingers.

“Other than that gash, you have strong hands, Margaret.

Hands familiar with hard work. Henry and I will find you a family to take you into their home. In the meantime, you will stay with us on our farm.”

“I am grateful to you both. Thank you.”

The wagon leaves the boundaries of town and after an uneventful long ride along an icy country road, it stops in front of a humble farmhouse. The farmhouse sits on five acres. A weathered barn stands fifty paces behind the house.

“This is our home, Margaret. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep tonight and then Henry will make arrangements for you to live with a good Christian family.”

“Thank you, Clara.”

“It’s ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Margaret. You might as well get used to learning some customs and manners. It will help you better adjust to your new life.”

“Yes…ma’am.”

“Very good. You can sleep in this room. Your wolf will have to sleep in the barn, though. Henry will chain him up.”

“But, ma’am, Hato has never been chained. Can’t he run free?

He won’t go far.”

“Now, we can’t have your wolf bothering the chickens or the goats. He’ll have to be chained. I’m sorry. Let’s get you into bed, child. You still look very weak. I’ll make you some chicken soup and coffee. We need to get you back to feel’n better. Back to healthy and strong. I’ll have Henry bring your things from the wagon.”

The down-feather mattress coddles her body. Several blankets add to the inner warmth of the soup and coffee. Muscles relax and stiff joints find relief. Worry flows from her mind, carried away 43

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in the slow rhythm of her chest rising and falling—too weary and weak to think anymore. Thoughts fade into peaceful blackness. *** “Margaret. Wake up, child.”

Clara yanks a pair of small canvas curtains open. The intensity of the sunlight pierces her pupils, forcing her eyelids closed. Her grimace cracks her lips, burning with dryness.

“You’ve been asleep for a day and a half now. We need to get some food and water in your belly. Put some meat on those bones. Here, let’s sit you up.”

Margaret braces her back against the wall, cushioned by a pillow. She squints, rubbing her temples. Hato. Where’s Hato?

“Here. Open your mouth. I have some yummy beans and goat meat to fatten you up. Just one bite at a time…there you go.

Good girl.”

“Ma’am? Where’s my dog? Is he okay?”

“He’s doing well. He’s finally used to being chained in the barn. He’s been eat’n good on scraps. Now, if we can get you to eat that good, you’ll be on your feet in no time.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, child. You just get to feel’n better and you’ll see your wolf soon enough.” *** March arrives. All the bodyweight lost from the journey has returned to her frame over the past few weeks. Her thumb works.

Striped with a jagged pink scar. A badge of survival.

Each morning has become a routine of gathering firewood, feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, milking the nanny goat, helping prepare breakfast, sweeping the farmhouse floors, changing bedpans, and pumping water from the well.

Grandmother always taught us we must repay kindnesses given to us. When her chores are finished, she runs freely through the open fields. Hato by her side. There is freedom in running.

Worries fade and life’s questions become clearer.

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This morning, however, is different. Her chores are finished.

But where is Hato? He isn’t waiting to be unchained in the barn or barking and jumping the moment she walks in. She holds his empty chain in her palm. Where would he go?

“He’s not here.” Henry removes a set of leather work gloves and tosses them on a workbench by the entrance to the barn.

“Where is he?”

“I sold him to a good home for a good price. He’ll become a useful herd dog on Old Man Baker’s farm.”

“What? Why would you sell him? He was my dog.” Her eyes moisten.

“He’s better off. You can’t take him with you where you’re going.”

“What do you mean? Where am I going? I want Hato back, and I want to leave here.”

“Clara and I have found a good home for you. A place where you can live and grow up. They’ll take good care of you until you’re old enough to care for yourself. All the arrangements have been made.”

Her mind twirls processing options and actions. Why didn’t they tell her? If she knew about this, she would have fled in the night with Hato. It’s too late now. He’s gone.

Where are they taking me?

“I’ve placed all your belongings in the wagon. Clara has some clothing waiting for you inside the house for the trip.”

“Where are you taking me, sir?”

Henry slips his gloves back onto his hands, wriggling his fingers and pulling them taut.

“We found a plantation in Clarksburg. A fine upstanding family will take you in. A doctor, his wife, and two daughters. His name is Dr. Thomas McKenna. His wife Nellie and two young daughters will be very appreciative of your help on the plantation.

It’s about a half-day ride…so go on now. Go get dressed.” ***

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The ride is quiet. For thirty minutes Clara and Henry sit sideby-side at the front of the wagon, barely speaking. When they do speak, they speak in whispers. Why has The Great Spirit given me over to the white man’s world and stripped away everyone I love?

I must escape. I can run to the Baker farm and find Hato. We can run away. Run away and go back home.

Nervous jitters tickle her stomach. Her heart drums. She glances at the couple, then glances at the countryside. If I can make it to those trees ….

Gripping her pouch in one hand and a small burlap sack in the other, she leaps from the wagon and sprints towards the edge of the forest.

“Margaret! Margaret, stop! Come back here now!”

The wagon stops. Henry leaps off the seat and chases after her. Her legs are strong once again. She glides across the packed snow and grasses easily outrunning him and disappearing into the woods. The echoes of their voices behind her now. Run, just keep running. Don’t stop. Keep going. Get to the Baker farm and save Hato.

Her pace slows, navigating the trees. She hums an old song Mother used to sing to her as a child. It aids her rhythm and helps control her breathing. It’s her secret to running fast and far. She follows the edge of the woods, keeping the road in her peripheral vision. Following the route back to the Jackson’s farmhouse.

From there, she’ll search for the Baker farm.

She slows then stops when she reaches the Jackson house.

Water from the well pump quenches an arid throat and cools the back of her neck. The wagon! It’s headed this way. Time to go. Back into the cover of the woods, she continues her race to Wheeling.

As she enters Wheeling, she slows her pace to a walk. A tree stump outside an ice cream parlor provides relief to twitching muscles and a hoarse throat.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Miss? Maybe the blue cotton dress, wool overcoat, and white bonnet pass as a settler’s daughter? Surely, he can see I am Seneca?

“No, sir. I just wanted to rest for a moment. Would that be okay?”

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“Why sure, sweetheart. Sit as long as you like. Would you like an ice cream or a sarsaparilla?”

“Um…no, thank you, sir. But if you don’t mind me asking, could you tell me where I could find the Baker farm?”

“The Baker Farm? Waylon Baker? Well, just head north out of town. Follow the road for about a mile and a half. You’ll see a sign with the Baker brand. It’s two letter B’s set back to back. Just follow the road up to the house. You know the Bakers?”

“No, sir. I am delivering a message to Mr. Baker on behalf of Mr. Jackson. Thank you. I need to go now.”

“Oh, I see. Uh, hold on one second.”

He ducks into the parlor then reemerges with a vanilla ice cream cone and a napkin.

“Here you go, miss. This one’s on me. Tell Old Man Baker, Gus Walker said hello.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walker. I will.”

Cool, wet, sticky drops run along her fingers and over her wrist as she heads up Market Street. She sinks her teeth into the soft icy ball of vanilla cream. A thunderbolt rips through her teeth. The cone splats, blending with dirty snow. She grasps her mouth, wincing until the pain subsides.

Who could eat something so cold?

At the edge of town, she hastens her pace, staying close to the road. The frozen air burns her nostrils and her lungs. The ache in her knees and ankles forces a slower pace.

What does that sign say? Double B Ranch. Two B’s back to back. This must be it.

The narrow road entering the farm leads to a large manor. A large white barn sits a hundred feet or so to the side of the manor.

In the fields, cattle huddle together and feed. Random bellows fill the air as the herd push against one another. A musty stench of urine assaults her nostrils. There’s nobody in sight.

The barn. Maybe Hato is in there.

Slipping through two beams of a wooden fence, she walks along a field of undisturbed snow. The barn door is partially open. A snort and the sleek nose of a horse nudges her shoulder.

“Hey, boy. Or is it girl? You’re so beautiful.”

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His neck is lean and muscled. She rubs his nose, then cautiously creeps deeper into the spacious barn.

Huddled in several bays, lie sheep. Random bleats echo off the walls. Peering into the next pen, her heart palpitates. Hato leaps to his feet yanked back by a three-foot chain secured to a dirt floor. He whimpers and yelps.

“Sh. Quiet, Hato. Calm down, boy. I’m going to get you out of here and we’re going home.”

She climbs over the wooden barrier and sits next to him.

Wet, warm kisses and sloppy licks cover her face. Squeezing his neck, she fights back tears. They must contain their emotions if they’re going to make it out of here.

“Let me see, Hato. We have to figure out how to get this chain off you. Ah…it needs a key. I have to find something to break the chain. Wait here.”

Scanning the barn, she spies a set of farm tools hanging along the wall. She removes a pickaxe from its hook and slips back into the pen. She spreads the chain out flat onto the frozen dirt floor.

“Stand still, Hato. Sit. Don’t move.”

She swings the ax and misses. The blade penetrates the ground. She wedges it out of the soil and lifts it high above her head. She swings downward. Swift and sure. Strike! She loosened one of the links. She removes a hand ax from the wall and pounds on the link. That’s it! She’s able to move it enough to slip off the chain. Hato is loose. A metal collar and several links of a chain dangle from his neck.

“Let’s go, boy.”

She helps Hato scale the barrier of the pen. She snatches the hand ax and joins Hato outside the barrier. She grabs his chain, pulling him forward. Hato doesn’t budge. He growls, then viciously barks. Henry!

“That’s her, Waylon. I need to collect her. Margaret, step away from the dog. Drop the ax and come with me, girl.”

“No! I’m taking Hato and going home. I’m not going with you.”

Baker reaches out with a pole and slips a noose around Hato’s neck. He struggles, growling and yipping, fighting to break free.

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I have to run.

Wielding the ax, she rushes toward Henry. His hands grasp her shoulders, halting her momentum. She smashes the ax blade into his forearm and pushes past him. He moans, clutching his arm. As she turns to head for the door, she is met in the face with the flat side of a shovel.

The barn rafters rotate. The fuzzy figure of Clara holding a shovel hovers over her. Her world fades to black.

49

7 White Skies Thick clouds float independently across an azure sky— boiling and bumping into each other forming faces and animal shapes. Earth and gravel crunch beneath the wheels of a wagon.

The sound and rhythm of hoofs clomping upon the road removes a veil of haziness from her mind. Her head pounds. Her left eye throbs. The thin blanket beneath her is little comfort against the wooden boards she lies upon.

She lifts her hands. They’re bound by rope. Tethered to the side of the wagon. Henry and Clara’s wagon. The couple whisper indistinctly. She feigns unconsciousness.

“She’s still passed out, Henry. How did she manage to get past you?”

“She hit me with an ax, Clara. Did you miss that part? Why’d you have to go and whack her in the head so hard? You could have killed her.”

“I didn’t mean to hit her that hard. I…must have reacted too fast. I hope she’s okay, poor girl. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well, ya did. Knocked her out cold. She’s been out for nearly an hour now. We’ll have Dr. McKenna take a look at her if she isn’t stirring by then. And what the hell do you mean, you didn’t mean to hurt her? You had a shovel in yer hand, for God’s sake.”

“What if he doesn’t want her now? What if he wants her for a cheaper price?”

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“Then that’d be your fault for smacking her so damn hard in the face with that spade…She’ll be fine. We’ll insist on the $300 we agreed upon. She has no family to claim her. She’s an orphan.”

They’re going to sell me? To this doctor and his family?

She can’t move her feet. An ache at the base of her throat coincides with a twinge in her heart. A heart beating irregular.

Tears run along her cheekbones dripping onto the woolen blanket rolled beneath her head. Don’t let them hear you cry. Don’t let them know the depth of your sorrow. Her body trembles with quiet sobs. Why? Great Spirit. Hear my cry. Rescue me, your daughter from the hands of my enemy. Have mercy on my soul and deliver me from this evil plot. Grandmother…if you can hear my prayers, speak to The Great Spirit on my behalf. Plead with Him to set me free.

Allow me to become the great eagle, and let me live out my days soaring among blue skies, green mountains, and the rich valleys of the earth. Please hear my prayers. *** The wagon rolls to a stop. Her hands and feet tingle. Chafing burns her wrists and ankles. A hand nudges her body.

“Margaret. Wake, young’n. We’ve reached your new home.

Time to wake up.”

Henry climbs into the wagon and removes the bindings from her feet and hands.

“I’m sorry we had to tie you up, girl. We just couldn’t take the chance you might run again.”

Warm prickles flow into her hands and feet. She rubs and massages stiff tendons in her wrists and ankles. Sitting upright reveals a vast and robust plantation surrounding her. Nervous flutters combined with a grumbling hunger twist and cramp her insides. What is this place?

Seeds are tossed into seedbeds, by three women. Women of a very dark skin tone. They must be from the lands of Africa far away. They are slaves. Forced into labor. They work to feed and house their families just to stay alive. We once planted seeds in beds like these back home. To grow tobacco.

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A huge white manor is set among great oak trees and finely trimmed bushes. So many windows. Windows sitting next to each other and on top of one another. Framed with black wooden shutters. A black tiled roof above them with more windows protruding. A great covered porch with three steps leads to a massive set of black double-doors. A young African girl sweeps the porch. The property is vast. Several barns sit next to small wooden shacks. Shacks that look like reservation homes.

What do they plan for me to do here? Work the fields and plant tobacco? A skill I know very well. Or clean, maybe? Cook? Maybe I can escape this place and run back home.

Bracing herself against Henry she steps off the wagon. He lays her belongings on the ground next to her. He nudges her towards the manor.

“Come on, Margaret. It’s time to introduce you to your new family and to see your new home.”

“My new family? My new home? To be a slave? To work in fields like those women?”

Henry frowns and tugs on her arm, preventing her from taking another step. He places a hand on her shoulder. His face crinkly and flush. She’s nearly as tall as he.

“Margaret. Listen to me. Clara and me couldn’t take care of you. So, we found you a new home where you’ll be safe. You can live a better life here. Better than you would on our small farm.

You’re far away from your savage ways.”

“No. You both sold me. Sold me as a slave. You’ve taken my freedom. I-I should have expected it. But I trusted you. You have taught me never to trust. And I am not the savage. You are.”

Clara places her hand on her shoulder.

“No child…we just want what’s best …”

She swats Clara’s hand away. Clara covers her mouth with both hands and takes a single step backward.

“Don’t you touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again.”

Henry glances at Clara shaking his head.

“Wait here, Clara. I’ll take her in. Come with me, Margaret.”

He squeezes her upper arm, forcing her along the narrow path to the front of the manor.

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“We didn’t sell you as a slave to Dr. McKenna. You’ll be a…a servant of sorts. You’ll live here and do whatever the doctor and Miss Nellie ask you to…and when you reach the age of eighteen, you’ll be free to leave. It’s called being indentured to your master.

But not a slave, exactly.”

Henry grasps her hand and escorts her up the stairs onto the porch. A young African girl leans against her broom and stares. Her eyes are bright and wide. Her delicate full lips curled downward.

“Can you fetch your Mistress?”

She lowers her eyes and nods her head. She sets the broom against the wall and slips through the doors. A few moments later, a woman emerges from behind the massive black doors.

She’s around the same age Mother was before she died. Her dress looks like a dome. The color of rust. A goldenrod shawl around her shoulders. Dark-orange hair with golden highlights pulled tight into a bun. Her face much paler than most white women with a dozen or more tan freckles across her nose and cheeks.

Her eyes penetrate my reluctance. Studying me. They’re strange in color. Like rich grassy fields with amber speckles of earth.

“Why Mr. Jackson. How are you today, sir? And who is this fine young lady?”

Henry removes a dusty straw hat from his semi-balding head.

“I’m doing well, Miss Nellie. Thank you. This is Margaret.

She’s a fine young lady for sure. Hardworking and a very quick learner.”

“Hm…does she speak English?”

“Yes, ma’am. She speaks very good English. She’s dang smart, too. She runs purdy darn fast, so we know she’s healthy.”

“Well, she’s beautiful. Such thick raven hair…and I see she has all her teeth. What happened here? Did someone strike her?”

Henry stares at the ground, fidgeting and sheepish.

“We had some uh…trouble getting her here, ma’am.”

The touch of Miss Nellie’s hand is soft across her cheekbone.

Nellie’s fingers grasp Margaret’s chin directing her eyes towards her. Eyes sympathetic like Mother’s once were.

“Did someone strike you, child?”

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Remaining silent, she turns her head and stares across the yard at Clara.

“I see. Here is your $300, Mr. Jackson. Please give my regards to Mrs. Jackson on your way out.”

Miss Nellie’s touch is soft, and her grip firm as she slips her hand into mine.

“Come with me, Margaret. I want to speak with you in the parlor before I show you to your quarters. Don’t be afraid now.

You’ll be safe here. Bring your bags. Welcome to White Skies Manor.”

The entrance to the manor is surrounded by walls as high as cliffs. Painted like pink shells found in the lakes and rivers of Ohio. Trimmed in pure white carvings with strange patterns of leaves and vines. Beautifully polished wooden tables sit against the walls—their feet carved like wild beasts. Chairs are spattered with brilliant colors across their upholstery. Reds, purples, browns, and creams. Smooth dark wooden floors, polished and slippery. Strange rugs from faraway lands embroidered with confusing patterns, symbols, and swirling colors. A sweet woody scent of spice fills her nostrils. A soft echo resonates along the walls as they walk along the hardwood floors. How could such a place even exist? Who could need all this space and richness?

“Here we are. This is the parlor. Let’s sit and talk for a spell. I don’t want you to be afraid, Margaret. I want you to look me in the eye when you speak to me. I believe all people are equal and deserve that sort of respect. When speaking to me, you can refer to me as Miss Nellie.”

Her eyes raise to meet Miss Nellie’s. She stares intently, sorrowfully. Unblinking. She whispers, “Then…why do you have slaves, ma’am?”

Miss Nellie purses her lips and frowns. Pausing a moment to ponder the question.

“We treat the few slaves we have very well, Margaret. They live good lives and are very happy here. They’re well-fed. We do not overwork them. We give them everything they need. My husband, Dr. McKenna, cares for their ailments and even helped deliver a child last Spring.”

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She stares at the intricate detail of the small wooden table between them.

“Freedom is what everyone needs most…Miss Nellie. That child the doctor delivered was born into slavery.”

Miss Nellie smiles, revealing deep dimples in each of her cheeks.

“You are a reflective soul, Margaret. A bit too wise for a girl your age.”

“Am I a slave, Miss Nellie?”

Nellie raises her eyebrows. Her mouth parts as she begins to speak, then hesitates. She nervously glances around the room as if the answer is written somewhere on the walls.

“No, Margaret. Of course, you’re not a slave. You will work for my husband and I and we will provide for all your needs. You will help with chores around the manor, help prepare meals, and provide care for our two daughters, Sadie and Edith.

I will make sure you are well-educated and I will teach you proper manners and help you to adapt and integrate into civilized society. Once you are of legal age, you are free to leave. You will have your freedom, Margaret.”

Miss Nellie lays a document on the table.

I’m thinking…we need to change your name. Margaret is too formal. From now on we will refer to you as Maggie. You will sign your name as Maggie. If you can’t write, just place your mark right there and I will witness it. Note your birth date over here.”

“I can read and write, Miss Nellie. This document says I’m indentured to you and Doctor McKenna until my eighteenth birthday. Then I am free to leave?”

“Yes. Then you are free to leave. Sign right there…Thank you.”

Miss Nellie rolls the document securing it with a white ribbon. She stands and extends her hand.

“Come now. I will show you to your quarters. You will sleep in the servant’s quarters next door to another one of our servants.

She is a house slave. You will have a room all to yourself.”

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wooden dresser with a cracked mirror take up most of the space.

A metal bucket sits next to the bed and a ceramic basin rests atop the dresser. A medium-size chest rests at the foot of the bed. Goldenrod curtains cover a small window. A small hearth is featured against the far wall.

“Unpack your belongings and settle in. Tanne will collect you when it is time for dinner. Dinner will be in the servant’s kitchen.

Tomorrow Tanne will teach you everything you need to know to earn your keep around here. Have a pleasant evening, Maggie.

And welcome to your new home.”

The stillness of the room creates a pesky humming inside her ears. The air is stale and musty. Grandmother’s ceremonial mask and her medicine bag fit neatly along the bottom of the chest at the foot of the bed. Her jewelry and native clothing lay beside them. She unsheathes the Bowie, gently rubbing her thumb along its sharp edge. Tapping the narrowed point. The steel blade radiates the soft lighting, catching her young face in its reflection. Reminding her how much she despises that scar on her chin. A scar most people would not give notice to. Sheathing the blade, she slides it between a thin mattress and rusty springs.

Her cornhusk doll is slightly crooked from repair. It’s not quite the same, but it still carries the magic of all her memories of home. Springs squeak and snap beneath her. She stares at the ceiling, holding the doll against her heart. Warm tears seep, tickling her cheeks as they trickle.

No one will ever take away her memories, her traditions, or her proud Haudenosaunee heritage. She is Seneca of the Wolf Clan—forged into her heart and spirit—bonding her eternally with a great nation and all its ancestors.

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8 Runaway Slave The workday begins at dawn on the plantation. A short breakfast and the integration into life at the White Skies Manor begins. Tanne enters the kitchen holding a stack of neatly folded garments. She wears a full dark-gray cotton dress with a white collar and a button-down front. Her thick ebony hair is pulled into a tight bun. She isn’t particularly heavyset, but she is stout and rather short. Her skin is lighter than the other Africans. Her eyes have a curious olive hue, almost cat-like.

“Here, Maggie. Wear these. Miss Nellie will want you to dress proper before I teach ya your chores. She’s a real stickler on that.”

“Where should I change, Tanne?”

“Back in your quarters. Where’d ya think? I’ll go with ya.”

Maggie’s stack of clothing consists of a long blue cotton dress with long sleeves and white polka dots; A large white apron; A white bonnet; Cotton stockings; Black leather boots.

“Here, let’s put this up in a bun. I love your hair…so long and thick, girl.”

“Thank you for helping me, Tanne. How old are you? How long have you been here?”

“Sixteen. Came here when I was jus’ a little girl. My mama tried to escape a plantation in Louisiana and take me with her.

We was caught trying to cross into Tennessee on our way to Ohio.

She died from the awful beat’n. Never really knew her. But I miss her every day. Never met my daddy. Somehow, I found my way 57

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to Virginia and Miss Nellie took me in and raised me. Been here ever since. I’m the only slave working inside the manor. Now there’s two of us.”

“How many others in the fields?”

“Well, there’s Abe, Sukey, and Jakar. They’re a family. There’s Amos and his mama and Amos’ little sister Tara. She sometimes sweeps the porch…mostly works the fields. She’s a sweetie.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Tanne.”

“Don’t be. I live an okay life here. Much better than work’n ‘dem fields. I don’t really need for much of nuth’n.”

“But don’t you wish to be free? To go wherever you choose?

Make your own choices?”

“Of course, I do. They hang runaways, girl. I’d rather stay here…There you go. You look’n fine. Come on now. We need to get to work’n.” *** Tanne’s mentoring these past two months has given her all the skills she needs to do her share of the work. She can’t help but feel she’s doing more than her share, however. There is much to do to keep a manor the size of White Skies running efficiently.

Emptying bedpans, pumping enough water from the well for cooking and drinking. Filling wash tubs and using a dolly stick, washboard, and a bar of soap to clean laundry and linen—a backbreaking job that never ends and gashes knuckles. Sweeping and scrubbing floors with a hand brush on all fours, day after day.

Helping prepare meals, learning to clean fowl. Feeding chickens and horses.

The days are long and hard with little time to rest and no time to play. Tending to the small garden of berries, tomatoes, potatoes, and beans reminds her of home. The one chore her mind can escape to. The garden thrives under her care.

It’s May 16th. Her 13th birthday. She places a full basket of plump red strawberries on a wooden table in the main kitchen next to Miss Nellie. Nellie hums and ices a rich three-layer chocolate cake.

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“Good morning, Maggie. Oh, look at those scrumptious strawberries. They’ll make a splendid topping to this cake. Set them by the basin so Tanne can wash and slice them.”

“Yes, Miss Nellie…that’s a beautiful cake, ma’am. Is it for Dr. McKenna?”

“This cake is for you. I understand you are turning thirteen today. We wanted to make you something special. These slices of strawberry complete the masterpiece.”

Miss Nellie slices a small wedge from the round cake and places it on a tin plate.

“This first piece is yours, Maggie. Enjoy it. And you may have the rest of the day off today. To do whatever you like. Just don’t leave the property, of course.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Nellie…and Tanne and everyone.

I-I don’t know what to say.”

Tanne’s hug squeezes the air from her chest. “Aw, you don’t have to say nuth’n, Maggie. Just eat your cake. Mm-mm.”

Dr. McKenna enters the kitchen and kisses Miss Nellie on the cheek. He’s rarely around. Only seen him once or twice. We’ve never spoken. He isn’t a very tall man. He’s thin and wears a pair of round spectacles. He often has a pipe hanging from his lower lip and a stash of the finest tobacco from his fields stuffed inside a pocket in his vest.

“What a fine cake, Nellie. This must be the young lady whose birthday it is today. Pleasant birthday to you, Maggie. I’m headed out for a ride, Nellie. I’ll be back shortly.”

She balances a bite of the rich chocolate cake and satiny icing with a savory slice of fresh strawberry—a combination foreign to her palate. Her mouth bursts with saliva. Chocolate was rare on the reservation. Its flavor is unique, bitter. A flavor easy to relish.

Life on the manor is hard, but no harder than the reservation.

The difference is a lack of playtime here. No time to devote to yourself. Today is a rare exception. Five more years of servitude seems an eternity. She could run. But how far would she get?

And how severe would the punishment be if she got caught?

She strolls along the edges of tobacco fields. Bright sunlight bathes the land with warmth. An occasional moist breeze caresses 59

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her face carrying an earthy, leafy scent of tobacco. Two African women transplant seedlings from seedbeds to the fields. Hoeing and tilling, creating knee-high mounds where the seedlings will grow tall. Her mind travels to a time when she worked by Mother’s side.

Small fingers press seeds into freshly tilled soil. Mother’s hands lay across hers, helping to pack the soil over newly planted seeds.

“You see, Kateri, corn, beans, and squash are The Three Sisters that sustain us. The strong corn stalk gives the beans needed support to grow like the good big sister she is. The vines of the beans hold the three sisters together like the loving sister she is. The wild prickly leaves of the squash shade the ground and keep the soil cool and moist to sustain all three. She also keeps animals away, like a good protective sister. And so too, Kateri, we must support each other, hold our brothers and sisters together and protect one another like the example given by The Three Sisters.”

A sharp crack echoes, followed by a mournful wail from a nearby barn. These are cries of pain. Cries for help.

An African man, stripped to the waist, is suspended by a rope fed through a pulley in the rafters. His hands are bound above him. Lacerations and raised welts crisscross his lats, arms, and shoulders, glistening with blood. A young white man raises a leather horsewhip and delivers another violent lash, creating a sickening splat on bloody flesh, spraying droplets of red mist into the air.

“Stop! Why are you doing this? Let him go. You’re killing him.”

She rushes the man, reaching for his whip. His brow raises and his eyes widen. Fingers squeeze her throat. She gasps.

“What are you doing in here, Mingo? You belong in the fields.

This ain’t none of yer business, girl.”

Blue lighting flashes and splits her skull. Teeth gnash. Her knees wobble and give way. She crumbles and lies sprawled beneath him. He straddles her body amused; the whip coiled in his right hand.

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here. It isn’t your place! Now get yer Injun ass out of here or you’ll be next in line for a whupping.”

The buzzing and fogginess fade. The man standing over her returns to focus. She lifts her long right leg and drives her boot deep into his groin, sending him backward squealing. He hunches and collapses to his knees.

“You little bitch! Ah! I’m going to beat your ass!”

She scrambles to her feet and flees towards the doorway.

A small sledgehammer laying across a workbench stops her momentum. She snatches it, turns, and stomps back to where he remains hunched. She clubs him across the top of his head, dropping him like a sack of feed. She drops the hammer. Her heart races. She kneels beside his body and examines him. He has a pulse. Still breathing.

She grabs a pair of shears hanging from a hook on the barn wall.

“C’mon. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“God bless ya, child. But they gonna do much worse to ya now. You gotta run. Go. As fast as ya can.”

“Not until I set you free.”

He rubs his wrists and hands, then drops to his knees, falling forward. She pulls the remaining rope through the pulley and binds the unconscious man’s feet and hands. She shreds a strip of cloth from the beaten man’s shirt and gags him.

“Help me drag him behind these hay bales.”

“Child, they gonna hang da both of us.”

“Then, help me hide him, and let’s both run.”

They drag him behind a stack of hay bales and cover his body with loose hay.

“Here’s your shirt. Put it on and run…please.”

“I’m a dead man already. But you can run away. Cross da river. Don’t be going back for your things. Just run as fast as you can. The Lawd will watch over you for the mercy you showed me today, child.”

His mournful eyes well. His trembling hand gently rests across her cheek.

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“Bless you. Bless you, sweet child. Go on now. Run as fast as you can. Don’t you worry ‘bout me none. I’ll be fine. You take care of yourself now…ya hear?”

He exits the rear of the barn.

I have to get my things. I can’t leave them here. Then I have to run.

The pile of hay stirs with muffled moans. She exits the rear door of the barn and stealthily crosses the fields towards her quarters. Slipping through her door she gathers her things, snatches her backpack, and straps it to her shoulders. She peers out the door. The path is clear. The woods are a quarter mile in the direction of the river.

She pushes the door closed behind her and walks towards the woods.

“Maggie? Where you going, girl? Miss Nellie told you not to leave the plantation.”

Tanne frowns, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

“I…I’m going to the woods…to…uh, look for herbs…to put in my medicine bag.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think the missus gonna want you wandering off too far. But I won’t say noth’n, ya know…seeing it’s your birthday and all…you gett’n that fine cake, and gett’n to sit around and do nuth’n all day while Tanne has to work and do your chores. Your secret’s safe with me, girl. Go ‘head. Go.” “Thank you, Tanne. I’ll be back shortly. I promise.”

“Then why you hugging me like you leaving?”

“I don’t know…bye…I-I’ll be back.”

She scampers into the woods quickly making her way to the river’s edge. She heads north following the curve of the riverbank.

If I can just make it to Wheeling…cross the bridge from there…

I’ll be free.

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9 Fugitive Bellows of hounds’ echo in the distance behind her. How did they learn so quickly she was gone? She straps her backpack onto her shoulders and dashes, dodging trees, leaping rocks, and fallen branches. Her throat tightens from sucking the muggy air. Nervousness turns to nausea. What if they whip her? Like a slave. Or worse, what if they hang her? Run faster!

The bellows mix with human voices. Voices, much closer now. It’s no use. There is no hope to outrun them. They are too skilled at tracking and hunting runaway slaves and servants.

Leaving the cover of the woods she succumbs to the inevitable.

She drops her backpack and sits on a fallen log, waiting for her pursuers to reach her.

A short, bald burly man with a handlebar mustache firmly grips a pair of leashes restraining two warbling bloodhounds.

Another man on horseback holds a musket over his right shoulder, grinning at her submission. The tribal tattoos across his forehead are Cherokee. Tanne walks beside the horseman, staring blankly towards the ground.

“Stay right there, girl.”

Cold irons subdue her wrist like heavy bracelets. Chains dangle. The rider grunts, puffing hot breaths across the back of her neck. His arm grips her waist, holding her to the saddle.

Tanne refuses to look at her. Why? Is she afraid the truth will reveal itself in her eyes?…That it was she who alerted them of her absence?

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Miss Nellie and Dr. McKenna stand in front of the porch steps at the end of the pathway awaiting her arrival. Her heart pounds.

Swooshes pulsate through her ears. Beads of sweat gather across her brow and drip off her temples. The rider’s breath smells of garlic and ale.

What will Miss Nellie think of me now? What’s going to happen?

The handler directs his hounds towards the barns. The rider brings his horse to a stop in front of the porch. He dismounts and places both hands around her waist. She slides her long frame to the ground. Shackles clank. Dr. McKenna’s riding boots are dusty. Miss Nellie’s brown leather boots clean and polished. Her eyes are unable to look at either of them.

Dr. McKenna steps forward sucking his pipe and blowing puffs of smoke like an angry locomotive.

“Unshackle her.”

Her shackles drop, landing inches from her toes.

“Maggie. Do you understand how much trouble you are in?

Do you know what we can do to you for running away like this?

You signed a legal document. You’re bound to it.”

She raises her head, staring directly into his eyes. Warm droplets well.

“I’m bound by a piece of paper…I was given no choice but to sign. I have no rights here.”

Miss Nellie steps forward and whispers, “Maggie, we’ve taken care of your every need. We took you into our home …”

Dr. McKenna raises a finger at Nellie, setting an invisible barrier she dares not to cross.

“Please let me handle this, Nellie. Mind your place.”

“Maggie, by law I could have you whipped for what you have done. Why would you have run away like this? For what purpose?

It’s your birthday today and we gave you a full day of rest. Miss Nellie made you a fine birthday cake. I just don’t understand.

Why would you do this to us?”

“I panicked. I didn’t know what to do…I-I’m sorry, I should have …”

“Well, you weren’t the only troublemaker today. One of our slaves murdered an Overseer. Crushed his skull with a 64

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sledgehammer. Come with me, Maggie. I want you to see for yourself what happens to a runaway slave. Especially one who murders.”

Murders? What does he mean? He died? Did I kill him?

His grasp squeezes blood from her upper left arm. He marches her along the tobacco fields to a large gnarled and foreboding elm tree at the edge of the field. Its branches reach to the sky like a demon summoning the Evil One. Dark spirits are present in its roots. Knots and holes form hideous faces along its trunk and branches. Chills run along her spine sending shivers across her limbs and fingers. The evil vibration emanating from this tree is very powerful.

“This is the Hanging Tree, Maggie. This is the first time we’ve had to use it since Miss Nellie and I took over this plantation. It’s a very sad day.

Her eyes meet the man she rescued earlier today. A man who would probably be home with his family at this very moment, instead of standing on a chair with a noose around his neck. She’s responsible for two deaths today. Tears burst over her lashes and flow freely, running off her cheeks onto the dirt. She’s unable to look away. His sorrowful eyes gaze deeply into hers. He nods.

Peaceful and unafraid. He whispers, “Shh, child. Jesus loves you.

Remain still in Jesus.”

He’s taking the blame. For what I caused!

Sorrow steals her breath away like a physical blow to her chest. Her knees hit the ground. Sobs and blubbering pour from her lips.

“No. Please. Please, don’t do this. It’s not his fault.”

His eyes remain fixed on hers. He sings to her in Swahili. He winks then lowers his head. The executioner kicks the chair from beneath him. He flails and kicks for a few moments, then swings silently. Motionless. The tension of the rope against the tree is the only sound remaining.

She falls forward onto the ground, her face buried in her hands. Heaving sobs rattle her body, turning into wails of despair.

Her face soaked in bitter tears. Eyes swollen and burning.

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“He didn’t do it…he’s innocent. Why? Why would you do this? Great Spirit, take me away from this awful place. Carry me away in the winds.”

“Come with me, child.”

Dr. McKenna escorts her to the front of the porch where Miss Nellie awaits.

“Give Miss Nellie your things. She will return them to your room where they will remain safe.”

Miss Nellie reaches for the backpack. No. Can’t let go of the straps. Entrusting anyone with her most precious possessions is terrifying. They are all she has left of Grandmother and Mother.

All she has left of her culture and history. She clings to all her life’s memories and possessions.

“Let go, Maggie. I promise you I will keep them safe in your quarters. No one will touch them.”

Her fingers loosen as the straps helplessly slide from her hand.

Dr. McKenna places a hand on her shoulder.

“Maggie. Since you do not understand or appreciate all we have given you and all we have done for you, we are going to take it all away. Until you learn to appreciate the life you had, you will live life as a slave. You will work the fields as a slave. Eat with them. Sleep with them. And lose all the rights you once had here.

You are one of them now. Until such a time I decide you aren’t.

We are minus one slave. You will do his work for him.”

She didn’t notice the black woman walking up behind her.

Carrying the simple clothing of a plantation slave. Dr. McKenna grabs the clothing from the woman’s hands.

“Take off your garments. Put these on instead. Then you will go with this woman and become part of her household for as long as I decide.”

Her mind tumbles to a place of deep sadness, like a stray feather set upon still waters. Humiliation and shame grip her proud spirit as her clothes fall, revealing her nakedness. Miss Nellie retrieves each garment, neatly folding them into a pile.

The black woman crosses her arms and frowns, placing her body between Dr. McKenna and Maggie’s nakedness. Shielding her.

Allowing her to dress with a level of dignity.

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“Come with me, sugar. Everythang gonna be alright, honey.

Don’t you worry none.”

The woman’s arm around her shoulder brings comfort and reassurance. Leading her to another life. Life as a plantation slave.

Dr. McKenna turns and walks toward the manor. Miss Nellie’s eyes tear watching Maggie led away.

“There is much you’ll need to learn, sweet child. Old Sukey is gonna teach ya everything you need to know to survive and get along out here just fine. You’ll see.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t you be calling me ma’am now. Ya hear? Call me Sukey.

That’s my name. We have to go back into the tobacco fields now, and finish out this day.”

Maggie dabs her eyes with her apron and manages a slight smile.

“I’m accustomed to planting fields and growing crops, Miss Sukey. I grew up learning to plant and harvest crops on our lands back home. Women are in charge of the land. We own its soil and earth.”

“Well, we don’t own the land here, baby child. The Massa own this land. You’d be wise to remember that.”

The long day finally reaches an end as the sun disappears behind the Virginia mountains. Her thirteenth birthday began so promising and now ends in the tobacco fields of the plantation.

She follows Sukey to a humble broken-down shack.

“This is our home. It’s your home now. This is my daughter, Jakar. She’s about your age.”

“Hello. I’m called Maggie.”

“I’m Jakar. You can sleep here with me if ya wanna.”

“Thank you. Can I ask where your father is?”

Sukey and Jakar stare at each other. Jakar’s large umber eyes well. Sukey’s arms engulf Jakar, rocking her and kissing her.

“No, no baby. Don’t cry. Daddy wants his baby girl to be strong, now. You are so much like him, child. You have his heart and his stubbornness. He gave his life protecting yours, precious girl. That’s just who that man was.”

“Sukey…Jakar, I’m so sorry.”

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“It’s okay, honey. You didn’t know. Her daddy was the man who was hung on that horrible tree today. Murdered for protecting his family.”

Sukey’s words are a dagger to her heart. Her knees wobble, forcing her to sit on Jakar’s tiny bunk.

“He was your father…your husband? I’m so very sorry.”

How can she tell them that she is the one responsible for the execution and death of their husband and father? That he took her punishment. She cannot tell them. What purpose would it serve? It would only add to their pain and suffering.

“Let’s sit at the table and have a meal and thank the Lawd for all his blessings and ask for his mercy. I’m sorry, Maggie, but all we have to eat tonight is this feed corn and some pickled pork.

Now both ya’ll bow your heads. Go on.

“Lawd, bless this humble meal and hear our cries. Have mercy on us. Save the soul of our husband and father, Abe. Take him into Heaven with you and all the Angels. Give him peace, oh Jesus. Keep Jakar and Maggie and me strong. Help us to get through another day tomorrow, Lawd.”

Miss Nellie said she fed her slaves well. This food is barely edible. Did she lie to me, or is she that blind to the truth? If I ever make it back to the manor, I will bring this family decent food they can eat. Great Spirit, send your blessings upon this family and this home. Reveal to me how I can help them and what I must sacrifice to repay the impossible debt I owe them.

68

10 A Family of Slaves Life as a slave begins when the sun crests in the eastern sky.

The workday doesn’t end until after the sun sets—sometimes hours after dark. The days are long and the labor is brutal. The work lasts six days per week. Sunday is a day of rest as is their Christian holiday Christmas.

We are allowed a two-hour break during the day where we are fed scraps of spoiled or nearly spoiled food. If you feel ill or drop to the ground from exhaustion, you risk the threat of the Overseer’s whip. Enslavement steals a person’s soul and identity.

The Africans are similar to the Haudenosaunee in the way they care for each other like family. Even when there isn’t a blood relation. They care for other children the same as their own.

They must. Families are often ripped apart. Children taken from parents, husbands from wives. They learn to act as one massive family. One people. It is the only way they survive.

On Sundays, Sukey and Jakar visit family members who live nearby. They sing and dance and pray to their God. Their God is not unlike The Great Spirit. Their religious beliefs similar to the Haudenosaunee. It seems we all worship the same Great Being.

The Creator of All Things.

I have spent three months working beside Sukey and Jakar.

Cultivating tobacco fields now ready for harvest. Sukey has been a mother to me and Jakar a sister. Sukey teaches me to forgive the white man. That all are God’s children and good and evil exist 69

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in all races of people. I believe this to be true, but how can she forgive the murder of her husband and the enslavement of her people? I am not ready to forgive so much. But Sukey has a gift in softening my heart and encouraging me to consider another way of reasoning. I just do not believe I can reach her level of goodness. I’ve come to love her and Jakar very much.

The lessons Dr. McKenna wishes to teach me have become lessons he never intended for me to learn. Lessons he knows nothing about. People find a way to survive the most desperate of situations. No amount of suffering can strip away the love of a family. The bond of a people. They endure and conquer the most treacherous situations together. United in purpose.

It’s Saturday night. We can sleep late and enjoy our day of rest. Sukey is boiling real corn she managed to slip under her dress while shucking earlier today.

“Mama, I don’t feel so good.”

“What’s the matter, baby?”

“My tummy hurts and I’m burning up. I need to use the toilet bad, Mama.”

“Maggie, can you go with Jakar out back and help her?”

Jakar is doubled over and sweating profusely. They rush outside to the outhouse.

“Oh…help me, Maggie. Everything’s pouring out of me. I’m so sorry …”

The stench is unbearable. Holding her apron to her face, she recognizes this illness. Jakar is experiencing severe diarrhea.

And there’s blood mixed with the bile.

“I’m gonna pass out. I’m so sorry. I’m a big ole mess.”

“It’s okay. Here, take my apron and clean yourself. Let’s get you back inside.”

She leaves the soiled apron on the porch and helps Jakar lay across her bunk.

“Sukey. She needs lots of water. It needs to be pure water. You need to boil it and cool it before you give it to her. Also, put some salt and honey in her water and make her drink. Drink a lot. I’m going to ask Miss Nellie if Dr. McKenna will look at her. I’ll be right back.”

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Sukey fills a small caldron with water and flavors it with salt and honey. She places it over a small hearth.

“Lie down, baby. Here, let mama wipe your forehead and cool you down. Mama’s here, baby. Mama’s got you, sweet child.” *** She pounds on the main doors of the manor. The doors open slightly. Tanne peers through the opening.

“Maggie? You’re not supposed to be out here on the porch.

What are you doing, girl?”

“Tanne. Please, I need to speak to Miss Nellie. It’s Jakar. She’s very sick. I need to bring Dr. McKenna to help her.”

“Tanne, who’s at the door? Maggie? What are you doing here?

You know this is forbidden and you’ll be punished.”

“Miss Nellie, please. Jakar is very sick. She needs Dr. McKenna. Can you please ask him to come?”

“He’s not here, Maggie. He’s in Charleston for a few days. We can’t help Jakar until he returns.”

“It’ll be too late by then. Miss Nellie, can you please allow me to get my backpack from my quarters? I have medicines that will help her.”

“No. Dr. McKenna was very clear in his instructions. You are not to have your things…he would be very angry with me for allowing it.”

“Please! You told me once that you treat your slaves fairly.

Letting Jakar die isn’t fair. It goes against your Christian beliefs.

Does it not?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. My husband would be furious with me. You need to go back to the slave quarters and remain there.”

The doors close and lock. Nothing left to do but return to Jakar. Help her the best she can.

“Psssst. Maggie.”

A voice from the dark. It’s coming from the side of the manor.

“Maggie. Come here. It’s me. Tanne.”

Tanne’s face forms from within the darkness. Her eyes wide and alert.

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“What are you up to Tanne? Another trick to get me in trouble?”

“No. I’m sorry ‘bout turning ya in. I didn’t want to see you get whupped. I knew they wouldn’t punish you terribly if you came back quickly. And they already had someone to punish for murdering the Overseer.”

“He didn’t murder the Overseer, Tanne. He was alive when we left him.”

“You…you was there?”

“Yes. I was there. I was trying to help Abe escape the beating of that evil man.”

“Maggie, that Overseer’s skull was crushed like a squashed melon. Like a mush melon. He had no face, no more.”

“What? No. He was alive and breathing when I tied him up and dragged him behind the hay bale.”

“They found his body behind the barn. The sledgehammer on one side and Abe on the other. Abe confessed to killing him.”

Oh, my goodness. He must have waited until I left. He never intended to run. He was making sure nobody would ever learn the truth of what I did.

Tanne snaps her fingers. “Maggie. Maggie, snap out of it, girl.”

A ball of soft leather is shoved into her arms.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your backpack. My way of saying I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Miss Nellie. I don’t want to see Jakar suffer. Help her if ya can.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She glides through the darkness on her way back to Jakar.

She throws the door open and drops her pack next to the bed where Jakar lies drenched in sweat and delirium.

“Is Dr. McKenna coming, child? Did you speak to him? Jakar is vomiting and having terrible pain in her innards.”

“No. He’s in Charleston. He won’t be back for days. Sukey, I can help her. I know this sickness.”

Sukey wrings her hands and bites her lower lip.

“Oh, Lawd…Oh, my baby…Okay, honey. Just…just tell me what to do.”

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“We need to get her out of these clothes and all her bedding.

They need to be cleaned with hot water and soap. Everything she’s touched needs to be cleaned. Keep giving her lots of clean water. Water that has been boiled. Add a little salt and a scoop of sugar or honey.”

She removes a small stone bowl and pestle from her pack.

Grinding garlic cloves, mixing oils, honey, blackberry, and other herbs into a paste.

“Feed her a spoonful of this every hour. And open the windows and the door. Let fresh air blow through the room. To carry the evil spirits of this sickness away in the wind. We’ll take turns watching her. You get some sleep first, Sukey. I’ll watch over her.” *** A week slowly passes. Jakar shows no signs of improvement.

Sukey spends every free moment, feeding her the medicinal paste and helping her drink large amounts of purified water.

“Maggie! Help me. Her body is thrashing about.”

“Hold her still, Sukey. We need to fill the tub with cool water.

Strip her clothes and set her in the tub. I’ll get water from the creek.”

Bucket by bucket the cool water rises until Jakar is fully immersed.

“It’s working. It’s working. Calm down, baby. You’re gonna be fine. Mama’s got you, baby girl. Lawd, please help my baby. I can’t lose my baby girl.”

“Let’s change her linen before we place her back into her bed.

Have her drink this. She needs to sleep quietly if she’s ever to regain her strength. She’s going to be okay, Sukey. I promise you.”

“I hope so, sugar. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better for her if she wasn’t going to be okay, though. To escape this terrible life, I gave her.”

Sukey lies her head on the small kitchen table and sobs.

“She’s going to live, Sukey. And so are you. And someday, I am going to help you escape this terrible place. Both of you.”

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“That’s a beautiful dream, baby girl. You get some sleep now, child. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so I’ll stay up with Jakar and keep a watch over her. You a precious child, Maggie. A gift from God himself.”

Tattered curtains dance in rhythm with the cool breezes blowing gently through an open window. An occasional firefly loses its way and enters. Blinking and flashing like a tiny spark in the night. Sukey lays her head next to Jakar. The walls of the tiny shack are quiet and at peace for the moment.

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11 The Healer Sunlight filters through the cracks of the weathered shack casting a soft golden glow across the wooden floor. Sukey slouches on a rickety chair next to Jakar, peaceful and snoring.

A soft whisper breaks the silence. “Mama. Mama. I’m feel’n better.”

Sukey squints through reddened eyes. A beaming smile brightens her face. She waves her hands in the air.

“Oh, baby. You’re gonna be okay. You look’n so much better.

Oh, thank the Lawd. Praise Jesus! Are ya hungry, honey child?

Mama gonna fix you something real good. Anything you want, precious.”

“Yes, Mama. I’m starving.”

“Maggie. Wake up, child. Your patient wants some breakfast.

Isn’t that just wonderful news? We gonna pray today and we gonna give thanks to the Lawd for his mercy.”

Jakar sits upright—her hair lopsided and matted. Her twisted cotton nightshirt hangs off her shoulder, partially revealing a full round breast—eyelids blinking and partially stuck together.

A full ivory grin lights up her face. The three women share a massive hug. The evil spirits have been swept away with the wind.

“Here, Maggie. Fill this pot from the crick for boil’n.”

She grabs the pot and turns towards the door. She slams into a body. The pot drops, clanking and rolling off the small porch.

“Dr. McKenna? I thought you were in Charleston, sir?”

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“I arrived home late last night, Maggie. Where is Jakar? I’ll tend to her now.”

“Come in, come in Dr. McKenna, sir. Jakar is right here and she’s feeling mighty fine now. Wasn’t sure she was gonna make it.

But Maggie nursed her through her sickness.”

“What? Maggie nursed her? Maggie. Is this true?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I ran to find you, but Miss Nellie said you were gone for a couple of days. So, I did what I could to help her.”

“And what exactly did you do to help her?”

“Well, I…I made sure she had clean water to drink. We cleaned her clothing and bedding. Gave her lots of fresh air…”

“Maggie. Is that your leather bag I see over there? Where did you get that? Tell me the truth, now.”

“I, uh…well, when I learned you weren’t home, I had to borrow my bag because I had herbs to help Jakar’s sickness.

Herbs I knew would heal her.”

“How would you know herbs would heal her sickness? Are you a physician?”

“No, sir. I’m not. But I am a healer. A healer of my people. I understand how to use what Mother Earth provides us to heal sickness. She would have died if I hadn’t helped her.”

“That’s right, Dr. McKenna, sir. My baby would have died if Maggie didn’t help her. She saved her life. Praise Jesus!”

“Jakar, let me have a look at you.”

Dr. McKenna sets his leather bag next to Jakar’s feet. He examines her, running his fingers along the glands of her neck, feeling her forehead and pushing along her abdomen.

“Tell me what your symptoms were. Can you describe them?”

“Yes, sir. About a week and a half ago, I had this terrible pain in my innards. Right here. Then I couldn’t stop from let’n loose from my behind. It was wet and burned like hot water…full of blood and my innards cramped so bad. I had such a fever and sweat’n all over. And throwing up, too. I couldn’t keep nuth’n down. And when my body started shaking, I couldn’t control it and I was sure Jesus was coming to take me home. But this morning, I woke up and I was feel’n so much better. Thanks to Maggie and Mama.”

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“Well, drinking all the clean water was the right thing to do.

Maggie, what did you give her that you think saved her life?”

“I treated her with a mixture of herbs from my homeland.

I know this sickness. I used a combination of garlic, honey, vinegar, blackberry, and oils from oregano mixed with the roots of the bristling white flower native to my land and others. I placed salt and honey into purified drinking water. Everything my grandmother taught me to do for this sickness.”

“And you actually think that worked? Dysentery. The name of the sickness is Dysentery. Jakar is fortunate to be alive, but not by anything you did, Maggie. You will be punished for your disobedience.”

“Dr. McKenna, sir, I mean no disrespect, but I saw with my own two eyes what Maggie did. I know she saved my baby’s life with her medicine.”

“Well, I’m glad Jakar is going to be okay, Sukey. I want you to spend tomorrow here at home with her and see that she returns to good health. Then you both can return to the fields on Tuesday.

Maggie, hand me your bag and come with me.”

“Please, Dr. McKenna, sir. Please have mercy on Maggie. She was only trying to help Jakar.”

Dr. McKenna grips Maggie’s forearm and leads her to the barn on the far side of the tobacco field. A place she’s already familiar with. He attaches a single shackle to her left ankle from a heavy chain secured to the ground.

“You will spend the rest of the day and night chained right here. In the morning you will return to the fields. I’m sorry, Maggie. This disobedience cannot go unpunished.”

She sits legs crossed, raising her eyes to meet his.

“I saved my sister. Your servant. I am willing to pay that price if I must. It was the right thing to do and I would do it again. You should open your eyes, Dr. McKenna.”

No response. He turns and walks from the barn. She closes her eyes and sings songs of her childhood. Meditating and calling to the Spirits of the Earth and Trees. Absorbing the sounds of nature all around her and communing with Mother Earth.

Visions of home enter her mind. Old friends and family appear.

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Stories recited by the Elders and Grandmother are remembered.

Hours pass from daylight to darkness. Her stomach churns and cramps. Her lips cracked and parched.

A whisper breaks the silence of the night.

“Maggie. I brought you something.”

“Tanne?”

“I brought you some food and water from the kitchen. Look, I have some corn, black-eyed peas, and some salt-pork. And here’s some fresh water from the well.”

“Thank you, Tanne. Thank you so much, but I don’t want to see you in trouble for helping me.”

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout dat none. Miss Nellie asked me to bring this to you. Said not to tell Dr. McKenna. Eat up now, girl.

I gotta go. Oh, and here. Miss Nellie wanted you to have this blanket. I don’t know what the doctor gonna say in the morning, but you gonna sleep good tonight.”

Her stomach full, her thirst quenched, she wraps herself in the wool blanket and stares into the blackness of the night. *** The jingling of keys awakens her. Dr. McKenna approaches.

It must be time to begin work in the fields.

“Where did you get that blanket?…and this tinware? Who fed you?”

“It was given to me during the night. I don’t know by who.”

“You can spend the remainder of the week chained up until you decide to tell me who gave you this food and blanket.”

The blanket is stripped from her body with a swoosh. The shackle drops to the floor and his hand pulls her to her feet.

“Join the workers in the field. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

Working in the tobacco and corn fields today without Sukey and Jakar makes for a long day. She can sense the energy of their love and prayers. It’s comforting knowing they have a day of rest.

At the end of the workday Dr. McKenna escorts her to the barn and shackles her once again. Another night alone in the 78

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barn for saving the life of her friend and sister. Tonight, another slave is given the task to watch over her. Probably to make sure no one brings her another meal or blanket.

Why does he sit and stare? Saying nothing. Doing nothing.

Just staring.

“What is your name?”

His eyes widen. He cautiously glances around, then leans forward and whispers.

“Amos.”

“Why you whispering, Amos? There’s no one else around.”

“I don’t want the Overseer to hear me talking to you. I’m jus’ suppose to watch you.”

“I think the Overseer is warm in his bed, Amos. He isn’t going to know you’re talking to me, unless I tell him.”

“No…no please, don’t do dat.”

“Okay. I won’t tell him. But what are you going to do for me?”

“I-I’m not allowed to do nuth’n for ya.”

“How about getting me some water to drink? Get me some water and I won’t tell the Overseer you were talking to me.”

“I can’t…I can’t do dat.”

“Or how about I tell Dr. McKenna you were talking to me when he comes to unshackle me in the morning?”

“No…please don’t do dat. Why do you wanna cause me to catch heck?”

“I don’t, Amos. I just want some water. Get me some water and no one will ever know you’ve been talking to me.”

“Okay…okay. Wait here. I’ll be back.”

“I’m not going anywhere. See these chains?”

Amos brings her a tin cup filled with water and sets it next to her, then quickly returns to his place. The water cools and quenches her sunbaked throat.

“Thank you, Amos. You’re very kind. I promise I won’t say anything.”

He nervously glances around the barn, purposely avoiding eye contact. He lies on his side, wriggling around working himself into a comfortable position.

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and falling into deep meditation. Hours pass.

“Psst. Maggie. Maggie wake up.”

“Tanne? Is that you?

“Yes. I need you to come with me, girl. Dr. McKenna and Miss Nellie want to see you right away.”

“What? Why?” Keys jingle. Tanne fumbles around opening the lock. Amos hasn’t moved.

“What’s that sound? Is there a hog in here with ya?”

“No. That’s just Amos snoring.”

“Amos? Oh. Well, come on now. Follow me to the house.

They’re waiting for you. Hurry it up, now.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Tanne. Can’t you tell me why they want to see me?”

“I don’t know, girl. Maybe they have another birthday cake for ya. They sent me to fetch you, so here I am. Come on inside.

Follow me upstairs.”

I remember seeing the great staircase from in the parlor the first day I arrived at the manor. But actually, climbing the steps offers a different perspective of their beauty. Dark brown metal figures shaped like partially dressed girls sit on either side of the railings as the stairway is entered. Carpet the color of jade overlay polished dark wooden steps. They creak.

Miss Nellie awaits at the top of the stairs. Her arms crossed, pacing like a cat about to give birth. Her eyes narrow and are filled with concern. She stops pacing the moment she sees us.

“Tanne. Thank you. Please return to your quarters.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Maggie. Please follow me. Quickly.”

They march across a long hallway and pass lofty paintings and several dark wooden doors. The jade carpet stretches along the polished dark wooden floor. Straight ahead a door opens and Dr. McKenna emerges. His hair disheveled, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Sweat stains the armpits and the front of his soiled white shirt. Steamy spectacles slide down his glistening nose.

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“Maggie. Tell me again how you cured Jakar of her illness.”

“Thomas! There’s no time for that. We lost one child already.

Edith is dying. Let Maggie attempt whatever she did to save Jakar.

To hell with your damn pride. Step out of the way before we lose Edith too!”

Dr. McKenna sighs. He places his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows. His pupils are dilated and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot.

“Maggie. Your medicine bag is next to Edith’s bed. She has Dysentery like Sadie…like Jakar. I’m afraid we are going to lose her too. Do what you can. Please.”

Edith’s room is enormous and full of fine furniture. Way too much furniture for a six-year-old girl. She lies shivering and feverish across a massive bed of green satin. Her slender body twitching and jerking. Soaked in her own sweat. A foul odor reeks from several buckets of bile, blood, and vomit next to her bed. Maggie mixes the same combinations of herbs and oils she fed Jakar.

“Miss Nellie. Please sit her up and feed this to her. Dr. McKenna, please fill this pitcher with cool water. Put one-part salt and six-parts sugar and mix it well. She needs to keep drinking.

We need to feed her this mixture every hour. Open her windows and allow the breeze to sweep away the evil spirits from the air.”

“Sir, may I ask how long Miss Edith has been ill?”

“Over a week. I returned from my trip early after I received word of their illnesses.”

“Miss Edith, you’re going to be alright. I promise you. But you have to keep drinking. Keep listening to my voice.”

“Miss Nellie. Dr. McKenna. You both could use some rest. I will stay with Miss Edith. I promise you I can help her.”

Dr. McKenna drags a sofa from the hallway into the bedroom.

He lays a small embroidered pillow and a knitted blanket across the cushions. He slides the sofa next to Edith’s bed.

“Nellie. Sleep here. I’ll lie in the chair.”

He slides a padded chair adjacent to the sofa. He collapses into the seat and rests his head against the thick silky padding. He passes out. Nellie fades into a deep sleep. Moments later she jerks 81

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and wildly opens her eyes searching for Edith. She succumbs and fades into slumber once again.

“Here, Miss Edith. Take this. It will help you sleep. I’ll sit right here next to you until you fall asleep, okay?”

Edith’s powdery-blue eyes glisten with heartbreaking sadness and misery. Tiny droplets spill over reddened cheeks. She yawns deeply, quivering as she exhales. Her soft, delicate voice whispers, “Kay, Maggie.”

“Close your eyes now. Everything will be alright.”

Maggie softly chants Seneca prayers and songs.

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12 A Place Restored The wooden floor beneath the wool rug has become unbearably hard. Her skin burns with abrasions. Stretching stiffened legs and tired arms, she manages to crawl across the rug to the edge of the bed. Edith lies in a state of deep rest. Dr. McKenna is sprawled across the chair where she left him, snoring and mumbling. Miss Nellie lies in a curled ball, her face resting on her hands as if she’s praying.

Gathering buckets of Edith’s body waste, she makes her way down the staircase and out the rear door into the yard. She empties the buckets into the brush at the far end of the property.

Filling the buckets with water from a nearby creek, she uses soap to wash and rinse the filth. After several rinses, she returns to the home and places them next to Edith’s bed.

Back in the kitchen, she removes a cauldron of boiling water from the hearth. She fills a porcelain pitcher and sets it aside to cool. She transports the remaining hot water upstairs and fills a washbasin.

“Miss Edith. Wake up. I’m going to bathe you. Let’s take this gown off.”

Edith frowns, peeking through a narrow slit of one eye. Her tiny chin quivers. She sits upright, pointing her delicate arms towards the ceiling to aid in the removal of her gown. Her skin is covered in reddened splotches and soaked with sweat. An acrid odor emanates from her clothes and skin.

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“Stand in the basin, so I can wash your body. We’re going to need a clean nightgown. This one is yucky.”

Edith’s delicate pale knees wobble, her fragile body shivers.

Cleansing her with soap and warm water relaxes her jittery muscles. A finger softly taps Maggie’s shoulder followed by a clean folded gown set on the bed next to her.

“Here’s a clean nightgown for her, Maggie.”

“Thank you, Miss Nellie. Can you finish dressing her? I need to bring the fresh pitcher of water I left in the kitchen upstairs… to keep her drinking.” *** Miss Nellie and Dr. McKenna exist in a world of sadness and torment at the loss of Sadie. She was only eight-years-old. Too young for such a cruel fate. Miss Nellie blames her husband and Dr. McKenna blames himself. Their spirits are weakened by the tragedy. They make preparations for Miss Sadie’s burial, leaving Miss Edith in her care. Each day she is fully bathed, her clothes sanitized. Her body kept moist with fluids from constantly drinking the solution of water, salt, and sugar. The poisons are weakening and giving in to the power of the garlic, oils, vinegar, and herbs. The root of the hairy white flower reduces the amount of fluid she expels from her body.

Prayers to The Great Spirit are being answered more and more each day. Sukey taught that her God and The Great Spirit are the same Supreme Being and that we can speak directly to Him. I am beginning to believe her. Today is Sukey and Jakar’s day of rest. I’m sure they are wondering where I am.

“Miss Edith. Let’s dress you. I’m going to take you outside for a little while. To get some sunlight. The sun will bathe you with its healing light and will help you feel much better, okay? You’ll see.”

Edith glances upward with dark sunken eyes. She barely nods. For the first time in days, she manages a hopeful smile. Her tiny lips curl at the edges and her eyes widen with enthusiasm.

“Hold my hand. Just one step at a time. Good girl. You’re doing so good. How do you feel today?

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“A widdle betta. Where’s Sadie?”

“She’s…she’s with your mother and father.”

“Can we see ‘em?”

“Not right now. Let’s go see the sun. Just little things, one at a time, okay?”

Edith lowers her head. “Kay.” Edith crawls onto her lap, both sitting cross-legged among the grasses and tall oaks.

“Close your eyes now and turn your face to the sun. Feel its warmth and imagine its golden rays pouring over your body and running through your veins. Feel the cool breeze on your face.

Inhale deeply. Hold your breath. Now, let it out slowly. Listen to the songs of the red robin. You are part of the earth Miss Edith and it is part of you. Let The Great Spirit…or God into your heart and feel the endless love He has for us all.”

Edith closes her eyes and grins—her pale face bathed by sunlight. Her breathing is slow and calm. She falls into Maggie’s body.

“Can you feel the energy? Listen closely now. This is an ancient song my grandmother used to sing to me when I was your age. I will sing it in my native language …”

“Dat’s so pretty. You grandma sing dat to you? What’s it mean?”

“Yes, she sang it to me often. You want to sing it with me? I’ll teach you the words in English.”

“Yes, yes. I want to.”

Smile my child Have no fears Mother’s love Is always near Face the warmth Of the morning sun Filling you with strength Your day has begun Appreciate all things Big and small Look after the weak 85

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Help them when they fall In the wisdom of our mothers You will one day know It’s peace in your heart That will make you grow Take care, my child Listen to me Your heart is the spirit In all, you can see “Very good. You have such a beautiful singing voice. Like the Meadowlark. Are you ready to go back inside, now?”

She giggles. “Kay.” Her petite body is almost swallowed up with the satiny blankets and pillows. Her face is flush with color now. Her body is functioning again and passing normal waste. She’s going to be well. She survived the awful disease that stole her sister’s life away. How will Miss Nellie ever find the courage to tell her the truth about Sadie?

Nellie enters the room and sits on the bed next to Edith. She places her hands in her lap and smiles.

“Mommy!”

Nellie’s eyes well. Tears of joy mix with nervous laughter. She lies next to Edith, cradling her and kissing her face. She tucks the satin covers into her petite body then sits upright. There’s a peacefulness in her stare. Her soft hands tremble grasping mine.

Her sitting. Me standing. Her voice a soft whisper.

“Maggie. God bless you for saving our child. If only you could have been here for Sadie. My poor, poor Sadie.”

Nellie breathes raggedly, unable to continue.

Nellie’s words create a twinge in her heart. She recognizes these emotions. Nellie is a mother. And a mother’s love knows no boundary it cannot cross. Not an angry river, not a chasm as deep as the ocean floor. A mother’s heart is filled with a love that never thinks of itself first. A heart full of endless joy for a child saved.

A heart filled with unfathomable pain for a child lost. A void as dark as an abyss where no light can ever penetrate. There is no medicine, physical or spiritual that can ever heal such anguish.

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“Maggie. I want to tell you how sorry we are for your suffering in the fields these many months. Please forgive us. I want you to move back into our home…and not into the servant quarters, but into your own room in the manor.”

“I don’t know what to say…I-I do forgive you. Before I can accept your kindness there’s something, I need to ask of you.”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“Please move Sukey and Jakar into my old servant’s quarters.

And move them from the fields to the kitchen of the manor?”

Nellie nods and manages a smile through red sorrowful eyes and streaming tears.

“And if I may, can I be the one who tells them? Oh, and may I bring them some fruit from the garden?”

“Of course, child. Of course, you can. Go now. I can take care of Edith.”

She scrambles down the stairway and bursts out the front doors. She races, gliding over fields, dodging brush and trees.

She doesn’t slow until she reaches the shack. She slings the door open and explodes into joyous laughter.

“Oh Lawd! Child, you done scared the black from my skin and turned me into a white woman!”

Jakar leaps from her bed. They embrace, crying and trying to speak, but their words are babble and blubbering.

“Child, have you lost your mind? What do you mean bursting through that door like that and scaring the devil himself out of me? Ha-ha-ha…you one crazy Indian child. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Sukey, Jakar. I’m moving back into the manor. In my own room. But that’s not the best part. You better sit down.”

Sukey glances at Jakar lips puckered, brow furrowed, and rolling her large eyes.

“She has lost her mind. What did they do to you, girl?”

“You both are moving out of this shack and into my old quarters. You’re going to join Tanne in the kitchen of the manor.”

“What did you do, child?”

“Oh, and here. I brought you these from the garden.”

Sukey sits on her bed and sobs.”

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“Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.”

“Pack your things, both of you, and come with me. I promised you I wouldn’t forget you. See, I told you. And today I get to keep that promise. God truly does listen. He’s the Creator of the Universe, yet when we pray, he takes our prayers seriously. Even mine.”

88

13 A Daughter Lost, A Daughter Gained The bedroom is larger than the home she has resided in the past several months. A mahogany four-poster bed with a canopy draped in rich silky fabrics, fancy tassels, and fringes is the focal point of the massive room. Enough to sleep, three people. Silky satiny sheets and bedspreads the color of fresh Spring violets lay across its mattresses. A carpet with intricate designs from faraway lands nearly covers the entire wooden floor. A five-drawer mahogany vanity with a round beveled mirror and padded seat displays brushes, combs, and ribbons neatly organized across its top. A washbasin of fine porcelain etched with delicate artwork rests atop a small four-drawer dresser. A large painting occupying half of a wall hangs above the dresser. A mighty stallion and mare seem to leap from a heavy golden frame. Each muscle etched in realism. Eyes wild and full of fury—gazing into the viewer’s soul.

Behind a tall door of polished wood is a small room. Dozens of fancy dresses, shoes, and bonnets are neatly hung and folded.

Where did all these things come from? At the foot of the bed is a chest made of fine wood. The chest’s velvety deep purple padding with gold-colored buttons is made for sitting. Its empty chamber has a pleasant but odd scent. Woody and almost sweet.

Grandmother’s ceremonial mask and my native clothing shall go in here. She lays her cornhusk doll in the center of two fluffy pillows. The scent of oiled wood and spice fills the air.

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Great drapery the color of a ripe plum hangs over a large set of double doors leading to a small balcony. The walls are tall and painted gray like a winter sky. Wooden trim painted the purest of white and etched with delicate designs frame the walls. A person could get lost in such a room.

A soft tapping at the door diverts her attention. The scent of pipe smoke permeates the room.

“I wanted to personally thank you, Maggie, for caring for Edith…for saving her life. I…I owe you an apology. In truth, I owe you many apologies …”

“It isn’t necessary. I am very sorry for Miss Sadie and for your loss, sir.”

He glances at the floor, eyes narrowed, lower lip stiffened. He exhales. His face softens attempting to disguise a deep anguish with a forced smile.

“Thank you. I hope you enjoy the room, Miss Maggie. It used to be my mother’s. She passed many years ago and it has remained unoccupied ever since. It belongs to you now. She was a woman much like yourself. Full of spirit and confidence. A beacon of light for us all. A woman who was passionate about her beliefs.

Her name was Meredith.”

Did he just call me ‘Miss’ Maggie?

He sighs, “She’d have loved you for certain—would have sided with you on many issues. And I think she would be pleased for you to inherit her room. She was feisty and rebellious and long-legged like you. Any clothes you find in the closet you are welcome to. Miss Nellie and I no longer consider you our servant.

The contract will remain in place until your eighteenth birthday, but you have the status of family now.”

“I do not know what to say, sir.”

“Start by referring to me as Dr. McKenna. Not sir any longer.

And Maggie …” He rubs his chin.

“I want you to consider accompanying me on my medical visits to town and the plantation. I’m interested to learn more about your grandmother’s medicine. I also want to teach you more about civilized medicine.”

“I…would…love that. Am I, um…free to wander? Maybe gather herbs from the forests?”

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“Of course.”

He turns to walk from the room, then pauses.

“You’re fascinated by this painting of the stallion and mare, I see. You have excellent taste. It was my mother’s favorite. She loved horses—loved to ride. A rare painting by the renowned artist George Stubbs. Nobody could paint horses to his level of expertise.

Nevertheless, please don’t wander too far. We need you here.

We want you here. And Maggie, I want you to know, I have placed a large sum of money in a dowry in your name and set it aside until your eighteenth birthday. I want you to be able to leave the plantation with a means to support yourself should you decide to depart when the time arrives.”

She places her hand over her mouth. Did he truly say what I thought he said? What’s a dowry?

His voice quivers. “Please accompany Miss Nellie, Miss Edith, and I tomorrow at noon to attend Miss Sadie’s funeral.

The ceremony will be in the rose garden on the far side of the property near the river.”

“Of course, I will.”

He gently closes the door.

She leans on the edge of the bed. How quickly the rivers of life change direction. If only Mother and Grandmother could be here to see this breathtaking room and sleep alongside her. If only she could run and play in the yard with Hato and Kake.

I wish I could laugh with Father and my brother one more time.

My brother. Phillip. Known to our people as Si-Gwa-AhDoh-Gwih. Which means Spear Hanging Down. A name he gave a new meaning to with his terrible interpretation of it. I miss him so much. Her lower lip trembles. Her soft cries morph into laughter as her brother’s memories flood her thoughts. He was proud and stubborn and so dumb sometimes. He hated that she could beat him in any race. He swore he would always let her win. So, she wouldn’t cry like a child. She sighs. ***

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She descends the grand staircase wearing a white long-sleeve button-down shirt with ruffles on the sleeves and collar; A velvety floor-length purple skirt around her waist; Hair pulled into two tight braids secured by colorful native beads at the ends; Her feet snug in Miss Meredith’s fancy brown leather boots. She carries her medicine bag over her shoulder.

Tanne, Jakar, and Sukey sit around the kitchen table, dicing vegetables and cubes of beef to add to a soup being prepared for Sadie’s wake tomorrow afternoon.

“Why, Miss Maggie. Don’t you just look so darn pretty? Like a sophisticated young lady.”

“Thank you, Sukey.”

Tanne smacks Sukey’s arm and wags her finger at her.

“Sukey. Miss Maggie is part of the McKenna family now. You can’t go speak’n to her less’n she speaks to you first.”

“It’s okay, Tanne. Sukey and Jakar can speak to me anytime they choose. So, can you.”

Tanne frowns and lowers her eyes.

“Yes’m.”

“Jakar? Would you come with me? I need to gather herbs and bark from the forest floor. I need your help.”

“Pardon me, Miss Maggie, but Miss Nellie not gonna like that one bit.”

“Then, tattle on me, Tanne. In the meantime, mind what you are doing.”

Sukey fights back a smile. A squelched grunt of laughter slips from her throat.

“We will return in one hour. Come on, Jakar.”

Jakar’s eyes widen. She remains silent. She slides her chair from the table and wipes her hands across her apron.

The two teenage girls frolic along the bank of the river. A type of freedom neither has enjoyed. They dance and giggle then sit on a fallen log, throwing stones into the water.

“Miss Maggie …”

“Jakar. Don’t call me that. It’s Maggie when nobody’s around.”

Jakar hugs her neck.

“Maggie. Me and mama are happy. We miss you, but we so happy for you. Can I ask ya something?”

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“Of course, you can. Ask me anything.”

“Do you ever think about boys? What it would be like…to… ya know, kiss one? On the lips. Let him lick your neck and suck your toes?”

“Ew…What? No. Why? Have you been thinking about kissing boys?”

“Kinda. There’s a boy who works in the tobacco fields. I used to catch that boy just staring at my behind all the time. Seemed like every time I’d bend over, that boy be looking at my rear and gett’n all dreamy in his eyes. Probably thinking some nasty thoughts, I don’t even wanna know.”

Her skin begins to prickle. The back of her neck itches. How do you respond to that?

“Who? Do you know him?”

“Yeah. Don’t laugh now. His name is Amos.”

“Amos? Is he tall and skinny? Does he have teeth like a gopher?”

“You know him?”

He kept an eye on me in the barn the night Miss Nellie called me into the house. He snores like a hog, Jakar. But hey…you think he’s handsome…”

“He is handsome. And the next time I see that boy, I’m gonna shake my big butt right in front of his face. Watch his eyeballs fall right outa his head.”

Maggie falls backward off the log onto the soft forest floor.

Their raucous laughter echoes through the trees.

“Oh, Jakar. Why are you so funny? I would have never guessed you have such feelings about Amos. Amos? Really?”

“What about you? Is there a boy you ever felt sweet on?”

“Well, there was this boy once. I only met him for a short time.

But he was kind. He saved me from two awful bullies. I think his name was Charlie. He had a fierce spirit and a brave heart…and the bluest eyes…like turquoise. I gave him my bracelet.”

“A bracelet? You gave him a bracelet? Did you let him kiss you?”

“No…what? There wasn’t time for that. And it didn’t cross my mind to kiss him, Jakar.”

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“Are you sure? I’ll bet you wanted to. You did, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t…I don’t think I…would know how. Anyway, that was long ago. Stop talking about boys and help me look for herbs. I need to replenish my medicine bag. Come on, I’ll show you what to look for.” *** The girls return to the kitchen giggling. Tanne and Sukey continue to dice vegetables and fruits.

“Thank you, Jakar, for your help. Thank you, Tanne.”

Tanne fixes her eyes on a tomato she’s dicing.

“Yes’m…Miss Maggie.”

She flinches. Dr. McKenna rests his hand on her shoulder from behind.

“There you are, Maggie. Would you please accompany me?

Jake Bingham’s wife Carolyn is about to give birth. I’d like you to assist in delivering their child. Can you ride?”

“Yes, sir. Uh…I mean yes, Dr. McKenna. I’d love to and I’ve been riding since I could walk.”

“Good. We have two horses waiting outside. Is that your medicine bag?”

“Yes.” “Bring it along, just in case. We have no more time to waste.”

The pair ride north along the main road. The Bingham farm lies on the outskirts of town. It’s a humble abode of three or four acres. They grow only enough crops to sustain themselves.

Mr. Bingham paces across his front porch. He waves wildly the second they approach.

“She’s in here, doc. I don’t think she can hold out another minute. Ya gotta help her. That baby ain’t wait’n any longer.”

Carolyn lies on a small bed, her body propped up with pillows. The sheets are soaked where her water broke earlier.

“Ahhhh! It’s coming…it’s coming. Jake!”

“The doctor’s here, Carolyn. Just try and settle down now, woman.”

“Settle down?! That’s easy for you to say, you filthy bastard!

You lie down here and have this baby!”

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Maggie hides behind Dr. McKenna.

“Maggie. Stand next to her. Help her slow her breathing. Go on now.”

“Mrs. Bingham, can you breathe deep, hold it, then exhale slowly?”

Mrs. Bingham claws her arm like a wildcat, yanking her close to the bed. She breathes deep, holds, and exhales.

“I see the head, Carolyn. You need to push hard. This baby is ready.”

Mrs. Bingham screams wildly cursing her husband and Dr. McKenna. Maggie has never heard such foul language while witnessing the birth of a child. Mrs. Bingham’s nails dig deeper into her arm, causing Maggie’s screams to coincide with Carolyn’s.

“One more push. Come on now. Push, dammit.”

“Ahhhhh! Take my place, you rotten snake of a doctor! See how hard you push!”

A warbling squeal. The sound of a new life emerges into the world. A world of deafening noise and blinding lights. Skin wet with blood and fluid. Dr. McKenna cuts the cord with a razor, pinching and tying it off.

“Here, Maggie. Wipe him clean and swaddle the child in those blankets.”

“What is it? A boy? A girl? Is it healthy? Please tell me.”

“Carolyn. Jake. You are the proud new parents of a healthy baby boy.”

“Ah, thank you, God. Thank you. And thank you, sweetie, for helping me breathe. I’m sorry ‘bout the foul language. Menfolk just do not understand the hellfire we womenfolk go through to bring life into this world. Those weak cry’n bastards could never handle this sort of pain.”

“Yeah, well what’s birth’n feel like, wife?”

“It feels like crapp’n a pumpkin out your asshole! Think you could handle that, Jake?”

Jake pats her hand and kisses her forehead.

“I don’t have to, sweet pea. The Good Lord knew what he was doing when he put that burden on you. You can thank Eve. Ya did real good, my love. He’s a handsome little feller.”

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“Carolyn, I’m gonna give you this injection to help you rest and ease your pain. Jake, send a messenger if she has any bleeding or complications. And get some rest yourself.”

“Rest? What the hell does he need rest for? He didn’t do a darn thing but stand there and watch.”

“Congratulations on your new baby boy.” He nudges Maggie and whispers, “Maggie, let’s go.”

“Thanks, doc. Thanks for swinging by so fast. I’ll make sure she rests…Well, looky there. She’s already snooz’n.”

The ride home is relaxed. “Are all births that easy?”

Dr. McKenna chuckles. “No. Carolyn has had six births now.

That was the only easy one. So many drag out for hours or have serious complications. Even deaths of the mother or child or both. There is still a great deal you need to learn about birthing.

But don’t worry, I’m going to teach you everything, Maggie.” *** Black polished wood sheens from small beads of rain. A sealed child-sized casket rests upon green grass next to a freshly dug grave. A bountiful rose garden emanates sweet fragrances of full blossoms. Reds, whites, yellows, and pinks. Several pink roses rest atop the casket. The white man’s tradition of burying a loved one is foreign. But it carries its own unique beauty.

Sniffles and whimpers mix with soothing notes of a large instrument called a harp—effortlessly stroked by a master musician. The Priest from the McKenna’s church chants a blessing over the casket, sprinkling it with blessed waters. An emotion of great sadness and deep loss is carried by all who are present.

As the casket is lowered, Miss Nellie buries her face into Dr. McKenna’s chest. Her moans and wails rattle both their bodies.

He squeezes Nellie with one arm and embraces Edith with the other. Edith rests her head on his shoulder. Her eyes dart and rapidly blink. How does one so young grasp the finality of death or understand eternity?

96

14 The Price of Freedom As children, time is veiled with an illusion of immortality.

As adults, time accelerates, waiting for no one. Her contract of indentured servitude expires today. Her eighteenth birthday, May 16, 1860.

Her life as a member of the McKenna family has been blessed with opportunity, acceptance, and love. In the years accompanying Dr. McKenna, she has absorbed an immense amount of traditional medical knowledge of childbirth, surgery, infectious disease, wound care, and even the health and wellbeing of farm animals. She has shared with Dr. McKenna the knowledge of herbal and natural medicine passed down to her by Grandmother—knowledge he employed on many occasions. He has come to respect her. She has swayed his mind on occasion.

She’s inherited Grandmother’s stubbornness and her ability to persuade and influence others.

Her traditional chocolate cake topped with fresh strawberries from the garden is on display in the center of the kitchen table.

Eighteen candles. Miss Nellie and Dr. McKenna stand across the table, smiling. Sukey, Jakar, and Tanne gather around the table to celebrate. Miss Edith stands to her left, beaming. Probably because she had the honor of placing each candle on the cake.

Miss Nellie strikes a match. The smell of sulfur permeates the room. One by one, each candle lights up until all eighteen flickers. Miss Nellie glances around the room and smiles.

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“Everyone ready to sing the birthday song? Miss Edith, you may start.”

Edith’s face flushes. “No. Somebody else start.”

“Come on, Miss Edith. It’s my birthday. Don’t you want me to be happy on my special day?”

Edith whispers in her ear, “No. Please. You start it.”

“Edith. It’s my birthday. I can’t start my own song. Come on.

You’re going to make me cry. Boohoo …”

“Okay, okay. Don’t cry.”

Edith stands and stares at the floor. She inhales. Her voice is meek and quivering.

“Happy birthday to you …”

The group drowns her voice in revelry.

Edith hugs her neck. “Blow out the candles, Maggie. Try not to spit on my piece, okay?”

Sukey removes the smoking candles and slices the cake into wedges until everyone has a wedge of their own.

“Pass these around. Make sure Miss Maggie has the first slice.

Oh, child. How you’ve grown. So smart and so pretty. Makes Sukey jus’ wanna cry.”

Sukey dabs her eyes and rubs her nose with her apron.

Miss Nellie walks around the table and sets a rolled-up document bound by a white ribbon in front of her on the table.

Next to the document, she places a pair of scissors.

“The day has come, Miss Maggie. You do the honors. And when you finish, you’ll be a free woman. Free to make your own choices and free to leave us if you choose to do so.”

She raises the document, sliding the ribbon away, allowing it to unroll. The document appears as she remembers, except the paper has aged and the ink faded. With a single stroke, she slices the document in half.

A third of her life was spent here. She suffered intensely and learned greatly. Grandmother once said, “To be a great teacher, you must learn to be a good student and a respectful listener.”

Her eyes glisten.

“Thank you both for the life you have provided me. A life I could have never imagined. I have learned many lessons, 98

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both painful and pleasant. Fair and unfair. My spirit has grown stronger as a result.

“I love you both. Miss Edith, I adore you. You are my sister.

But I need to say this. I need you both to know this. I also love Sukey. I love her like a mother. I love Jakar. She is also my sister.

And I have had the honor to know and love the other Africans on this plantation. I’ve met their families. Seen their customs, danced and sang with them. I’ve felt their pain and their loss. I’ve healed them and even delivered a child. Their customs are not unlike mine.

“When I first came to White Skies Manor, Miss Nellie, you told me you believe all people are created equal by the God you worship. The Great Spirit I worship. Yet we continue to enslave precious lives.

“Slicing this document today has broken chains of bondage.

I do not mean to say my life here hasn’t been good. It has. But it has been lacking. Lacking something precious. My freedom.

“With all the divide and turmoil we are seeing in the country today between The States and between men of differing beliefs and politics, I beg you both to please take a stand against the evil institution of slavery. To choose…do what is right. That which both your God and my mine command us to do.

“Set the slaves of this plantation free. Let them choose whether to stay or leave. If they choose to stay, pay them a fair wage, and treat them with kindness and fairness. If they choose to leave…let them. Either way, hand them these scissors. This is what I ask for my eighteenth birthday.

“As for me. I choose to stay. Stay here with my family. All of you whom I’ve learned to love so much.”

Sukey hugs Jakar tightly. Her eyes wide with shock, her mouth agape. Nellie and Dr. McKenna remain silent. Glancing at one another. Visibly moved by her words. Nellie’s eyes are moist and blinking. She nods toward her husband. Dr. McKenna turns towards Maggie. He narrows his eyes and places his hand on her shoulder.

“Maggie. Follow me into the parlor where we can speak alone. Please excuse us, Nellie.”

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They sit at the same small table where she questioned Miss Nellie six years ago about owning slaves. Now here she sits with Dr. McKenna pleading with him to release those same lives by giving them their freedom.

He taps the tabletop with the tip of his index finger. “These things are far more complicated than you think, Maggie. But you’re right. The time has come to decide the direction I need to take on this issue. I will take into consideration your request.

That’s the best I can promise you for now.”

“Please, listen to me. You could free one or two people at a time. There are nine slaves on this plantation. You employ poor Irish men and women who you pay a fair wage to work by their side. You could offer any of the Africans the same wage and work hours as the Irish and give them the choice to stay or go. And what if you give up the tobacco crop on the next cycle and grow a different crop that doesn’t demand slave labor?”

“May is a time of planting. Much work is needed. In the Fall, the tobacco crop will need all hands working hard to dry and process our crop. I can’t just let them all go. It’s not that simple, Maggie.”

“Then start with the household…with Sukey and Jakar. Even Tanne. Offer them jobs. Maybe allow them to work off the price you paid for them. And if one of them decides to leave, I’ll do her work until we can find a replacement.”

Dr. McKenna runs his fingers through his thinning hair.

He removes an ivory pipe from a vest pocket. He stuffs it with tobacco and strikes a match. He inhales deeply and exhales a sweet puff of smoke that dissipates into the air. He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. When he puffs on his pipe like this, he’s deep in thought. But he’s also listening.

“Ah, Maggie…Maggie, Maggie. What am I to do with you?

Bring Sukey, Jakar, and Tanne into the parlor to me one at a time.

I’ll speak to each of them alone. I’ll offer them as you suggest.

And if I am confident, they will stay and work for me…and work off their debt, mind you, I will free them. This is all I am willing to do for your birthday. I cannot afford to risk losing an entire crop of tobacco to your idealism.”

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She leaps from her seat and hugs him.

“I’ll be right back. This will be a very good thing. You’ll see.” *** She taps on Sukey and Jakar’s door, then bursts in singing and laughing.

“Oh! Jesus have mercy, child! Why do you love to scare ole Sukey like that? I almost peed my pants, honey.”

Jakar lies on the floor giggling. “She loves scaring the tar outa you, mama. I have to admit, I think it’s funny too.”

“Oh, do ya know. You, git your chubby butt up off that floor and start to husking that corn, girl. See how funny that is. Uhhuh. That’s what I thought.”

“So. What did Dr. McKenna propose to both of you?”

“Sit down, child.”

“Is everything okay, Sukey?”

“Dr. McKenna gave us a proposal alright. He told us he could sell us for $800 each. That’s what we worth. Now, if ’n he freed us on the agreement that he pays us one dollar a week, dats eighthundred weeks we have to work for him. That’s over fifteen years, child. We still be working as slaves. And he ain’t gonna set us free till we earn every penny of what we owe him. That’s not freedom, honey child.”

Jakar’s arms squeeze her from behind. “It was so sweet for you to plead with Dr. McKenna to free us. But Mama be an old woman by then. And I be way past my prime for a baby.”

Muscles in her neck tighten. Her jaw clenches. He pacified her. Making her a promise he knew he wasn’t going to keep. He made a fool of her.

“I’m not finished with him yet. I’ll be back. Don’t give up hope.”

She stomps into the parlor restraining her anger—anger ready to burst into flames. Look at him, sitting there on that small sofa. Smug. Legs crossed, smoking his pipe and intensely reading that newspaper.

“May I speak with you?”

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He lowers his newspaper, removes his pipe, and points to a nearby chair.

“Pull up a chair, Maggie. What’s on your mind?”

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15 Free At Last She glares at him.

“How could you? How could you make such a fool of me?

Promising me something you had no intention of honoring?”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute. What are you talking about?”

“You lied to me. You said you would propose to Sukey, Jakar, and Tanne what I suggested. That you would give them the chance to earn their freedom.”

“You need to watch your manners and remember to whom you speak, young lady.”

“Or what? I’m a free woman, Thomas. I can stand up and walk out that door right now and never come back…and you can’t stop me.”

“Thomas? Is it Thomas now? Ha-ha. Well, while all that may be true, while you sit here in my home, speaking to me in my parlor, you will show me the respect I deserve.”

“You promised me you’d set them free. You promised.”

“I promised you I’d offer them their freedom once they paid back their worth to me. You are the one who suggested that idea, need I remind you.”

“I had no idea how much they were worth. Or the wage you would offer to pay them.”

“A dollar per week is a very fair wage. You left that portion out of your negotiation. Always know the value of things before you attempt to negotiate them. A good lesson for you.”

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“Listen to me. There is a war coming. A war that will divide this land. A war over slavery. You must set them free, Doctor.”

He leans forward frowning. “How do you know this?”

“When I was a young girl before the white settlers found me dying in a frozen cave, I had a vision. A vision from Garonthia— what you would call Heaven. I saw many soldiers. Brothers, fathers, white men, black men, Indians all fighting one another in a great battle. Blood soaked the fields and their spirits cried out to the Heavens. Mighty guns exploded, tearing bodies to pieces.

Terrible wounds never imagined before. This war is upon us.”

He squints. Intently staring. Sucking a deep drag from his pipe, he blows a puff of smoke towards the ceiling.

“How do you know this wasn’t just some dream…some illusion from delirium?”

“A vision is not a dream. This vision will come to pass. You will see.”

“Well, Maggie, you may be right on that. There is a lot of talk going ‘round. And I’m reading that tensions are very high in the South regarding slavery and the possibility of Lincoln becoming president.”

“Dr. McKenna. I wish to use the dowry you set aside for me to buy Sukey and Jakar’s freedom.”

He removes the pipe from his mouth. His brow raises and his lips part.

“You wish to give up your dowry…to set them free?”

“Yes.” “Well then …”

She stands and glares at him. Crossing her arms, pacing in front of him like a wolf stalking its prey. She stops pacing and points at him.

“You once made me watch the hanging of a slave named Abe. Sukey’s husband. On my thirteenth birthday, I went for a walk and heard cries from one of the barns. A white man was whipping and beating Abe mercilessly. He would have killed him. I tried to stop him, but he struck me and knocked me to the ground. He stood laughing. I kicked him. Hard. Between his legs. While he was bent over, I hit him over the head with a hammer. It knocked him out. But it didn’t kill him.

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“I cut Abe’s ropes to free him. He helped me drag the man behind some bales and we covered him with hay. I begged Abe to run. He said he would. So, I ran. That is the day I ran away if you remember. And that is why I ran away.

“Abe knew when the man woke up, he would report what I did. So, to protect me, he killed that man to silence his voice forever. He took the blame for me! It’s my fault Sukey has no husband and Jakar has no father. I owe them. Long ago, I asked The Great Spirit to show me how I can repay this great debt. Now his answer has become clear. Take my dowry and free them.”

“Very well, Maggie. I will assume your dowry and I will give you the contracts for both Sukey and Jakar along with their freedom papers in exchange. They will belong to you. You can decide to free them as their legal master…or keep them as your servants.” *** She softly knocks on Sukey’s door, slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“Aw, why so glum, child? You know’d Dr. McKenna ain’t never gonna set Jakar and I free. But you just keep on drive’n that man crazy with your stubbornness.”

Maggie rests on the edge of the bed, stressing rusty springs.

Her eyes well. Tears flow freely along her cheeks and drip onto the floor.

“Oh now, baby child. Don’t you cry. You gonna make ole Sukey cry and nobody wanna see that.”

The bed compresses next to her. Jakar’s arms squeeze her waist, resting her head heavy on her shoulder.

“You’re my sister. We’ll always be sisters. I love you, girl. Don’t you never forget that.”

“Thank you, Jakar. I love both of you too. So much. I am sorry you lost your father Jakar. If I had the power to bring him back, I would.”

Sukey slaps her hands together and wags a scolding finger.

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“Now don’t you go bringing up old hurts from the past like that, sugar. Abe is gone now, ya hear? He’s with Jesus and he’s smiling down on us all. He’s a free man.” Sukey’s eyes well.

“Sukey. Jakar. You’re right. Dr. McKenna will never set you free. But I will.”

“Whatchu mean, child?”

“I mean, I own you both now. And I am giving you both your freedom.”

She pulls their slavery contracts from beneath her blouse and passes them over. Sukey’s eyes widen. She shakes her head.

Jakar’s jaw hangs.

“Where did you get these? Baby girl, did you steal these?

They’ll hang us all.”

“I bought them. I bought your freedom. Tear them up. You’re free. And here are your freedom papers to carry with you as proof wherever you go.”

Sukey falls to her knees and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. She raises her arms to Heaven. Her body shakes with heavy sobs.

Jakar kneels next to her, hugging her. They hold each other, rocking back and forth and wailing unchained cries of joy. Tears glistening across Sukey’s ebony cheeks. Her nose dripping with mucus. Jakar’s eyes are wide and unblinking.

Sukey uses her apron to wipe Jakar’s face. “We free, baby.

Jesus heard our cries. We free.”

Jakar buries her face into her mother’s bosom and moans deeply, sobbing unrestrainedly. Sukey kisses her forehead. She stands and lifts Jakar upright. The two face Maggie and open their arms to her. Sukey and Jakar’s hugs release all of Maggie’s guilt. The Great Spirit has allowed her to reconcile her debt to them. A poetic absolution.

“What do we do now, child? Where do we go?”

“You can stay here and work in the manor. Dr. McKenna will pay you both the dollar per week he promised. You can work for as long as you like and you can leave anytime you choose.”

“But where would we go?”

“Cross the river into Ohio. Find a place to live in the Northern states.”

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“Jakar. Pack your things, baby. We leaving in the morning.”

“Yes, Mama.” Jakar grasps Maggie’s hands. “Maggie, come with us.”

“I can’t, Jakar. I must stay and try to win the freedom of every other slave on this plantation. When you get where you’re going, send me a letter and tell me where you are. I promise I will visit you someday. I will see you both again.” *** The sun peeks over the horizon announcing the birth of a new day. She sits in a flatbed wagon pulled by a single horse outside Sukey’s door. Tucked under her seat is a Colt Dragoon revolver she borrowed from Dr. McKenna’s private den. Dr. McKenna went to town last night and hasn’t returned so he won’t miss it.

Sukey and Jakar open the door and step outside hauling several sacks of possessions.

“Now what are you doing out here sitting all high and mighty on this wagon, baby girl?”

“I’m your ride, Sukey. Get in. I left you both some fresh homemade muffins, ripe berries, and salt pork in the back. I’ll take you as far as Wheeling. I have some old business I need to tend to. An old debt to collect.”

“Oh, baby. You put a blanket down for us?”

“Only the best for my girls. Hold on. Here we go.”

The morning is cool and comfortable. The air is sweet with a mild scent of wildflowers. A soft breeze whistles through the trees as they progress along the well-worn road north to Wheeling. The sun shines brightly across rolling grassy hills. The trip is peaceful. Uneventful. Sukey and Jakar gaze at the majestic scenery in wonder and amazement. This is what freedom feels like.

They arrive in Wheeling several hours later. Traveling up Market Street, she pulls to the edge of the bridge and stops. She pounces to the ground with catlike agility.

“This is where I leave you. Just cross this bridge and head north. Find your new life. A life of freedom. I’m going to miss you both terribly.”

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The three women hug as one body. Hanging onto each other for several moments. They won’t see one another for a very long time. If ever again.

“Goodbye, my sweet, sweet baby girl. Sukey is gonna miss you so, so much. Thank you, my precious angel. We be praying for ya, child. Always in our prayers. C’mon, Jakar.”

“Bye, Maggie.” Jakar squeezes her hand then releases. She whispers, “Sisters forever.”

The two women cross the great bridge that once brought Maggie to Wheeling years ago. Dancing and singing and waving goodbye. When they are far from sight, she continues north out of town. There it is. The sign with the back-to-back letter B’s.

She turns onto the small road leading to the Baker farmhouse.

She parks her wagon outside the house and steps off the wagon, sliding the Colt under her arm.

She sneaks around the farmhouse headed towards the barn where Hato was chained years ago. He was three years old then.

Is he still here? Did he run off? Maybe they sold him. The place looks mostly the same. A bit more weathered, perhaps.

“Excuse me. Excuse me, can I help you miss?”

His face has aged, but it looks like Old Man Baker.

“Yes, you can. You can give me my dog. The white wolf.

Remember him? Six years ago?

“You’re that Injun girl. The Mingo. Where’s your master?”

“I have no master. Where’s my dog? Where’s Hato?”

“Eh…he ain’t here…I sold him a year after I bought him. Too wild for the farm.”

She raises the pistol to his face. “Don’t you lie to me.”

His hands rise above his head, backing away from her. “I-I ain’t lying. I swear. I sold him. Sold him back to the old couple I bought him from.”

“The Jacksons? Clara and Henry?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s them.”

“They still live in the same place?”

“Last I heard they were still there.”

“You better not be lying to me, old man, or I’ll be back.”

She steers the wagon back onto the main road and heads southward toward the Jackson farm several miles away. She 108

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pushes the mare to a faster pace. Nervous flutters twinge inside her chest.

The old familiar farm comes into view. She steers the wagon up to the front door. Henry sits on the porch in a rickety old rocking chair, puffing on a stogie. He leans forward squinting.

“Clara. We have company.”

He stands then walks off the porch to greet her. She remains sitting on the wagon seat, staring down at him.

“Can I help ya, miss? Are ya lost?”

“Wow, Henry. You’ve lost all your hair now, haven’t you?”

“Do…I know you? Have we met?”

“Yes, Henry. We’ve met.”

She pulls the Colt from under the seat of the wagon and points it at him.

“Whoa…you gonna rob us? We don’t have no money…or much of anything.”

“You have something that belongs to me. Something you stole from me.”

“Margaret? Is that you?”

“I’m here to get my dog. Where’s Hato?”

“Oh…well, I’m deeply sorry, Margaret. He died…last year.

Yeah…that’s right. Last year. Buried him out back, by the barn.”

“Liar! You show me where he’s buried. Show me!”

“Henry? Who is it?”

“Clara, stay in the house. Just a visitor. I’ll take care of it.”

She steps off the wagon and shoves the revolver into Henry’s gut.

“Take me to where you buried him, so I can take him home.”

“Well…okay. I’ll take ya, but I ain’t exactly sure where he’s buried.”

Henry walks toward the barn. She follows close behind, keeping the revolver shoved into his spine. He grabs a shovel from inside the barn door and starts scraping and digging in the dirt near the side of the barn.

“I think he’s somewhere around here.”

The backdoor slams open. She turns, startled. The shovel jars her hand, knocking the pistol into the air and onto the ground.

Henry grabs her, squeezing her from behind.

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“Not so smart are ya, Margaret. You come with me now.”

Her arms are pinned to her side. She struggles as he drags her towards the barn.

Clara shouts, “Sic her. Attack!”

Snarling and barking fury leaps from the back porch and darts towards her. White fury.

“Hato!”

He charges and pounces on Henry. Ripping and shredding his clothes. Biting deep into his forearm. Henry falls to the ground, screaming. He scrambles across the dirt attempting to flee.

“Call him off, Clara! Call him off!

“Hato, stop! Sit!” Clara watches helplessly as Hato continues to tear at the clothing and the flesh off Henry’s body.

“Hato. Calm down. Come here, you bad boy.”

Hato turns and leaps on her, licking her face and nose, whimpering and howling. His tail whipping in the air. She hugs his neck, calming his wild spirit.

“Good boy, Hato. You’re such a good boy. I’ve come to take you home. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

Henry sits upright and scoots along the ground, moving as far away as he can manage, leaving a trail of blood in the dirt.

“Let’s go home, Hato.”

Clara blocks her path, shoving a pistol in her face. Dr. McKenna’s pistol.

“Now, you just get yourself back on that wagon and git. Ya hear? You, git.”

“Put the gun down, Clara.”

“Margaret?…oh, my Lord. I didn’t recognize you.”

“No, you didn’t. But Hato did. And I’m taking him with me.”

“No…no yer not. You’re gonna leave him right here with me.

Now, git in yer wagon and leave before I fetch the Sheriff.”

“I’m leaving with Hato and Dr. McKenna’s pistol. Hand it over.”

She walks towards Clara with her hand extended.

“Give me the pistol, Clara.”

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot you.”

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She steps towards Clara. Clara raises the pistol and fires. It clicks.

“You were going to shoot me? For real? You wretched old witch. It was never loaded, Clara. I was always smarter than you.

Not so tough without your shovel. Are you?”

Maggie snatches the pistol from Clara’s hand and slaps her hard across the face.

Clara holds her hand to her cheek. “How dare you! Come back here, Margaret. Bring my dog back.”

“Hato was always my dog. He was never yours. Goodbye, Clara. You better go and tend to your bleeding husband.”

Hato leaps into the rear of the wagon, sitting as close to her as he can. Yipping and whining. If he could talk, he would have many stories to tell. Much to catch up on. She turns the wagon around and heads home.

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16 AN UNCIVIL WAR On November 6, 1860, Abraham Lincoln is elected president of the United States. He opposes the spread of slavery throughout the territories. This event sparks a fuse of rebellion in the South, where cotton plantations rely on the evil institution of slavery. In December, South Carolina secedes from the Union, followed by six more states in January 1861. A new government is created in the South. The Confederate States of America, led by its newlyelected Democratic president Jefferson Davis.

Lincoln is inaugurated in March, and on April 12, 1861, when Southern forces fire upon Fort Sumpter, The Great Civil War has begun in America. The Great Spirit cried tears of sorrow raining down upon the land, extinguishing fires created by cannon fire. Maggie’s visions have been fully realized. A bloody battlefield awaits every soul North and South. Thousands of lives will be lost. Thousands more will be in desperate need of medical attention.

The day is sweltering. July is always the warmest month in Virginia. Dr. McKenna storms into the kitchen, holding a telegram stealing away teatime from Miss Nellie and Maggie.

“Listen to this.”

July 22, 1861 Dear Dr. Thomas McKenna, Sir, we wish to inform you Union and Confederate 112

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troops engaged in a bloody battle in Manassas, Virginia, yesterday. Hundreds of soldiers on both sides are dead.

Thousands of others are severely wounded or missing.

We are requiring your services to aid in the treatment of the many wounded soldiers. We need doctors, nurses, and anyone with medical experience to travel to Manassas, Virginia, to aid the temporary hospitals that have been set up for this purpose. Please report as soon as you are able.

Sent on behalf of General Irvin McDowell, Union Army, United States of America “Miss Maggie, it seems you are a prophet indeed. The first bloody battle of the war happened yesterday in Manassas near a river called Bull Run. The Confederates won the slaughter. There are hundreds of dead bodies on the ground and thousands of others wounded and in need of serious medical attention.”

He removes his spectacles and takes a deep breath. He exhales. Is it excitement or dread behind his sobering stare? His eyes narrow and his voice softens.

“Maggie, they need doctors and nurses. Anyone with medical and surgical experience. I’m going to leave in the morning and I’d like you to accompany me. I fully understand if you choose to decline and stay.

“Nellie, take care of Edith. I do not know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll have Amos watch over the plantation. I’m going to arm him with my Colt revolver.”

“Thomas, the law says you cannot arm a slave. He’ll be hung.”

“These are desperate times, Nellie.”

Nellie rises from her seat and rushes into her husband’s waiting arms. He embraces her, wiping her tears with his palm.

“I will return, Nellie. I can promise you that. I need to pack some things and prepare for my journey at once.” He glances at Maggie. “Will you join me?”

The meaning of her vision unravels like the threads of a tattered veil. Revealing clues of a terrible darkness moving across the land, engulfing all its people.

“Yes…of course. I’ll go with you.”

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“Very well. Pack clothes and all your medical supplies. We’ll leave in the morning at sunrise.” *** The wagon is loaded with blankets, food, water, firewood, travel bags, medical bags, and supplies for the long ride. A Springfield musket is secured in a slot next to the bench seat near Dr. McKenna. After packing plenty of feed for the horses, they begin their journey to Manassas on a mission of mercy.

“Come on, Hato. Jump in.”

The first day of the journey begins. Manassas, Virginia, is approximately two-hundred miles away. As the wagon enters the main roadway, Dr. McKenna glances at her and smiles.

“You are going to see things on the battlefield you never imagined in your worst nightmares. Everything I’ve taught you about surgery won’t be enough. You’re going to learn many new techniques and even some we’ll have to make up as we go. I can’t prepare you for this, you know.”

“I know.”

“The scale will be immense. There’ll be disease, infections, and other things we won’t expect. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I have prepared myself. I spent many hours praying last night, asking The Great Spirit to watch over our journey and bless our efforts. I’m ready. The real question is, ‘Are you ready?’”

He chuckles and shakes his head in protest.

“Dr. McKenna? Are you sure Miss Nellie, Miss Edith and, Tanne are going to be okay?”

“I had a long talk with Amos this morning. I loaned him my Colt revolver along with enough ammo to protect the plantation.”

“How did he react to having that responsibility?”

“He reacted well. I promised him if he would protect White Skies and keep the others working, I would set him free when we return. I’m confident he will do so.”

“You should set them all free when we return.”

“Ah, Maggie. You never cease. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should.” She hugs him, turning his face flush.

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Hato rests on a stack of blankets in the bed of the wagon, laying his head on his front paws and glancing around.

The first day of the journey is uneventful. The road is rough in many areas. Dr. McKenna follows a map of Virginia, helping plot their course to Manassas. She rides next to him at the front of the wagon. She dozes periodically, abruptly jerked from slumber when the wagon hits a pothole or large stone. They travel steadily for hours. Nothing to do but watch the sun travel across partlycloudy skies until it sets in the West. Shades of oranges, reds and, violets splash across the western sky the moment the sun drops below the horizon. He guides the wagon off the road into a small clearing.

“Let’s set up camp here for the night. You can sleep in the wagon with Hato.”

He grabs a large wool blanket from the bed of the wagon and tosses it over his shoulder.

“I’ll sleep on the ground next to the fire I’m about to build.”

Hato leaps off the wagon and runs about, sniffing and urinating on trees.

“Stay close, Hato.”

She climbs off the wagon and helps gather stones and wood to build a fire for camp. She crafts a bow-drill and begins using friction to create a flame igniting the tinder. She blows on the tiny cherry embers until they ignite into a flame. She cups the burning tinder in her hands and carefully approaches the gathered wood for the campfire.

Dr. McKenna stares at her, puzzled, shaking his head. Just before she sets her burning tinder under the wood, he pours a bottle of alcohol on the logs and strikes a match. He chuckles, tossing the match onto the pile. He steps backward as the flames swoosh igniting the wood.

“Maggie, let me introduce you to a miracle of modern technology called matches. They can be used to light candles on a birthday cake or even to light a campfire. Amazing.”

She tosses her tinder onto the fire and frowns.

“There. I did my part.”

She sits on a rock near the fire, resting her elbows on her knees with her chin tucked into her cupped hands. She glares at 115

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him. He walks towards the wagon, chuckling. He shoves a bottle of whiskey under his arm. He grabs a small pot, two tin bowls, two tin cups, and a couple of spoons from a wooden crate. He carries them to the fire, placing the pot on a rock near the flames, stirring it occasionally. He sets the bottle next to his foot. The moment the stew bubbles, he slaps a few scoops into a bowl, grabs a cup and the bottle, and approaches her—handing her a bowl.

“Miss Nellie’s beef stew, Maggie. Only the finest grub for our journey.”

He hands her a tin cup and pours it half full of whiskey.

“Have a drink with me.”

She takes the cup and the bowl of stew, setting them both on a flat rock in front of her. He returns to his seat and continues to stir the stew. He plops a couple of spoonsful into his bowl and fills his cup with whiskey.

She remains silent, staring blankly into the flames. Orange flickers hypnotize her with their raw beauty. She glances across the fire where Dr. McKenna sips stew. A soft yellow glow highlights the sharp contours of his face. The hot stew burns her tongue. She quickly sets the bowl on the rock and swallows a sip of whiskey. She chokes and spits.

“Ha-ha. It’s a bit harsh, but you get used to it.”

“It tastes like horse piss.”

“Horse piss? Well, it’s a man’s drink, Maggie. Most women can’t handle it. It’s okay though. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Her left eyebrow raises. She chugs the whiskey. She gulps, then flips the empty cup over and glares at him, stifling a strong urge to gag. He guffaws. She ambles around the fire and extends her cup. He nods, chuckles and refills. She returns to her rock and resumes staring into the flames.

“I don’t know too many women who could last this long drinking with me, Maggie. Actually, I don’t know many women who can do half the things you can do.”

“That’s because your white man’s society looks down upon women. You don’t give us the respect we deserve, Thomas.”

“Thomas? Hm. You want to be on a first-name basis? Like an equal?”

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She raises her head and locks eyes with him.

“I am your equal. That’s what you don’t understand. You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said this entire trip. We are all equal in the eyes of God. You are not better than me. Nor am I better than you.

“In my culture, men and women are equal. A man rules the tribe as Chief, but it is the women who decide who will be Chief.

If he isn’t a wise Chief, the women have the power to replace him. Women do not marry into a man’s family and take his name like in your world. The men must join the woman’s family and become part of her clan. Their children are also members of her clan.”

She chugs her cup of whiskey, widens her eyes, and waves the cup in the air, playful and defiant. He walks around the fire with the bottle. She stands and extends her cup. He wraps his fingers around her cup and her hand. He pauses. Curiously glancing at her. He sets the bottle on the ground while continuing to hold her hand with the cup. What is he doing?

“Maggie. I’ve never known anyone like you. One who speaks her mind so boldly and so honestly. I’ve always respected you and have grown to love you. You’re intelligent and you’re very beautiful. Inside and out. I don’t agree with everything you say, but I respect your beliefs.”

“Where’s this conversation going? You can let go of my hand now.”

“I’m sorry. Of course,…I just wanted you to know that I am proud of the woman you’ve grown into. That’s all I meant to say.

I should turn in now. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yes, you should. Let’s go, Hato.”

She leaves him standing by the fire. Hato leaps into the wagon.

She crawls in after him. She pulls her Bowie knife from her bag and lays it beside her, then bundles herself in several blankets.

Her mind is numb with whiskey, her body relaxed in warmth.

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17 THE ROAD WELL TRAVELED A warm wet tongue licks her face. She peeks through the slit of one eye. Hato’s gigantic face stares, panting. A drop of saliva splats on her nose. She sits upright, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Thanks for that. Go play…or go chase something.”

Morning sunlight stains a purple sky lighter shades of turquoise. Her temples throb. Her eyes are puffy and itchy. Her leg kicks something. My Bowie? Why’s this here? She slips it into her backpack. Immense pressure on her bladder motivates her to find a private place to relieve herself among the trees and brush.

She walks towards the smoldering fumes of the campfire. Dr. McKenna fills a cup with coffee. Steam boils over its sides. His half-hearted attempt to avoid grinning is obvious.

“Good morning. I figured you might need this.”

“Did you? How kind.”

“I left you some eggs and strips of pork if you’re hungry.”

She pokes and dices small bits with her fork then nibbles.

“As soon as you finish your breakfast, we should get on the road. Looks like good weather ahead. Just a little warm and sticky today.”

She scoops the remainder of her eggs from her plate into her mouth and swishes it down with her coffee—straining the last drop from the cup.

“I’m ready.”

He chuckles. “How are you feeling this morning?”

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“I’m okay…well, not so okay. My head hurts and I’m a little off balance.”

“You were a wee bit too lushy last night with the spirits. Or as they say, three sheets in the wind. Do you need a doctor?”

“Yes.” “Give me your coffee cup.”

She reaches across the embers offering her cup. He fills the cup halfway with coffee, then sprinkles a brown powder into the mix.

“What is meant by three sheets? How does that relate to drinking alcohol?”

“When the sails of a ship would fly loose, the ship would zig and zag across the waters. Somebody thought a nice way to describe being drunk would be like three sails, or sheets coming loose in the wind. Here you go.”

“What is it?”

“Well, Maggie, it’s a little something I learned from you. It’s Willow bark. It’ll take your headache away. Maybe you should rest in the wagon with Hato. Get a little more sleep before you ride up front with me. No shame in it.”

“Okay. Um…I’m really sorry about last night…for being angry with you like everything was your fault. I just believe we can all do something…even if it’s small, to help someone else’s situation…to make it better. Even a small kindness can grow into a great deed in a person’s life.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’ve made some big mistakes and some bad choices in my life. And maybe it’s not too late to do the right thing. I want you to know I’m going to free all the slaves working for me. Give them something to get them started on a new life…as soon as we get back home. I promise. You win, Maggie. You were always correct in your beliefs.”

He stands and pours the remainder of the coffee over the embers. They sizzle and steam. He extends his hand helping her to her feet. He resists her hug at first, then embraces her fully.

“Jump in, Maggie. Rest. I’ll wake you up in a bit. Hato! C’mon, boy. Hop in.”

Hato runs and leaps into the wagon, sliding across the boards and body-slamming Maggie—knocking her into the horse feed.

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“Hato! Why do you do those things? Behave. Sit!” She sighs, “Oh, come here…yes, you’re my crazy boy.”

She snuggles into several blankets and closes her eyes. It’s difficult to sleep with the moist air heating up and the unexpected jolts from the road. *** Sweat beads across her face leaving a salty tinge on her lips.

Her eyes peel open. Hato lies next to her, panting. Her clothes stick to her skin. No wind. What’s the use of trying to sleep in this heat?

Wham! Her body whips and jerks, violently tumbling towards the rear of the wagon. Supplies topple, spilling on her and pelting her body. Hato yelps and leaps from the wagon onto the ground. Both horses rear up, snorting and squealing. Dr. McKenna is flung from his seat. She finds herself lying sideways, unable to move, pinned by crates and debris.

Dr. McKenna gasps and wheezes. He pushes himself off the ground to his feet, resting his hands on his knees.

“Maggie! Are you alright?”

“I…I think so. I can’t move.”

“We lost a wheel. We only have one to spare.”

“Can you help me, Thomas? I’m stuck.”

“Okay, just sit still for a moment. I’m going to move everything from the wagon to the ground. Then I’ll get you out.”

“I’m getting squished. Please hurry.”

Dr. McKenna works quickly, removing baggage, crates of food, bags of horse feed, and other supplies, setting them on a flat area close to the wagon in an organized manner.

“Does everything have to be so neat and orderly? These crates are squashing me if you haven’t noticed.”

“Alright, now. Here we go. I’m going to lift you out. Wrap your arms around my neck.”

He carries her from the wagon, setting her gently on a crate with a solid lid. He wipes his brow with his sleeve and stares at the wreckage, placing his hands on his hips. He locates the wagon jack and props the wagon upright.

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“I’m just going to pull this wheel off and slide the new one on and we’ll be back on the road quickly. Just sit and enjoy the sweltering Virginia heat for a bit. Actually, would you mind feeding the horses while we’re stopped?”

“You don’t actually have to tell me everything you’re doing.

I can see what you’re doing…Sure, I’ll feed them. We’re going to need more water. The water barrel is broken.”

“Okay. One thing at a time.”

“Of course. I’m getting a good understanding of one thing at a time.”

He slides the new wheel over the bushing and tightens the nut. He wipes grime from his hands onto his trousers and pulls a hanky from his pocket. He removes his spectacles and wipes moisture from his face.

“The road goes past a lake and a running stream ahead. I think five miles or so…don’t remember for sure, because I’m not exactly sure where we are. But we’ll stop when we see the lake.”

“But the barrel’s broke. How’s it going to hold water?”

“Only the lid’s broken. We’ll…we’ll keep it sitting upright.

We won’t fill it all the way. Don’t worry about it. Help me load the wagon so we can get moving.”

“I thought you traveled this road before? You don’t know where we are?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I wasn’t sure exactly where we are. I know what road we’re on…just not sure what part. Just…get in.

Let’s go. Hato! Jump in, boy.”

She rolls her eyes and climbs onto the bench seat next to him.

They resume heading along the road continuing their journey.

“Look over there. What’d I tell you? The lake. Ha.” “It was less than a mile up the road. You said five.”

“I…never mind.”

He steers the wagon off the road and stops at the lake’s edge.

He hops off the wagon and places a small trough in front of the horse team. Grabbing the barrel, he scoops water from a running stream near the lake and fills the trough. Returning to the stream he fills the barrel and places it onto the wagon. He fills a tin cup four, five times. Gulping and belching.

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“Here. Want a drink?”

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if there was going to be any left.”

He scowls and points.

“Look. There’s an entire lake over there.”

Men are as dumb as boys. So testy. No humor. *** Another day. Eight hours of empty road and sweltering heat pass. A small clearing near a creek presents itself as a promising spot to stop. Dr. McKenna steers the wagon off the road and parks.

“Let’s make camp here, Maggie. We’ll feed and water the horses and get a fire going.”

Hato leaps from the wagon and runs wild. Darting about and barking.

Dr. McKenna puts a fresh pot of coffee over the fire and takes a seat on a rock. Shadows begin to overtake the landscape. Low grumbles and moans echo from the woods. He raises his head, narrowing his eyes, scanning the tree line.

“It’s the sound of a bear, Thomas. She won’t bother us if we leave her alone.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ll keep the musket close by tonight just to be sure.”

“Would you teach me to shoot a musket?”

His head jerks backward. His eyes widen. He arches his back and crosses his arms.

“You really want to learn to shoot?”

“Yes, I would. Please?”

He slides the musket from the holding brackets on the side of the wagon along with a handful of musket balls, powder, and a leather pouch.

“Follow me, Maggie.”

He leans the musket against the wagon then sets an old branch on top of a rock about fifty paces from camp.

“Alright now, pay attention. I’m going to show you how to load and fire, then it’s your turn.”

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Her stomach flutters and her heart beats rapidly. I’m going to fire a musket! Only the boys were taught the skills of hunting and war. This will be better than playing stickball.

“I’m watching. Show me what to do.”

“First take your powder in your hand and bite off the top like this.” He spits the paper.

“Next, fill the barrel with the powder and drop the musket ball inside. Slide the ramrod out from here and ram the ball down the barrel like this. Got that?”

“Got it.” She claps and grins. He pauses and shakes his head, crinkling his brow.

“Try to focus, Maggie…then you pull the trigger back to the half-cocked position. Pull a cap from this leather pouch and place it here. Like this. This is what’s going to ignite your powder and fire the musket.”

She nods, absorbing every instruction and detail— committing each step to memory.

“Once the cap is placed, pull the trigger back to the fullycocked position and you, my dear, are ready to fire.”

He rests the butt against his shoulder and aims. He fires. A crack rings out echoing across the treetops and a puff of smoke leaves the barrel. Her body jerks in unison with the blast. The branch splits immediately and falls from the rocks into pieces.

Her ears ring from the shockwave.

“Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He places a fresh piece of wood on top of the rock and returns, handing her the musket. It’s heavy. Her fingers tremble handling the packet of powder.

“Bite off the head and pour the powder down the barrel.”

She bites. The paper sticks to her lips when she tries to spit.

She continues to blow and spit but the paper remains attached.

She frowns and strips the paper from her lip. She pours the powder into the barrel and slides the ramrod from its slot. He chuckles and hands her a musket ball.

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there tight.”

She rams the ball, then pulls the trigger to half-cocked. She carefully places the cap and pulls the trigger to full-cocked. He stands behind her.

“Now, you’re ready. Place the butt here on your shoulder.

Look down the barrel through the sites. Line them up with your target. Breathe in and hold, then gently squeeze the trigger to fire.”

She aims, closing one eye, aligning the sites with the target.

She inhales and holds, aware of the sounds of her own heartbeat.

Her fingers tingle as she gently squeezes the trigger and fires. The stock punches deep into her shoulder, knocking her off balance.

Smoke obscures her vision. The ball hits a rock and ricochets. Dr. McKenna crouches and ducks.

“Holy shit!”

She giggles and lowers the weapon.

“Woohoo! How was that? Was it good? Did I do good?”

“That was…uh, great for your first shot. Let’s shoot a few more rounds till you’re comfortable…and actually hit what your aiming for.”

She continues to fire musket balls into the woods, bouncing them off the ground, off the side of the rock, and eventually into the fleshy wood of her target. Each shot seems easier than the last. He walks to the campfire and pours himself a fresh cup of coffee. “Keep practicing. I’m right here. Just don’t shoot my way.”

Hato growls, then barks wildly. Trees and brush crash, springing violently side to side. A young black bear charges the camp. McKenna leaps from his seat and shouts at the bear. He snatches stones and slings them, but nothing slows the enraged animal’s charge. The sow turns toward him. Hato charges.

“Maggie! Load the musket!”

Her mind swirls with confusion. Don’t panic. Run through the steps…Pour in the powder…ram the ball, place the cap… pull the trigger back fully.

The horses snort and rear up, protesting the bear’s presence.

McKenna sprints towards Maggie. Hato snaps and bites at the heels of the bear, harassing her, but it doesn’t deter her pursuit.

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Maggie holds the musket to her shoulder and aims. Thomas is in the way, then Hato blocks her view.

“Shoot her! Maggie, shoot her!”

The bear grabs Thomas by the leg and clamps onto his ankle.

Teeth sink deep into flesh and bone. He screams. Hato growls, tearing at the sow’s fur from behind.

Deep breath…hold. The scene slows in her mind’s eye. She lines up her target through the sites, aiming at the sow’s head.

She squeezes then fires. The ball smashes into the bear’s shoulder.

She moans and bellows, releasing her bite—taking several steps backward—before she raises her head towards Maggie.

Maggie fumbles with the powder. Biting, spitting, pouring.

The musket ball slips through her fingers, hitting the ground.

The sow roars and rambles her way. She snatches the musket ball and drops it into the barrel, quickly ramming into place. Her fingers quiver, placing the cap and pulling the trigger back. The bear’s presence is upon her. She raises the musket. The sow is nearly on top of her. She aims and fires. The ball crashes into the sow’s skull, dropping her. The momentum of the animal’s body crashes into hers. The musket flies from her hands. She tumbles backward. Her skull shudders as it smacks the ground sending a jolt across her spine and the base of her neck. Hato pounces on the body of the bear, ripping and tearing at her hide. The sow heaves three deep and final breaths, then lies still and lifeless.

Maggie drags herself from the ground and rushes to Dr. McKenna’s side.

“Let me see your ankle. Are you hurt?”

“Ah…yes, yes. Her teeth sunk deep. We’re going to have to clean this out with soap and hot water and get a wrap on it.”

“Put your arm around my neck. I’ll help you to the campfire.

You sit. I’ll heat up the water.”

She fills an iron pot with water and places it on the fire to heat. When the water is warm, she cleans the wounds. Several puncture marks are deep and bloody. Her head throbs as she attempts to focus.

“These are going to require stitches. Good practice for you, Maggie.”

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She retrieves his medical kit from the wagon and spies the half-full bottle of whisky from last night. She snatches it. She pours some of the whiskey on the wounds and proceeds to stitch and bandage his ankle.

“I’ll make us something to eat. Hato, come here boy. Yes, my brave boy…fighting with that mean old bear.”

“What about me? I was brave.”

She grins, “Yes, you were very brave…offering her your leg like that. It gave me enough time to shoot her.”

They sit around the fire eating warmed beans and jerky. He stares at her, unblinking, looking deep into her eyes. Why is he staring right through me?

“Thank you, Maggie. Thank you for saving my life. Your musket lesson couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“You’re welcome. But I think it was my terrible shots into the woods that frightened her and caused her to attack. It wasn’t her fault. She was afraid.”

“Afraid? She didn’t look too afraid gnawing on my leg.”

She fills two cups with whiskey and offers him one. He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“To calm our nerves, Doctor.”

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18 Bull Run A greasy aroma of sizzling meat triggers grumbling in her gut and piques her curiosity. Her eyes open to a new day. Hanging off the side of the wagon is the hide of a bear. How did that get there?

She slides off the wagon and approaches the campfire arms crossed. She crouches on a log near the fire.

Dr. McKenna grills longs strips of meat. Thick black smoke stings her eyes. Liquid fat drips sending flames leaping into the air.

“I’m impressed. You know how to skin a bear and cook the meat.”

He smirks, amused.

“I’m the Great White Hunter, Maggie. We’re having grilled bear for breakfast. Hato already ate. He’s a happy boy.”

He extends a plate. “Here. This is for the mighty bear slayer.”

After breakfast, Dr. McKenna spreads the bear pelt across the ground. She observes him, shaking her head with amusement.

“You’re doing that all wrong.”

“No, I’m not. I know what I’m doing. Just let me work here.”

“That’s not how you do that. Get out of the way and let me do this. This is going to take several days to do, properly. It needs to be soaked, skinned, stretched, and smoked. I need the brains, salt, and hot water.”

He glances up, then lowers his head.

“Alright. I don’t have time for this…and brains? Why brains?”

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“To soften the hide. You didn’t know this? I can work on this hide as we travel. It won’t be the best quality doing it this way, but since you simply want the fur, it should work.”

“Okay, I’ll be down by the creek refilling our water supply.

We’ll be getting on the road soon.”

She digs a small depression in the earth. She lays the hide flesh-side up and fills the hide with hot water. She folds the hide, trapping the water inside. It should sit for a couple of days, but they do not have time, so she will let it sit for a few hours until they leave. The hide won’t be very soft, but this is going to be more of a novelty than a practical item.

She places the brain of the bear into a pot and boils it, adding oils from the bear fat. Once it is soft enough, she smashes it into a paste.

Dr. McKenna returns from the creek and loads freshwater onto the wagon. He scoops water into the coffee tin and douses the fire watching it sizzle and steam. He kicks dirt over the wet embers snuffing out the last of the smoke.

“Let’s go, Maggie. We’ve been here too long. Shame we can’t save more meat. It’s already spoiling. The buzzards and coyotes will have a nice feast of it.”

Using rope, she stretches the bear hide across the wagon, furside up.

“C’mon, Hato. We have shade. Our own covered wagon.”

She lays on her back beneath the hide as the wagon moves along the road. Using her Bowie knife, she begins the process of fleshing the hide. Removing all the skin.

Having a task to keep her busy allows the hours to pass quickly. Her mind travels back to her childhood. Tanning hides was the women’s responsibility. They were experts.

“There, Hato. That should do it. Now we rub the brains into it.”

Hato is disinterested.

She lays the skin on the bed of the wagon and rubs brains into the hide. She folds it and places it under the weight of one of the food crates.

“All done for now. We’ll let that sit for a couple days.”

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Storm clouds gather and thunder rolls in the distance. A light drizzle falls. She crawls under a blanket, drawing it over her head.

“We’re about an hour or so away, Miss Maggie. Ready our medical supplies. It’s going to be a long day and an even longer night.” *** The wagon travels along Sudley Road, arriving at Sudley Church in Manassas, Virginia. The skies boil with dark clouds, the rain falling steady. She shivers wrapped in a heavy wool blanket.

Hato lies next to her. They have entered a place of desolation.

Felled trees surround the church. Two-wheeled ambulances leave wounded soldiers outside. A stench of death assaults her nostrils. Dr. McKenna parks the wagon near the church.

“Stay here. I’ll go find the head surgeon and see where we’re needed.”

“Of course.”

There is no way to prepare for such death and destruction.

What happened here? Soldiers in both Union and Confederate uniforms lie piled two and three bodies deep. Mournful groans of survivors carry in the winds. Screams echo from inside the church. Smoke and heavy fog engulf the area with despair and sorrow leaving a dreadful shadow over the landscape. They’re standing on the fringes of Hell.

Dr. McKenna returns and unhitches the horses, securing their reins to one of the few lifeless trees still standing. He lifts his medical bag from the rear of the wagon—staring at the church and surrounding fields. He sighs. His eyes stare deep into my soul. A sobering glance of shock and disbelief. Eyes narrow, brows lowered and his jaw clenched.

“C’mon, Maggie. There are a lot of wounded we need to tend to. Bring your medical bag. Bring a bucket of water and lots of soap.”

“Hato, stay. Stay near the wagon. Good boy.”

They tramp towards the entrance of the square brick building.

Dr. McKenna hobbles with a slight limp. They enter into walls 129

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of an ungodly spectacle of death and slaughter. Wounded men sit leaning against the walls waiting for their turn to be treated.

Some moan. Some weep. Some lay barely conscious. Others sit quivering with deadpan stares—horror etched in their eyes. One soldier prays. Another lies on an altar screaming. The air reeks like a slaughterhouse. Repulsive odors of blood and infection trigger a gag reflex. She covers her nose and mouth with her dress.

The wounds are grotesque. Missing limbs. Gaping holes with entrails exposed. Faces missing jawbones. Infection. Maggots slither inside mangled flesh. How will we save them all?

“Maggie, help me slide this pew against the wall. We need to lift this soldier and lay him on it. We’re going to amputate his left leg from the knee down.”

“Noooo! Don’t take my leg! Please, God…don’t take my leg.”

Dr. McKenna uses a blade to remove the soldier’s pant leg.

Using a sponge, he uses soap and water to clean his wounds.

“Ahhh!”

“Maggie. Sit with him and hold his hands.”

He hands the soldier a wooden spoon.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Benson, sir. Private Fredrick Benson.”

“Benson, bite on that spoon and hold this young lady’s hands.

I’m going to remove this part of your leg. I’ll try to do it quickly.

Are you ready?”

“Hell no, I’m not ready! Are you insane?”

Dr. McKenna uses his belt as a tourniquet around the soldier’s knee. He cinches the belt then removes a medium-size saw from his bag. He rests the blade against the soldier’s leg just below the knee and grips his lower calf.

The soldier screams before passing out. Using towels, he tightly covers and wraps the wound before releasing the tourniquet. Severed limbs fill a large bin. The ghastly sight is horrifying and sickening.

Amputation after amputation. Gashes and deep wounds stitched and bandaged. Broken bones set. Musket balls removed from deep within flesh and bone. The sobering reality of all the 130

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suffering is unthinkable. Unimaginable. The two work tirelessly throughout the night helping as many soldiers from both sides of the war as they are able. She has learned more about amputation and surgery in the past twelve hours than in the past five years.

Mounting numbers of dead are carried from the church and thrown on top of a pile of decaying bodies. More wounded are brought in by cart and two-wheel ambulance to find their place in line to be treated. The conditions are unsanitary. As day breaks, they finish with their last patient of the night, removing a musket ball embedded deep within a soldier’s lung.

She washes her hands by the wagon and removes her overdress. Sunlight breaks over the horizon. Drizzle mixes with frigid air beneath graying skies. She crawls into the wagon exhausted, burying herself beneath a blanket. She dozes off.

Her eyes pop open. How long have I slept? She forces her fatigued body back into the church to continue treating the wounded. *** Several days pass. The routine is repeated with newly wounded soldiers. They all look the same. Each with horrific wounds. Many now suffering from pneumonia and other diseases. Grandmother taught us these evil diseases linger in the air. She covers her mouth and nose with a scarf as she treats soldier after soldier.

Consciousness and sleep have merged into a single reality— impossible to distinguish the difference. What is a dream and what is real life? Is there a difference? Or are both only an illusion of the other? A perception maybe?

“Maggie…wake up. Pack your things.”

Her eyelids sting. Her eyes dry as scorched rock. The act of breathing is exhausting. She pulls herself upright and stares at him. His face gradually forming and morphing into features she recognizes.

“What? What did you say?”

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“We’re leaving. We’ve done all we can do here. Let’s go home.

They’ll contact us when they need us again. I have a feeling it’ll be soon. But for now, let’s head home and rest. You can catch up on your sleep on the ride home.”

Two Union soldiers climb into the wagon. Hato studies them, then plops next to her. She scoots to the front of the wagon and sits with her back leaning against the wood panel. She wraps herself in blankets and glares at Dr. McKenna.

He shrugs, “We’re just giving them a ride back to Clarksburg.

That’s all. Just helping the Union cause, Maggie.”

132

19 The Company of Strangers Heavy rain turns into a fine mist on the slow ride back to Clarksburg. Gloomy shadows from gray clouds blanket the trail.

The two soldiers sit sprawled at the rear of the wagon opposite each other. One snores. His head resting against a bag of feed.

The other alert. Grinning at her.

“Can I ask your name, miss?”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“Can I ask yours?”

“Flagg. Private Flagg at your service, ma’am. Just trying to make small talk to pass the time.”

“Well, Private Flagg, why do you travel to Clarksburg? Since we’re making small talk.”

“I’m headed back to my regiment. The 63rd Infantry Regiment of Pennsylvania.”

“Means nothing to me, but I’m glad we could accommodate and give you and your friend a ride.”

“Oh, he’s not my friend. Just met him today. Kind of an asshole, really.”

“Oh. I see.”

“What kind of dog is that? A shepherd? Looks like he has some wolf in his veins.”

“You win the prize, Private. His name is Hato. He’s both shepherd and wolf.”

“Hato. Interesting name for a dog. You’re Mingo, aren’t you?”

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“I am of the Haudenosaunee Nation. I am Ohio Seneca. Of the Wolf Clan. Mingo is a white man’s term.”

“Wow. That’s a mouthful, now isn’t it? Beats the 63rd Regiment.”

She intentionally shifts her eyes away from him. Glancing at the landscape. She grasps her long thick hair with both hands and separates it into strands—ignoring him while she braids her hair.

“I, uh…didn’t catch your name.”

“No. You didn’t. Did you?”

“Okay. I see how it is. That’s fair. Are you a doctor?”

“I’m a healer.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Not really, Private Flagg. The driver up there is a doctor.

Learned everything he knows by going to a white man’s school of medicine. I learned to be a healer from my grandmother and from knowledge passed down for generations by my ancestors.”

His lips purse with a slight frown. He lays his hand across his chin.

“That’s interesting. I know the difference now. Thank you.”

She tilts her head to the side, exposing the opposite side of her neck. She runs the fingers of her left hand through her hair, to begin a second braid. She glances at him for a brief second, then looks off into the distance. He’s too happy. It’s annoying.

“You sure do have some thick pretty hair. Looks very healthy.

How do you care for it? I could use a few pointers.”

“Do you always talk this much, Private?”

“Only when I’m nervous. Or when I need to kill some time.”

“Which is it?”

“Which?…What? Oh. Well, in this case, a little of both.”

She sinks into her blankets and closes her eyes. This man is desperate for conversation. His jokes aren’t funny.

“Well, I guess that conversation is over. Hey, Hato. How you doing, boy?”

Hato wags his tail, stands and approaches him. Flagg massages the dog’s thick neck and hugs him. He playfully grabs Hato’s chops and moans and whines at him. He’s really desperate 134

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for conversation now. Hato responds by licking his face and plopping next to him.

“Yeah, buddy. I know how you feel.”

She can’t stand it. She peeks with one eye, then sits upright.

Hato never goes with strangers like that. And he never lays next to anyone but her. Maybe he has the same mental capacity as Hato. Maybe that’s why they get along so well.

“Hato. Get back over here. Leave Private Flagg alone.”

Hato wags his tail and lays his head across his new buddy’s lap. Flagg shrugs and guffaws. Grinning like a fool.

“At least the dog has good taste. Animals are a great judge of character, ya know.”

She shakes her head and scoffs, whispering to herself, “You should know.” She curls into a ball, making herself small, determined to rest. Her body is wracked with aches and fatigue.

He slides into a more comfortable position and places his arm around Hato, massaging the dog’s ears and neck. Several hours pass. As sunlight begins to fade, Dr. McKenna steers the wagon off the road onto a flat clearing.

“I think we’ll make camp here for the night. Get a fire going and whip up some grub.”

Flagg leaps from the wagon, followed by Hato. He jogs to the front near the horse team.

“I’ll unhitch the horses, Doc and see that they’re fed and watered. Least I can do. These are beautiful animals. Well cared for I see.”

She sits upward and stretches her legs and arms, popping joints and rubbing out a cramp in her calf. She steps to the rear of the wagon to climb out and accidentally kicks the other soldier’s foot.

“I’m very sorry. Please excuse me.”

He glares. Eyes bloodshot. His beard is yellow and scruffy and his hair unkempt. He’s skinny and hasn’t bathed in a while.

“No problem, Mingo. Maybe watch yer step next time is all.”

She scowls and leaps off the wagon. Clouds begin to separate, revealing skies fading into blackish-purple. A blue crescent moon peeks through the gaps casting a soft glow.

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As she approaches, she spies a roaring fire ablaze, a steaming pot of coffee, and a pan of beans boiling. Several ears of corn roast next to the flames. All three men squat around the fire.

Hato lies next to Flagg, pushing his nose into the Private’s hand, prodding his attention. What kind of bonding is this?

She approaches stealthily and quietly slides onto a rock next to Dr. McKenna.

“There you are, Maggie. Here, I fixed you a plate.”

Private Flagg’s face brightens with an ornery sneer. His eyes laughing and taunting.

“Maggie. Now that’s a real fine name. Not sure why you wouldn’t share such a beautiful name earlier.”

She glances at Dr. McKenna shaking her head. She gently kicks his calf.

“Thanks for telling him my name.”

The other soldier spits into the fire. His eyes narrow and unblinking. His stare is empty and distant. He points a crooked finger at her.

“Maggie? That’s English. But you’re an Injun. A Mingo. What’s your tribal name? And shouldn’t you be on yer reservation? You lost or something?”

Heat prickles along her spine. Her jaws clench. Dr. McKenna glances at her. His eyes dart between her and the soldier. He interrupts.

“And what’s your name, soldier?”

He glares at Dr. McKenna with one eye. He leans forward and folds his hands. He spits on the fire a second time and smirks.

“Harry. Harry Craps.”

Private Flagg bursts into laughter and slaps his knee. His beaming grin reveals a solid set of white teeth and a strong jawline.

“What the hell kinda name is that? Harry Craps? Are you kidding me?”

Dr. McKenna breaks out a new bottle of whiskey, pours himself a cup, and passes it to Maggie. She grabs the bottle and passes it to Flagg. She’s not drinking tonight. Flagg fills his cup and hands the bottle to Harry.

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“Here ya go, Private Craps. Ever think about changing that name?”

“Why would I wanna do that? The Craps have been around for generations. We’re a well-known family in Pennsylvania. Well respected. You can kiss my willy, Flagg. Ever think ‘bout chang’n that dumbass name of yours?”

“What about you, Mingo girl? What’s your story? You the doc’s nurse? Or maybe his concubine?”

“I’m his partner and a free woman, you pig’s ass.”

“Well, I bet you have a real nice ass. Probably why the doc over there keeps you so close to him.”

“Hey. Respect the lady, Craps.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it, Flagg?”

“How ‘bout I kick the crap out you, Craps? You open your mouth to this young lady in a disrespectful tone one more time, I’m gonna knock your only tooth out of your fuzzy face.”

Harry sets his cup of whiskey on the ground. He stands and walks a few paces away from the fire.

“Well, come on, boy. Let’s see what you got.”

Dr. McKenna nervously glances around. “Come on now, boys. We have a long ride ahead tomorrow. Let’s just relax. Have a drink or two.”

Flagg springs to his feet and deliberately walks straight at Harry. Harry lifts his fists in a fighting stance. Flagg bull rushes him and coldcocks him in the jaw, instantly dropping him to his knees. Flagg returns to the fire and squats.

“You were saying, Doc?” “I…uh…was just saying we should relax and enjoy the evening.”

He defended her honor. She doesn’t want to let on how much she appreciated that act of decency. And she doesn’t want to admit how good it felt to see Harry hit the dirt like that. She glances at Flagg. A slight smile across her lips. She quickly looks away. Maybe not quickly enough. He winked.

“Doc McKenna, I just want to thank you for letting Harry over there and myself tag along on your way back to Clarksburg.

I sincerely appreciate the kindness and your fine hospitality, sir.

This is quality whiskey. And the food is darn good.”

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“Well, it’s those little things, I’ve learned, that matter a great deal to folks.”

He glances at Maggie and nods.

“May I ask, where you two met and what your relationship is?

If that’s not being too intrusive.”

She glares at him. “It is.”

“Well, my wife and I took Maggie in years ago. She became a part of our family and I think of her as a daughter.”

“Oh. So, you’re a married man. Whew…I mean, that’s great.

So, Maggie is more like a daughter to you then?”

She places her hand on Dr. McKenna’s knee and smiles. He has never confessed he views her as a daughter. The warmth of his words enlightens her spirit.

“Maggie, may I say just what a beautiful young woman you are? You don’t have any beau’s back home waiting for you…or …?”

Her face flushes and prickles. She stares into the fire. Maybe the darkness will conceal the redness that must surely be reflecting off her cheeks.

“No, Private. I don’t have any beau’s back home.”

“Well, that’s hard to believe. Someone as pretty and as smart as you? How lucky am I to have had the pleasure of meeting you?”

She studies his powdery-blue eyes and how his thick dark bushy eyebrows playfully raise over his silly grin. The bristle on his face highlights a chiseled jawline and solid cheekbones. His short coffee-colored hair lays straight and disheveled but somehow it works. It’s handsome. He’s taller than her. Most men aren’t. His waist is thin and his arms ripple with muscle and veins. But why are his legs so skinny? His kneecaps look like knobs on a tree.

A shadow approaches from behind Private Flagg.

“Stand up, you mick bastard.”

Harry points a pistol at Flagg’s temple. Flagg slowly rises, his hands raised in the air.

“Now, Harry. I’m going to ask you to put that pistol down.”

“Or what? I have a hankering to put a musket ball right through that bog trotter brain of yours.”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Harry. Put the pistol down.”

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“You think yer so smart. You sucker punched me out there.”

“Well, stop jawing and put the gun down and I’ll give ya another shot at me. Fair ‘nuff?”

Harry stiffens his arm, pressing the pistol into Flagg’s chest.

His arm begins to tremble. Flagg sweeps his hand across his chest, quickly grabbing the barrel before Harry can react. The pistol fires. Flagg coldcocks Harry a second time leaving him in a heap by the fire. He launches the pistol into the darkness. He turns and sits, warming his hands over the fire.

“Well, at least he’s sitting by the fire now…not being unsociable anymore.”

She allows a tiny snort to escape her nose. Pins prickle across her neck. Her face flushes once again. He stares at her, eyes wide with a beaming crooked smile. He doesn’t say a word, then a few seconds later, he bursts into laughter.

He’s nice…and tries so hard to be funny. The only thing that is actually funny is his attempts to be funny.

Dr. McKenna stands and walks towards the wagon. He returns a moment later and tosses a blanket over his shoulder.

“I’m retiring, folks. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

She squirms. She’s alone with him. Well, alone with Flagg and Harry who’s still passed out by the fire.

“I-I should go, too…I’m really tired.”

She stands and starts to walk away. He gently takes her wrist and gazes up at her.

“Please stay. Just for a little while.”

His touch is gentle for someone with hands so meaty and callused. Why am I sitting on the rock again? I need to sleep. But I’m drawn by his sincerity in asking me to stay.

“Maggie. When we get back to Clarksburg, may I call on you?”

“Call on me? What does that mean?’

“May I visit and spend time with you. Talking. Getting to know you better. Giving you more time to see how funny I am… what a great fella I am.”

“Well. I don’t know. I’d have to check with Dr. McKenna first.”

“I’d be glad to ask him for ya. We seem to get along fairly well.”

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She sits with her elbows resting on her knees, supporting her face with her hands. Glancing at him. What’s wrong with me?

Part of me wants to wrap my arms around his neck and the other part wants to punch him in the face.

“So, where can I call on you, Maggie? Where do you call home?”

“White Skies. White Skies Plantation just outside of Clarksburg.”

Harry begins to stir, pulling himself off the dirt. Flagg stands and bows his head.

“Well, nice to meet you, Miss Maggie. I think Harry here is ready to turn in, so I’ll give him a hand. Have a pleasant night, ma’am.”

He grabs Harry by the collar and marches him to the wagon.

He lifts two army blankets from the wagon bed and carries them over his shoulder. He escorts Harry away from camp, into the darkness.

She sits and stares at the flames flickering and crackling. She nibbles on her thumbnail and smiles. He’s oafish, so why am I smiling?

“Come on, Hato. I can’t keep my eyes open another minute.”

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20 An Unexpected Departure Pork sizzles over a skillet and coffee steams from a tin pot over the fire. Flagg brushes the horses then hitches the team to the wagon. Harry wanders around, cursing, looking for his pistol. The wagon is loaded and ready to begin another day of the journey back to Clarksburg.

Maggie awoke early this morning. Before everyone else. She unfolded the bearskin and spread it across a large flat stone. The warm sunlight should provide a good amount of drying to the hide. Dr. McKenna approaches her from behind.

“Maggie, that bear hide is coming along nicely. Glad I stayed out of your way. I’d love to hang her in my den next to my desk if that’s alright with you. I think I even want to be buried with it, someday.”

“Of course. My gift to you.”

He rests his hand on her shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curl into a slight smile.

“I want you to know how proud I am of your work in Manassas.

You performed surgeries more experienced physicians couldn’t have performed. And your dogged determination to help those men is a credit to the amazing person you are. I have to humbly admit, you have taught me so much. About life. About people.

And even about God. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life. I meant what I said last night. You are a daughter to me. And I’ll always love you as my daughter. You’ve earned my respect. I just wanted you to know that.”

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The emotion in his words prevents her from swallowing.

She sighs, placing her cheek against his shoulder and her arms around his neck.

He whispers, “We should probably go now. Let’s collect your bearskin and get back on the trail.”

She stretches and ties the hide across the front of the wagon where she and Hato snuggle beneath it—providing shade for them both. The wagon enters the road and heads in the direction of Clarksburg.

“How’d you sleep last night, Maggie? Hope we didn’t keep you up too late.”

“I slept fine, thank you.”

“Harry here has something to say. Don’t ya, Harry?”

Harry frowns and looks away. Flagg kicks him.

“Okay. I just want to apologize for my bad behavior last night, Miss Maggie.”

Flagg grins and nods. “He wants to apologize.”

“I heard him. Thank you, Harry. Apology accepted.”

“Come here, Hato. Sit with your new best buddy.”

Hato’s ears perk. He sits upright but stays seated under the shade of the bearskin.

“Ah, no fair, Maggie. Bribing the dog with shade?”

“Not a bribe, Private. He’s just smarter than you.”

Flagg chuckles and nods.

Dr. McKenna slows the wagon.

“Looks like we have company ahead. Something going on in the road. A few men on horseback. Looks like they’re holding rifles.”

Flagg stands and squints.

“Those are Confederate soldiers, Doc! Turn the wagon around. We need to get the hell out of here, now!”

McKenna slows the team forcing a quick turnaround. He snaps the reins across the hides of the horse team.

“Come on! Get!” Flagg and Harry take cover and load their muskets and pistols. She pulls her Bowie from her backpack, sliding it into her boot.

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The wagon rumbles along the road, bouncing supplies and passengers alike. Dr. McKenna hands his musket through the bearskin tapestry.

“Maggie! Get my musket kit and load this! Then hand it back to me…and stay down!”

Ahead, another small group of men on horseback blocks the road back to Manassas. They’re surrounded! Dr. McKenna steers the wagon off the main road across heavy grasses, headed for the cover of the woods.

Maggie hands Dr. McKenna the loaded musket.

Both groups of soldiers leave the road in pursuit. Gaining on them with each passing second.

“Pull that wagon over!”

A musket ball blasts a hole in the rear of the wagon, ricocheting off Flagg’s metal locker and into Harry’s foot.

“Damnit! Son of a bitch!”

Harry, enraged, stands on one leg and fires his musket. The ball explodes into the chest of the lead horse causing it to tumble, sending its rider flying through the air and crashing into the ground, snapping his neck.

“Take that you rebel bastard! Ha-ha-ha!”

Flagg peeks over the back of the wagon, steadying his musket on the wooden panel as best he can. He fires. The musket ball blasts through the left shoulder of a rider, knocking him from his horse.

“Got you! Two down, seven to go!”

Harry fires his pistol hitting the leg of another rider. The rider pulls up leaves the pursuit. A blast hits Harry in the chest.

Blood spatters, covering Flagg and everything in the wagon. He falls backward, dying instantly.

Riders maneuver alongside the wagon. A horse and rider on each side.

“Stop this wagon!”

Dr. McKenna aims the musket to his left and fires, hitting the rider in the face. Another horse and rider take his place. A musket ball rips through Dr. McKenna’s ribcage. He tumbles onto his side, clutching the bench.

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“Thomas!”

She crawls into the front of the wagon and snatches the reins.

She veers the wagon to the right forcing the horse and rider to back off. The tree line of the forest quickly approaches.

Another soldier draws his horse close to the wagon. He jumps and grabs onto a sideboard, pulling himself into the wagon. Hato lunges at him, sinking his canines deep into his thigh. The soldier fires his pistol, missing Hato and blowing a hole in the bottom of the wagon. Flagg grabs him from behind and slits his throat, pushing him over the side.

As they hit the tree line, she steers the team and wagon parallel to the trees, heading East. She whips the steeds with the reins, pushing them faster and faster. Two more riders pull alongside the horse team. Using their horses, they force the team into the trees, causing the wagon to slow. One of the riders draws his horse close to the right side of the team. He climbs onto the team of horses and yanks both sets of reins bringing the wagon to an abrupt stop. The other three remaining riders point their muskets at Flagg and Maggie.

“Climb down from the wagon. Now!” Flagg climbs out, hands raised. She checks Dr. McKenna’s wound. It’s fatal.

She whispers, “Thomas. No.” He stares deep into her eyes. He gasps and wheezes, but the words won’t leave his lips. He squeezes her hand, then exhales his final breath. She flinches from a jab in her ribs.

“Get down off the wagon, girl.”

She lays her hand over the doctor’s eyes and gently closes them. She climbs off the wagon. Flagg stands in front of her, hands bound behind his back. Hato leaps from the wagon growling and barking wildly.

“Run, Hato! Run! Run home!”

A soldier grabs her from behind and binds her hands. Hato charges and pounces on the soldier ripping his throat and tearing at his flesh. The scene plays out in slow motion, progressing frame by frame. Blood spurts all over her body from the soldier’s shredded jugular. The two soldiers standing by Flagg point their 144

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muskets and charge towards her. They both fire into Hato’s body.

He yelps and rolls into the grasses. Lifeless.

“Hato! Oh God no, my Hato! You can’t do that! Hato!”

She drops to her knees, screaming and wailing. Crying out to the heavens in her native Seneca tongue. Emptying her soul to The Great Spirit. Pleading for his mercy.

A sharp blow jars her skull, sending a flash of white lightning through her eye sockets. Blackness collapses over her. *** A buzzing fills her ears. Her temples throb. She raises her head and peers at her surroundings. She’s seated. Her back leans against the wooden panel at the rear of the wagon—hands immobilized behind her. Wriggling her fingers tingles. Seated next to her is Private Flagg. His hands bound behind his back and his eyes glazed over.

The vibration and bumpiness of the road add to her discomfort. Judging by the position of the sun, they’re heading South. A single soldier drives the wagon. Another soldier sits with his back against the front panel of the wagon. A bloodsoaked bandage covers his thigh. He holds a loaded musket in his lap. His bloodshot eyes attempt to focus on hers—frowning and biting the inside of his lip. He’s drenched in sweat and shivering.

A single rider leads the way. Two more riders trail behind pulling five horses with empty saddles. They captured us, but we took out half their men. Two bodies lie wrapped and bound inside bloody army blankets in the center of the wagon bed.

Thomas? I must get his body home. The other must be Harry Craps.

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that must be difficult for Private Flagg. Listening to the soldier’s chat, we are headed to Camp Allegheny in the mountains—a Confederate stronghold run by a Colonial Edward Johnson.

They plan on holding us in a temporary prison just outside the camp until they can figure out what to do with us. Our wagon has become a mobile prison.

She stares at the body of Dr. McKenna. Visualizing his last moments. What was he trying to say to her? Their relationship had come so far. They were only beginning to understand one another. She squeezes her eyelids shut and blinks rapidly. And Hato. Where is he? Did they leave his body to rot in the open fields? Damn them for their cruelty. Her only friend remaining is Private Flagg.

The wagon has stopped for the night. A soldier pokes his head over the side of the wagon.

“We’re gonna make camp right here tonight. Jackson? You alright, man?”

“He’s going to die.”

“Shut up over there.”

“He has a serious infection in that wound. He won’t last the night if it isn’t tended to and that metal ball isn’t removed.”

“How the hell would you know that?”

“She’s a healer, asshole.”

“You shut up, too! No talking” “Let me help him. I can remove the ball and stitch him up.

Maybe he’ll have a chance. The condition he’s in now, he has no chance. Look at him. His fever rages.”

“C’mon, Willy. Let her try. I’m dying, man.”

“Ah…alright. Just cut out the ball, clean him up and stitch ‘em.”

“I’ll need my medical bag over there. It has my tools and some herbs to ease his pain.”

The soldier climbs into the wagon and unties her. He points at Flagg.

“Don’t you move a lick, boy.”

She rubs her wrists, working the blood back into her hands.

Flexing her fingers.

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“I’ll sit right here and watch you, Mingo.”

“Fine. Just don’t get in my way.”

“Bossy little Injun bitch, aren’t you?”

Jackson’s pantleg rips with the motion of her Bowie across his thigh. Unraveling the bandage releases a foul odor. She turns her head and gags. She strips away material stuck to the wound. He moans, “Don’t ya have anything for the pain?”

“I do.”

She looks at Willy. “Can I give him something?”

Willy’s face grows pale. His lips are downturned with disgust.

He nods.

She pops the cork to a glass vial filled with black liquid.

“Take a drink of this. You’ll feel numb, then you’ll have a nice nap. When you wake, you’ll be somewhere pleasant.”

Jackson parts his dry lips. She pours several drops under his tongue. He coughs, then closes his eyes. Her scalpel slices the wound open. Blood runs across his thigh. The tip of the blade locates the metal ball. Her finger pushes through hot wet flesh.

She extracts the bloody ball and shows it to Willy. Willy faints, falling backward against the side of the wagon. She slides a second scalpel across the wagon bed into Flagg’s legs. He uses his foot to retrieve it and shimmy it into his hands.

Jackson is foaming at the mouth. She shoves the soiled bandage down his throat.

She leans over and tugs Willy’s lower lip open. She drizzles a few drops of the black liquid into his mouth, patting his throat.

He gulps. His eyes pop open, alarmed and wild. He grabs her wrist.

Flagg crawls along the floor and grabs Willy by the head. A loud crunch and Willy’s body is limp and jerking. He lifts Willy’s pistol from its holster and loads it. Flagg’s eyes meet hers. He raises his index finger to his lips and hands her the loaded pistol.

He gently lifts Jackson’s musket. She wets the blade of her Bowie with the black liquid and sheathes it, sliding it into her boot.

Flagg peeks over the side of the wagon. The remaining three soldiers are sitting by a campfire, passing a bottle around. Probably one of Dr. McKenna’s finest bourbons. Flagg crawls over the side 147

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of the wagon opposite the campfire. He leans the musket against the wagon and helps Maggie to climb over. They creep alongside the wagon. The horses remain bridled and hitched, grunting as they approach.

The viewpoint of the campfire is ideal near the horses. One of the soldiers sits on a rock, with his musket leaning beside him. His back facing the wagon. It’s not cocked, so probably not loaded. He doesn’t have a pistol.

The soldier to his left doesn’t have a musket but has a pistol and a knife strapped to his waist. The third soldier sits across the fire facing them. It’s hard to see if he has a weapon or not.

“What the hell is keeping Willy? Willy! Get your ass over here, boy! We saved ya some whiskey.”

The grumbling soldier rises and walks toward the rear of the wagon. Flagg points to her boot. She slips him her Bowie. He makes his way around to the rear of the wagon and crouches. The moment the soldier appears, Flagg covers the soldier’s mouth and shoves the blade deep into his kidney taking him to the ground.

A silent kill.

She walks toward the campfire, arm extended, pointing the pistol at the two remaining soldiers. The soldier facing her stands.

“How the hell…?”

“Don’t either of you move.”

“Well, you only got one shot, girly. Who’s it gonna be? Cuz whoever you don’t shoot is gonna have some fun with you then slit your Mingo throat when he’s done.”

The other soldier stands and slowly picks up his musket. She steps closer. She aims.

“This is for my dog.”

She fires. The ball blows a hole through his chest. He falls backward into the fire. The other soldier lifts a loaded musket and aims—his eyes wide with panic. She stands defiant. A booming shot crackles, echoing through the trees. The soldier drops. She turns to see Flagg grinning like a little boy who just shot his first rabbit.

“Got ‘em.”

She drops the pistol and dashes into his arms. They embrace.

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“We have to leave, Maggie.”

They throw the bodies of Willy and Jackson on top of the other three. Allowing them all to burn in the campfire. They place the soldier’s weapons and ammo in the bed of the wagon.

She returns Dr. McKenna’s musket to its rightful place.

Flagg tethers one of the horses to the rear of the wagon. He removes the bridles and saddles of the remaining horses and slaps them on the hindquarters, one by one, releasing them into the wild.

Side-by-side, they sit on the bench seat of the wagon headed home along a road dimly lit by moonlight. The night air thick and moist. Howls and yips of wolves’ echo in the distance. Maybe Hato’s spirit joins the howling.

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21 Escape Home Dawn breaks. Rays of golden sunlight burst over the horizon, illuminating the countryside.

“This is where we were ambushed. Can we stop here for a few minutes, Flagg? There’s something I need to do.”

“I know what it is. I’ll take you there.”

Flagg steers the wagon off the road and returns to the spot where Hato’s body lays in the grass, decomposing. She climbs off the wagon and removes a spade. Her heart is crushed. Tears stream from her cheeks. A strong hand covers hers. He smiles and gently removes the spade from her hand and nods.

He digs a deep hole in the earth, then lifts the body of Hato, laying him gently at the bottom. He fills the grave, patting the earth with the spade. They place rocks over the freshly turned earth. Her knees press into the plush grasses next to the grave.

She lowers her head, allowing her tears to drip and bless the earth.

She whispers in her native tongue, “Run with Kake now, my old friend. My brave and wise Hato. He awaits you. Just as you now await me.”

Flagg helps her to her feet. He gently presses her head against his chest, allowing her to weep.

“Maggie, I’m gonna bury old Harry out here as well. He died like a brave soldier. I’ll leave a marker in case we’re able to notify his kin. Shouldn’t be hard to locate a family with the name of Craps.”

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Without a word being spoken, he helps her onto the wagon.

He steers the wagon back onto the road, headed for Clarksburg.

Hours pass in silence. The day is still. Almost eerily quiet.

The area soon becomes familiar to her. They are only an hour from Clarksburg. An hour from home. How will she ever find the words to tell Miss Nellie she’s lost her husband? Or Miss Edith she’s lost her father? She, too, has lost a father and a dear friend.

A half a mile from home a small patrol of Union soldiers intercepts the wagon.

“Where is this wagon headed? And where is your regiment, soldier?”

“Sergeant, my name is Charles Flagg of the 63rd Infantry of Pennsylvania. I am returning to Clarksburg to rejoin my regiment. This young lady is headed home to her plantation at White Skies.

Charles. His name is Charles?

“Private, we will accompany you to the 63rd. Saddle your horse and follow us. We will have two soldiers accompany the wagon and escort this young lady safely home.

He leaps off the wagon and untethers his horse. He leads the horse to the front of the wagon. She stares straight ahead, looking at nothing. Her mouth slightly parted, her eyes unblinking.

Flagg approaches her, beaming like a little boy. His crooked grin showing off his strong jawline and boyish charm. There’s a single dimple on his left cheek she never noticed until now. He takes her by the hand and reaches into his pocket with the other hand. He lays an object in her palm and folds her fingers over it.

“Miss Maggie. I know where you are. I’ll come and find you.”

He releases her hand and mounts his steed. He glances at her and winks. He kicks his heels into the ribs of his steed and rides away in a thunderous cloud of dust, joining the patrol a quarter of a mile ahead.

“Ma’am, we will escort you to your home now. We’ll follow behind you.”

Her lips remain parted. The sound of pounding hooves fade.

She glances at the soldier and nods.

She looks at her hand and opens her palm. Inside is an old Seneca bracelet. Colorful beads of shell and bone. The central 151

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bead made of a soft blue pearly shell shaped like the moon.

Her bracelet. A bracelet she made when she was a young girl. A bracelet she gave to a boy who rescued her so many years ago.

She grips the bracelet and quickly glances up. He’s almost out of sight now. Her eyes well and her heart pounds. She can barely breathe. A warm sensation flutters through her veins. One she has never experienced until today. Until this very moment.

She whips the reins against the hindquarters of the horses and begins the final leg of her journey home to White Skies.

It’s difficult to concentrate. Her mind repeats conversations she had with him over and over. He knew. He knew who she was, but he didn’t speak a word of it. Charles. Charlie. There was always something familiar in his eyes—something so intimate— something she couldn’t quite place—staring right at her, hidden in plain sight.

White Skies Plantation comes into view ahead.

“Thank you for escorting me. This is my home.”

One of the soldiers tips his hat. Both horses turn and ride away. She pulls the wagon next to the main barn. Amos approaches, grinning and laughing, waving his arms wildly.

“Miss Maggie! Welcome home. Welcome home. Where’s Dr. McKenna?”

She stares at Amos, then directs her eyes to the corpse wrapped in the blanket in the bed of the wagon. The stench of death is pungent.

“Take him, Amos. Place his body in the servant’s quarters for now. Until we can arrange for a proper burial for him.”

She climbs from the wagon and walks to the door of the manor. She swings the doors open. They seem heavy today.

Tanne greets her.

“Welcome home, Miss Maggie. So good to see you.”

“Tanne, where is Miss Nellie and Miss Edith?”

Tanne slowly raises her hands to her cheeks.

“Oh my. What has happened, Miss Maggie?”

She lowers her head, her eyes moist, her lower lip quivers.

“Just, please bring them. I’ll be in the parlor.”

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Nellie rushes into the parlor, her face flushed. How do I tell her? Nellie’s body trembles. She must already sense the terrible news to come. Her voice is meek.

“Where’s my husband?”

“He didn’t make it, Miss Nellie. We were ambushed by Confederate soldiers. He died trying to save us. He died with great courage.”

Nellie stares blankly. Her face turns ashen. She collapses.

Maggie sits beside her, blowing on her face and patting her hand. Nellie opens her eyes, gasping. She grasps Nellie under her armpits and helps her onto the sofa. They sit in silence holding hands, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Neither one speaking.

Nellie gulps then whispers, “Where is he now?”

“I brought him home. We can bury him next to Miss Sadie.”

Hearing those words crushes Nellie’s soul. Her walls crumble and she wails inconsolably.

“Thomas! Noooo…why God? Why have you taken my Thomas? First my precious Sadie, and now this? I can’t live without you, my love. I can’t…I don’t want to live anymore.”

Maggie embraces her, joining in her tears. Allowing her to cry and mourn. There is no comfort for a loss like this. She holds Nellie’s cheeks and lifts her face until their eyes meet, wiping away streams of tears with gentle caresses.

“Miss Nellie. Where is Miss Edith?”

“She’s having her riding lesson. She’ll be back soon. I’ll have to be the one to tell her.”

Nellie sobs. “This is going to kill her. She won’t take it well.

She adored her father.”

Maggie stands. “I’ll make the arrangements for Dr. McKenna’s body. Will you be alright, here?”

“Yes…yes. I’ll wait here for Edith to return.”

Maggie returns to the wagon. Amos unloads the remaining supplies.

“Miss Nellie? What do you want me to do with all these weapons?”

“Hide them in the barn, Amos. Don’t tell anyone about them.”

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“Yes, ma’am. Miss Maggie? Dr. McKenna promised me he was gonna set me free when he came back. Me and my family.”

“I’ll make sure that promise is kept, Amos.”

She removes the bear fur. It wasn’t completely finished, but it wasn’t for practical use anyway. She carries it up the staircase and into Dr. McKenna’s den, laying it across the floor. She lies on the fur and curls into a ball. How do we know when our time on earth is over? Are there signs? The bear almost took his life. The soldier succeeded. The journey to Manassas brought them closer.

Gave them a deeper understanding of one another. Why should it be cut short now? *** The rose garden is in full bloom. A soft breeze diffuses the sweet fragrance of blossoms. The day is hot and moist. A shiny black casket sits next to a six-foot deep hole in the earth—a hole next to the grave of Sadie McKenna. Colorful roses lay scattered atop the casket.

Maggie lays the bearskin over the lid of the coffin.

“It wasn’t finished. But it is my gift to you, Thomas McKenna.

Rest in peace, my friend. My mentor.”

She places both hands upon the fur and raises forlorn eyes to the sky. She cries out in her native Seneca language.

“Oh, Great Spirit! This was my friend! My teacher! A father!

Welcome his spirit into Garonthia. Let him find peace in your vast gardens. Let him run free in the Great Meadows and drink from the crystal River of Life.”

She wipes her tears with her palms and gently rubs them across the bear fur.

“Bless this gift. A symbol of our friendship. Rest well.”

The casket is lowered into its final resting place and covered with earth. She embraces Edith. Together they mourn the loss of their father and friend.

The family enjoys a sizable meal in honor of Dr. McKenna.

Sharing stories of their husband and father. Laughing, crying.

Remembering.

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There must be a place where tears are wiped away by a loving hand. Where heartache doesn’t exist. Where forgiveness and peace are abundant. Absent of hate. Absent of war. Absent of death. A place where there is only love.

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22 A Message From The War Breakfast consists of cornbread and stew, freshly sliced tomatoes seasoned with salt and black pepper neatly stacked across a large China platter. A loaf of freshly-baked bread steams as Miss Nellie slices several thin pieces that flop sideways onto a silver tray. Next to the tray, a fist-size ball of butter fills a bowl.

A tall pitcher of cool milk perspires and sits in the center of the table.

“Miss Nellie. I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Miss Nellie tilts her head.

“Dr. McKenna promised to free Amos and his family upon his return. He also promised me he would free the other slaves when we returned. Will you honor his promise in his absence?”

Miss Nellie spreads butter across a slice of warm bread, staining the slice soft yellow. She delicately pulls the crust apart and nibbles.

“Mm. This truly turned out delicious. Edith, you should try this.”

Miss Nellie’s hand lays soft across hers.

“Yes, Maggie. We should honor his promise and provide them all their freedom papers. We’ll provide food and money to any who want to leave, to help them on their way. Those who wish to stay will be paid a fair wage. I will handle this. I’ll prepare the paperwork and make all the arrangements.”

“Thank you, Miss Nellie. Thank you.”

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“Maggie, there’s something else I need to mention to you.

Thomas never assumed your dowry. He left it untouched. Left it in your name. I don’t know if you ever knew this, but the dowry he saved for you, once belonged to Sadie. He gave it to you for saving Edith’s life. Its value far exceeded the cost of freeing Sukey and Jakar.”

Nellie’s words give her pause. She wants to reply, but the words are stuck somewhere in her chest.

“He was so proud of you, Maggie. He never told you, but he loved you like a daughter. He carried a lot of guilt in how he once treated you. He became a different man because of you.”

She sniffles, wiping her eyes and nose with a handkerchief.

“He did tell me. The night before…before he died.”

“I want you to have all of his medical tools and books. I know you will find an honorable use for them and I know he would want you to have them.”

“Thank you, Miss Nellie. I will need them when they call me back to the battlefield.”

“Oh. Maggie, I wish you would reconsider going back to the battlefield of this godawful war. I don’t want to lose you, too. It’s so very dangerous.”

Edith has remained quiet all morning, intently listening to their conversation. Her mind seems to wander. Her eyes blankly stare. She touches Maggie’s arm.

“Miss Maggie. How did my father die?”

Nellie and Maggie share a moment with a single glance.

“Let’s go for a walk, Edith. I’ll tell you many stories about your father.”

They saunter along the banks of the river. She leads Edith to the log where she and Jakar used to sit and gossip and laugh when they were girls. A place of positive energy. They sit close together.

“Edith, your father was a very brave man. He died trying to protect me. He fought those soldiers like a mighty warrior. He showed no fear. But to answer your question, he was shot. He didn’t suffer.”

Edith’s eyes grow large. They well quickly and rapidly blink.

Maggie lays Edith’s head on her lap.

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“My grandmother used to run her fingers through my hair like this. Her fingernails felt soft across my scalp. It would give me chills. Can you feel them?”

“Yes.” “She was my safe place. I knew as long I was on her lap, nothing bad could happen to me…that she would keep me safe from the whole world.”

Edith closes her eyes and sniffles.

“I lost my father, my brother, my mother, and my grandmother around your age. I was so lost. Not only lost in the wilderness but lost in my soul. I didn’t think I could go on—that I could ever live without them.”

“Do you still miss them?”

“Of course, I do. I miss them every single day. But here is a secret, Edith. A secret my grandmother once shared with me. A great mystery. We will see them again. But in the meantime, their spirits live within us and all around us. My grandmother speaks to me every day. I just have to be still and listen very closely to hear her voice in the winds and the whispers of the trees. They visit us in our dreams and speak to us through visions.”

“Do you think my father lives in me?”

“Yes, Edith. Of course. He lives within your heart and soul.

Each time you think of him, he is alive again. If you need to talk to him, you can. He can hear you. And if he could talk to you right now, at this moment, do you know what he would say?”

“What? What would he say?”

“Well, he would say, ‘Edith, be strong, my child. I will always be right here. And I will never leave your side. I love you and I’m so very proud of you.’ That’s what he would say.”

Edith wraps her arms tightly around Maggie’s waist and sobs.

“I miss him so much, Maggie…I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to him.”

“He hears you. He’s listening to us right now. Say goodbye to him. Tell him how much you love him.”

Edith’s chin trembles, her eyes soaked with sorrowful tears.

“Goodbye, Father. I love you very, very much. My heart hurts so bad, daddy.”

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A cool breeze blows across their faces, laced with a slight scent of tobacco smoke.

“There. Now you’ve told him. His spirit sits with us and holds us in his arms, Edith. Did you feel him just now?”

“Yes…I did. I felt him, Maggie! I could smell him.”

“You are my sister, Edith. And I love you very, very much.

I’ll always be here for you. That’s what sisters do. You can tell me anything, and anytime you want to lay your head on my lap you can. I’ll rub your head and keep you safe. We can visit this place and speak to our father anytime you wish. And he’ll be here with us.”

She pulls Edith close, squeezing her tight. She rocks her in her arms and sings songs Grandmother and Mother used to sing to her as a child. They spend the entire day together, walking, crying, hugging, and learning new songs. *** A knock on her bedroom door awakens her. Tanne enters carrying an envelope in her hand. She lays it on the dresser.

“This came for you, Miss Maggie.”

Tanne leaves, closing the door behind her. She slips out of bed and walks to the dresser. An envelope addressed to her with a return address to the local military post. She rips it open, revealing a neatly folded letter inside.

Dear Maggie, We are heading out in the morning to give support to our men in northern Virginia. A few skirmishes broke out in that area. Nothing big, but they want us there for a few days to lend support.

Maggie, I’ve kept your bracelet close to my heart all these years. I always knew I’d see you again someday. Don’t ask me how I knew. I couldn’t tell you.

I wasn’t sure if it was really you at first. But I thought to myself, you have the same big beautiful brown eyes I remember. That same courage you showed when those 159

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bullies stole your doll. The one with no face. And I’ve never met any woman with a crescent-shaped scar across her chin quite like yours. It gives you character.

The look of surprise that came over your face when I told the sergeant my full name told me it must be you.

And I knew right then, that you recognized me, too. I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted you to realize it for yourself.

And now that we’ve found each other again, Miss Maggie Davis, where do we go from here?

I’ll find you again soon, Maggie. Wait for me.

Charles She closes her eyes and holds the envelope to her heart. She opens a small carved wooden box sitting on her dresser and places the letter inside the box and closes it.

She lays a sheet of paper and an ink well and quill on her desk. She holds the pen for several moments. Beginning to write, then hesitating. What words to write?

Dear Charles, Somewhere in the deepest places of my heart, I must have known it was you. The way you defended me and protected my honor for the second time now. It took me by surprise. It certainly wasn’t your charm. It was your beautiful heart. Forgive me for not recognizing you sooner.

I never thought I would see my bracelet again. It takes me to a special place when I was a child, full of hope and dreams.

Where do we go from here, you ask? I do not know. But I will wait for you. That is not something you ever needed to ask, Charles.

Be safe on your journey. May the Great Spirit watch over you and bring you safely back to me.

Maggie.

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Today is the day. Miss Nellie has all the paperwork prepared to give freedom to the enslaved workers of the plantation. To give them a voice and a choice in where they go and how they live.

Tanne has chosen to go with Amos, his mother, and sister.

She has no other family. She and Amos have secretly been in love for many years now. I can’t wait to tell Jakar of that news. He’ll be a good husband to Tanne and she’ll make a respectable wife for him. They’ll be loving parents I’m sure.

None have chosen to stay. And who could blame them?

Freedom begs the heart to wander in search of a better life. And they all have chosen to make that journey and burn every bridge that leads back to the White Skies Plantation.

She hugs Tanne and Amos and the rest. All will head North to the Ohio Valley on a buckboard wagon with a single horse provided by Miss Nellie. Loaded with enough food, goods, and money to complete the journey. None of it nearly enough compensation for years of enslavement. But we cannot undo the sins of the past. We can only move forward towards the hopes and dreams of the future and learn from the painful lessons of the past and not repeat them.

She stands next to Miss Nellie as the wagon leaves the plantation and travels off in the distance, full of energy, full of songs and, full of laughter.

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23 Two Spirits Return The skirmishes in the North were far bloodier than anticipated. Months have passed. The plantation has been quiet.

The tobacco crop was replaced by orchards several years ago.

Apples, pears, plums, and peach trees now thrive, producing rich, juicy fruit for the market.

It is late August 1861. She’s heard very little from Charles. No word as to where he is. She strolls peacefully in moccasins along the country road in front of the manor for an early morning walk. Moisture beads across her skin. Her long white cotton dress clings. The morning strolls clear her mind and quiets her spirit. Thoughts become clearer and life can be reflected upon.

Enormous trees heavily shade the road ahead. Whimpering echoes through the heavy air. A small pure white wolf pup wanders onto the road, lost and afraid.

“Oh, my goodness!”

She runs and scoops the pup into her arms.

“Oh, dear, you are so beautiful. Where did you come from?

Where’s your mother, huh?”

The snort of a horse startles her. She turns and glances toward the woods. Leaning against a massive tree is a Union soldier. His arms crossed; His smile unmistakable; His horse tied to a young tree behind him.

“Charles!”

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She rushes into his arms. His eyes widen and sparkle. His boyish smile beams. He embraces her and the pup, swinging them around in a half-circle before setting them down.

“I found this little guy on the road. He was lost. I told him I had the perfect home for him.”

“He’s so handsome. Yes, you are. You’re a good little boy and I’m going to take good care of you and love you.”

She pulls away from Charles and dances in circles with the pup. Kissing him and allowing him to lick her face. He’s pure white, like Hato, but has long gangly legs like Kake.

“This one’s pure wolf, Maggie. He doesn’t have a name yet.”

“I’m going to call you, Shokdö:h.”

“Well, that’s gonna be easy to pronounce. So, what’s it mean?”

“It means he has returned to me.”

Charles raises his brows in amusement and stares at her.

“Charles, don’t you see? They have returned to me. This is no coincidence. The Great Spirit has returned the spirits of Hato and Kake to me. And he chose to place Shokdö:h in your path. He gave him to you to bring to me.”

He blankly stares. His mouth wants to speak, but no words come out. She hugs the pup and ambles towards the manor. He leads his horse by the reins and follows her.

He doesn’t understand. Why try to explain it to him? This is the sign of innocence and great purity. Grandmother warned me, I must follow wherever it leads. But how can I follow it? It leads to the arms of this white man. A man with a beautiful heart. A heart that’s brave and kind.

But the color of his skin represents everything that has oppressed our people. My heart is conflicted and my spirit troubled.

His presence brings me joy and causes my heart to flutter. The way he looks at me awakens sensations in my body I’ve never known before. He stirs my heart. I should not follow this forbidden path.

Yet, The Great Spirit has given me this innocent wolf pup with the purest of spirit. And from the hands of a man, he chose to present this gift to me. It is the sign Grandmother spoke of.

“Maggie. May I stay with you tonight?”

“I don’t know. I will need to check with Miss Nellie.”

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“I can sleep in the barn if you like.”

“The barn might suit you.”

He grins and laughs, then shakes his head. “That hurt, Maggie. That really hurt.”

He ties the reins to a post. “Stay there, boy. I’ll feed ya soon.”

She escorts him into the White Skies Manor and leads him into the parlor. She holds the white ball of energy in her lap, running her fingers over his soft fur. He nibbles at her fingertips and grunts.

“This place is rich. The doc really did well for himself.”

She rises from her chair and hands him the pup.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to bring Miss Nellie so she can meet you. I already told her a little about you.”

Miss Nellie enters the parlor neatly dressed in a maroon gown. Her hair pulled up in a bun of red and orange highlights.

Charles stands and takes her by the hand and kisses it. Nellie glances at Maggie, grinning like a schoolgirl.

“Well, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Charles. I heard so many good things from Maggie, but she neglected to mention what a tall handsome young man you are. And who is this little fella? He’s adorable.”

“Thank you, ma’am. He’s a stray I found a few days ago.

Ma’am, I want to give you my deepest condolences over the loss of your husband, Dr. McKenna. I only knew him a short time, but he was a good man. He was kind enough to offer a ride back to Clarksburg for me and another soldier. And ma’am I want you to know he died as bravely as any seasoned soldier I have ever had the honor to serve beside.”

Nellie pats her eyes with a hanky and nods.

“Thank you. We would be pleased if you would stay for dinner. Maggie mentioned you needed a place to stay for the night on your way to rejoin your regiment. You can sleep in one of the servant’s quarters.”

“I am deeply in your debt, ma’am. And I would be very pleased to stay for dinner.”

“Maggie, this letter came for you today. Please tell me you won’t consider going back to serve at the military hospitals.”

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“Thank you. But if I’m needed, I must go. Dr. McKenna would have expected that from me.”

Nellie frowns. She straightens her gown. No response from her. Her embrace is longer and much firmer than usual. Nellie’s way of acknowledging the truth in Maggie’s words, perhaps.

“I’m sure you two have much to catch up on. It’s a beautiful day for a ride. Just be back in time for dinner. I’m going to prepare a nice big meal for your journey. Maggie, please show Charles where he will be staying tonight.”

She takes Shokdö:h from his arms and leads him outside and around the side of the manor to her old quarters. She opens the door. The air is stale and motes of dust swirl across beams of light entering through the curtains of the small window. She enters the room and turns to face him.

“Well, this is it. Beats sleeping in the barn where I would have put you.”

He chuckles and stares at her. His grin fades. His eyes crinkle at the corners. They seem to glow soft blue from the reflection of light beams shining into the dimly lit room. He slowly shuts the door behind him and takes a step towards her. He places his hands on her cheeks.

Her body trembles. She can’t control it. It’s quite embarrassing.

A wave of warmth flows along her spine. She can feel her face flushing. Her breaths become pants. She takes a step backward, then pushes the pup into his arms.

“Follow me to the barn. Let’s put Shokdö:h in one of the pens and give him some water and something to eat. Then, I will allow you to take me for a walk along the river.”

He glances at Shokdö:h, then back at her. His grin returns.

“I…would be honored, Miss Maggie.” *** He offers his arm as they begin their stroll along the river.

She slips her arm through his as they amble along the riverbank.

The shade of the trees along the river filters the bright sunlight.

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and damp. An occasional breeze blows across her face offering a brief relief.

“Maggie, I meant to ask you. Whatever happened to that silly doll? The one with no face?”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “That’s what you want to talk about? You came all this way to ask me about my cornhusk doll?”

“Well…no. But I was just curious is all.”

She snickers, “I still have it. I sleep with it if you must know.”

“You sleep with both pieces?”

“I fixed it, Charles. Years ago. So, where are you headed tomorrow? How long will you be gone this time?”

“I’m meeting my regiment a few miles away at the army post.

Then we are headed to a place called Pohick Church here in Virginia.”

She stops and faces him.

“Please write to me. Tell me where you are. And that you’re safe. Promise me.”

“I’ll try, Maggie. It’s not always possible. But I’ll make a strong effort to write more often.”

They resume their walk. He places his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She relaxes and leans into him, placing her arm around his waist. They continue to walk and talk and enjoy each other’s company for the rest of the day. As dusk nears, they return to the manor.

After a large dinner prepared by Miss Nellie and Miss Edith, he retires to his room. She retires to hers. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she opens the letter she received today.

Dear Miss Maggie Davis, We request your presence and your medical expertise at the military hospital in Nicholas County, Virginia. There are many soldiers in serious need of medical attention and too few doctors and surgeons to tend to all their needs. Dr. Thomas McKenna sent us a Letter of Recommendation, vouching for you, and showing great faith in your abilities as a surgeon and healer.

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In two days, we will send a small escort to take you safely to Nicholas County where we have several temporary hospitals established awaiting your services.

Highest Regards, Office of Brigadier General William S. Rosecrans, United States Army

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24 Separation of Duty She knocks on his door at 5:03 a.m. No answer. She quietly pushes the door open and steps inside the quarters. The bed is neatly made and a folded letter rests upon the pillow. She frowns and exhales. Why does it pain her heart so much to learn he has already left for duty? The mattress depresses under her weight, causing old springs to creak and snap. She glances at the letter and softly lifts the pillow with both hands, placing it on her lap.

She stares at the letter. Her heart palpitates, anticipating the words he will speak to her. His pillow still carries his scent. She unfolds his letter.

Dearest Maggie, I must apologize for leaving so early this morning. I must get an early start and reach my regiment on time.

They shoot deserters. We leave for battle at Pohick Church, Virginia, soon. I’ll do everything in my power to write to you often.

I keep thinking about our walk yesterday along the river. Feeling you next to me and listening to your gentle voice. A voice soft like the trickle of the river. I feel I got to know you on a much deeper level. And the deeper I go, the deeper I want to continue to go, until I see the whole of you, Maggie. I want to take my time and unravel all the layers.

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new pup. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. What do I know of these things? What I do know, Maggie is that my heart aches right now. Because we’re apart. I don’t mean to put you in a compromising position. I would never do that. I just want to continue to court you and call upon you, if I may. As I ready to prepare my horse to leave, I already miss your angelic face.

Please forgive me for acting this way, but yours is the face of unique and purest beauty. The likes of which I have never seen before. Your eyes are tranquil like deep dark pools of still water. I’m captivated each time I lose myself in them. I’m going to stop here for fear I might say something I shouldn’t. I have no right to. But you are the finest of ladies, Miss Maggie Davis. I want you to know that. And somehow, I’m going to win your heart.

Until I see you again, Charles She sighs and holds his letter to her breast. She presses the pillow to her face taking in the scent of his hair. *** The military escort arrives at 7:45 a.m. Four Union soldiers on horseback, another two soldiers driving a military escort wagon behind a single horse. She hands Shokdö:h to Edith and hugs her tight.

“Take good care of him, Edith. Take him for walks. He needs to run and play. Give him lots of love.”

“I will. Please be careful, Miss Maggie. I’m really going to miss you.”

She hugs Miss Nellie. “I’ll be back in a few days. I love you both.”

“We love you too, Maggie. Please be careful and come home safely.”

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comfort. You may ride up front or in the wagon where we have set up a comfortable bench seat for you.”

She hands her baggage to one of the soldiers who loads each piece into the bed of the wagon.

“I’ll sit up front, for now, thank you.” *** Days later, they arrive at a place called Kessler’s Cross Lanes where a battle took place a couple of days earlier. Union forces were defeated and there are hundreds of wounded in need of medical attention. She is escorted to a weathered old barn, where a makeshift hospital has been set up to house the wounded.

“Ma’am, I’ll carry your baggage inside so you can get right to work.”

The carnage isn’t at the level of Bull Run in Manassas, but the wounded are many and the wounds very serious. One of the doctors approaches her, wearing an apron stained in blood and speckled with bits of flesh.

“Are you a nurse?”

“I’m here as a healer and a surgeon.”

“I need you to assist me with an amputation. Follow me.”

Grabbing the medical bag that once belonged to Dr. McKenna along with her own medicine bag, she follows him to a patient strapped to the wooden workbench. His tibia is broken and protruding.

“Oh, God…please don’t take my leg, Doc. Please!”

She examines the injury.

The tibia is broken and protruding, but this is a clean break and could be easily set. He doesn’t need an amputation.

“Doctor, this leg can be saved. This break is clean. I can reset this. A splint and a stiff binding and the leg will heal in time.”

“Are you questioning my medical opinion?”

She takes a deep breath.

“Yes. I am. This man does not need to lose his leg. Let me set it for him. Let me treat him.”

“Let her do it, Doc! Damnit, just let her try.”

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The doctor ignores the patient’s pleas and her advice.

“Hold him! Hand me that saw.”

“No! I will not. You will not take this man’s leg.”

“Then stay out of my way. Can’t you see there are hundreds here in need of help?”

“I can see. I have eyes.”

The doctor grabs the saw then grips the leg, preparing to cut.

Anger rises in her heart. She reaches into her medicine bag and pulls her Bowie knife from its sheath. She grabs him by the apron and pushes the tip of the razor-sharp blade under his chin. He drops the saw.

“Move to another patient. This man is my patient now. I’ll treat him and set his leg.”

The doctor backs off and walks away. He removes his apron and rolls it into a ball and tosses it onto a table on his way out of the barn.

“Thank you, miss. Thank you.”

She takes the blade and cuts his ropes then sets the blade on the bench next to him.

“Let me help you sit up. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Sergeant Andrew Mills, ma’am.”

She hands him a wooden spoon.

“Bite down, Sergeant. This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

She pulls on his ankle and pushes the bone into place. He grunts, biting hard on the spoon, gripping the bench with both hands like a vice. His face reddened and soaked with sweat, blood, and tears. She splints and binds the leg tightly.

“This will heal, but you have to stay off of it for several weeks.”

She spots a crutch leaning against an unused table in the corner of the barn. She snatches it, handing it to Sergeant Mills.

“Here. Use this to help move around. We need to move you over to that bench. To make room for another soldier.”

“God bless you, Doctor. God bless you.”

“I’m not a doctor. I’m a healer. But you’re welcome. Just take care of that leg and don’t make a liar out of me. It will heal and you’ll be walking very soon as long as you stay off it and take good care of it.”

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He nods and hops his way over to a bench. He plops onto the seat and sighs.

“That’s her Captain. She pulled a knife on me. Get her out of here.”

Two soldiers grab her by the arms.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

The Captain steps forward. He glares at her. Studying her. He holds one of her braids in his hand, examining the colorful beads with his thumb.

“You Mingo? An Injun? What are you doing operating on soldiers? You can’t be a doctor.”

“I am Seneca. Of the Haudenosaunee Nation. No, I am not a doctor. I am a healer and a surgeon.”

“Well, I’m the Captain of this unit. Captain Mansfield.

Where’re your credentials, medicine woman?”

“I worked and mentored under Dr. Thomas McKenna of Clarksburg, Virginia. I have a letter right here in my bag signed by your commanding officer to report here. I demand to see your superior officer.”

“Well, you ain’t in no position to be demanding anything right now, little lady.”

The Captain points at the guards. “Let her go. And you show me that letter.”

She straightens her clothes and scoffs, “These men deserve better.”

She removes the telegram from her bag and hands it to the Captain.

“Hm. Says here, this Dr. McKenna vouches for her. And it’s signed by General Rosecrans’ office.”

“She’s not a doctor. You heard her say it herself, Captain. She tried to stab me.”

“Ha. Yer, not a doctor either, Felix. So, don’t go gett’n your balls in a sling.”

Felix’s words send a wave of fury through her body.

“He’s not a doctor? Why am I not surprised? He tried to amputate that man’s leg over there. It was a clean break. A very easy break to set. How are you allowing him to operate on your men? He’s doing more damage than the enemy.”

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Sergeant Mills hobbles over.

“Captain, that asshole tried to take my leg. If it weren’t for this young lady, he’d have done it. She had it set and splinted in a matter of minutes. How many other limbs has this incompetent little shit butchered for no reason?”

“Noted Sergeant. I suggest you get off that leg, however, unless you want ole Felix here taking it from ya in a few days when gangrene sets in.”

Felix glares at him. “And I will, too. Because that leg needs to come off.”

Mills pushes past Captain Mansfield and clubs Felix across the face with the wooden crutch, smashing his nose and knocking him to the floor. The two guards grab Mills, lifting him off the ground and setting him back on the bench.

Captain Mansfield points at Mills, “You stay there, Sergeant, or you’ll be spending your time healing in jail.”

She kneels next to Felix, attempting to examine his nose. It appears to be broken and is bleeding profusely. He slaps her hand away.

“Get away from me, Injun bitch.”

“I’m only trying to help you. Do you want to go through the rest of your life with a bent nose?”

“I can fix it myself.”

“Suit yourself. Captain, may I go back to treating your men?

Or are you going to have me arrested?”

Captain Mansfield waves his hand in the air, shooing her.

“Go on. I’ll clean up this mess.” *** Two days pass. She sets broken bones, cleans and stitches wounds, removes deeply embedded musket balls that have inflicted atrocious wounds on their victims. She amputates only when necessary. Soldiers ask for her. They reject allowing Felix to work on them, leaving him standing around or working on unconscious or semi-conscious soldiers. He watches her work.

Glaring at her. His eyes narrow. His jaw pushed out into an angry frown.

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She remains focused. Continuing to help as many of the wounded as she can. She is saving dozens of lives and there is great reward and satisfaction in doing so. At every turn, Felix is there. Staring. Mocking. Trying to intimidate her.

Why won’t he quit staring at me?

She can feel his eyes on her. His contempt searing the back of her neck. She finishes a set of stitches and binds the wound.

She lays her tools on a table and confronts him. He mockingly laughs.

“What is your problem? You need to keep your eyes on your work and off of me. You got that?”

He chuckles. “I’m gonna remember you, Mingo witch doctor.

We’ll meet again. You can count on it.”

“Oh, so now you’re threatening me? Well, I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of any man. Do not come near me again.”

“Woo wee. I’m so scared now, Indian squaw. Pull a knife on me again and find out what happens.” *** She gathers her medical bags, placing them in the wagon.

She leaves for home in the morning. A much-needed break. Her work here is complete. All the major injuries have been tended to.

Only a few minor injuries are left and those can be tended to by medics. Felix left the facility late in the afternoon. The afternoon was far less stressful with him gone.

Thoughts of Shokdö:h, Edith, and Miss Nellie take her mind to a more pleasant place. Thoughts of Charles takes her mind to a place of longing. Visualizing his face creates an empty space in her heart. Why must they be apart? This damned war separates them. Maybe there will be a letter waiting for her when she arrives home in a of couple days. She crawls into a military sleeping bag in the back of the wagon and rests her head on a rolled blanket.

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25 A Battlefield Rendevouis The military escort delivers Maggie home early Sunday afternoon. Shokdö:h squirms in Edith’s arms, licking and nibbling her chin. A soldier sets her baggage near the porch.

“Thank you, ma’am, for your service.”

Edith embraces her, squashing Shokdö:h between them. He yips and whines.

“It’s so good to see you, Miss Maggie. Shokdö:h was a good boy…well, most of the time. He peed on me once or twice.”

Miss Nellie pats her shoulder. “I’m so very glad you made it back safe, Miss Maggie. We still have some food in the kitchen… left over from lunch. Also, a letter came for you this morning. I’m assuming from your new friend. Charles, was his name?”

“Yes. Charles. I’m starving. Military food has little flavor. I missed you both.”

Maggie devours her meal and scampers up the grand stairway with Shokdö:h in one hand and the letter in the other. She slams the door behind her. Finally, time alone. She sets Shokdö:h on the floor, then falls backward, arms spread, landing on her satiny blanket and pillows. She tears the envelope and slides the letter out—unfolding it slowly. His letters are a special gift.

The gentleness in his voice in each written word—the sweetness in their tone. But this letter isn’t written in his usual graceful handwriting. It’s more of a scribble.

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Dearest Maggie, I hope my letter finds you safe at home. We were ambushed on our way to Pohick Church. About fifty miles from Clarksburg. We never reached our destination. We took heavy losses. Many soldiers were killed and a lot more are wounded and dying. I took a bullet to my shoulder. It’s lodged very deep. I can feel it. I want to dig it out myself, but I haven’t the strength. There’s a doctor here who wants to amputate my arm. But I refuse to allow it. Maggie, there are so many amputations going on here. Body parts piled into large bins. The place reeks of blood and death. I need to escape.

Until I see you again, my sweet Maggie.

Charles Her heart races. She leaps from her bed. She undresses and flings her garments across the floor—slipping into a white summer dress, leggings, and moccasins. She heaves a breath, snatches her medical bags and hops down the grand stairway, leaping several steps at a time. Miss Nellie dashes into the foyer.

Her eyes wide with concern.

“What is all this commotion? Maggie, where are you going?”

“I don’t have time to talk. I have to go. It’s Charles. He needs me.”

“Charles?”

“I’ll be back. I have to go right now.”

She rushes out the front of the manor leaving the heavy double-doors agape, loosely swinging. She scampers into the barn and saddles her horse. Stuffing her medical bags inside saddlebags, she mounts the horse and bursts out of the barn with an explosion of dust and hay. Sprinting at a full gallop, she disappears along the road. Two miles into her journey she slows her horse to a cantor.

Hang on, Charles. I’m coming. I’m coming. Oh God, don’t let them touch your arm. He said fifty miles, right? So, maybe two hours or so? Hang on, my love.

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An hour passes. Then two. She searches along the road for any sign of a camp or a makeshift hospital. But there are none.

“Where did they take you?”

She continues for three more miles, but there is still no sign of an encampment. She has failed him. Her breathing ragged and raspy. Tears well. She yanks her reins, turning the horse around, slowing his pace to a trot. Her mind swirls. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t know what to do. Where to go. Caught in a shadow of uncertainty. She continues, searching the landscape for signs of soldiers or an encampment.

She dismounts. Sobs rise in her throat. There’s no time to cry.

She must find him. The sun has begun its descent. She slowly backtracks along the road. Searching. Listening. Maybe she overlooked a clue?

Great Spirit, hear my prayer. Listen to the cries from my heart.

Help me. Help me find the way. Take me to him. You are the one who sent him to me. Take me to him now. Please.

She plants herself on a small boulder, holding her face with her palms. Where can he be?

The sound of multiple hooves pounds the road in the distance. Riders! She mounts her horse and readies to flee if they are Confederate soldiers. Three riders come into view stirring a cloud of dust in their wake. She squints through the fading daylight. Blue. Their uniforms are blue. She guides her horse into the center of the road and waves. They slow as they near her, two soldiers pull pistols.

“Stay right there, miss.”

Their horses surround her. “Ma’am, what are you doing out here alone? There’s a war going on, you know.”

“Sir, I am a…doctor. I am lost. I’m looking for a camp or temporary hospital where they have taken wounded soldiers of the 63rd Regiment. Can you take me there?”

The soldiers glance at one another.

“Yes, ma’am. We are headed there ourselves. The camp is just outside Morgantown. A couple of miles ahead there’s a trail leading into the camp. I’m sure they could use your skills. Just follow along behind us.”

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The camp sits in an open field next to the woods. Several large white hospital tents are lined up along the trees. She ties off the reins of her horse onto a small basswood tree and lifts her medical bags from the saddlebags. She rushes towards the tents, attempting to enter the closest one.

“Whoa, ma’am. Can I help you?”

“Yes, yes. I’m a doctor. I’m here to help…actually, I’m looking for a wounded soldier named Private Charles Flagg. Is he here?”

He peers inside the tent and shouts. “Private Charles Flagg!”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, ma’am. Not in this tent. Try the next one.”

“Thank you, Private.”

She rushes to the next tent. No soldier guarding its entrance.

She steps inside, scanning the many wounded sprawled out on cots and across the floor. He’s not here either. She tries the next one. Then the next. Not here. The inside of her head pounds with the rhythm of her heart. She positions herself in front of all the tents, cupping her hands over her mouth.

“Charles! Charles Flagg! Are you here?”

She listens. No response.

“Charlie! Private Flagg!”

A faint voice echoes from a tent on the far side of the camp.

“Maggie? Maggie, I’m here!”

She rushes to the entrance and darts inside. She scans the room. A raised arm waving from the back corner of the tent catches her eye. She slips around tables and steps over wounded soldiers. He’s lying on a cot. A bloody bandage is wrapped around his right shoulder, his arm still intact. Made it. Thank you, Great Spirit. Thank you, God. She holds him, resting her head against his chest. He wraps his left arm around her, squeezing her as tight as he can manage.

He quietly sobs—hiding it well. His eyes are weary and reddened.

Dried blood covers his face and clothes. He manages a feeble grin. That beautiful grin. Her heart twinges.

“How on God’s earth did you find me, Maggie? Are you truly here, or am I dreaming?”

“I’m here. I’m truly here. And I’m going to get that bullet out of your shoulder.”

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She pulls a scalpel from her bag, unraveling the bandage— quickly slicing through flesh. He tenses but doesn’t cry out. She locates the bullet and grips it with forceps, extracting it from his flesh. It pings inside a metal bin. He exhales and relaxes. She tears the sleeve from her dress and binds the wound.

She flinches—a familiar voice behind her.

“Lieutenant, this Mingo witchdoctor has no business in here.

She ain’t no doctor. I need to remove this man’s arm. Can you have your men tend to her?”

Felix! What is he doing here? No wonder there are so many limbs and body parts lying around. And now he has a henchman working with him?

“Lieutenant, I am a healer and have been commissioned by Brigadier General William S. Rosecrans to perform surgery and medical treatment on soldiers in this area of Virginia. This man is my patient. I just removed a musket ball from his shoulder. He does not need an amputation and many of the soldiers here do not need amputations.”

“Ma’am, do you have any credentials with you to prove what you say?”

She pauses. The letter! She hands the document over to him.

“Ma’am, this letter is for Nicholas County.”

“Yes, but it proves I am a healer and vouches for my skills as a surgeon. This idiot over here isn’t a doctor. I saved the leg of a soldier in Nicholas County he wanted to amputate. He’s a butcher and a greater threat to your men than the Confederates.

Now please allow me to tend to my patient.”

Charles points to Felix. “Lieutenant, I don’t want that little bastard over there touching my arm. I trust this young woman… the bullet is already out.”

The Lieutenant shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. You two work it out.” The Lieutenant walks away.

“Looks like we have a little standoff between me and the witch doctor, here. I’m taking that arm. Ben, get her out of here.”

Ben grasps her arms. Felix attempts to restrain Charles by placing a strap around his wounded arm. Charles wraps his leg around Felix’s neck, choking him and pinning him to the cot.

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Ben releases Maggie and grabs Charles’s leg, pulling it away from Felix. With his other leg, Charles kicks Ben in the face, wrenching his neck and knocking him backward onto the ground. He grabs Felix by the apron and draws him close.

“You little piece of shit.”

Maggie slides her Bowie from its sheath and points it at Ben. “You stay there.”

She steps towards Charles and hands him her knife. He slices the leather strap from his right arm and stands. He grabs Felix by the throat and slams him onto the cot. Pinning Felix’s left hand against the cot he slices off a single digit of his index finger. Felix screeches. Charles tosses the bloody digit into the body parts bin and shoves Felix to the ground. Felix wraps his finger in his apron shrieking and moaning. Ben rises to his feet and waves his palms.

“I don’t want no trouble, boss.”

Maggie scoops up her bags. She guides Charles’s left arm around her neck to steady him as they hobble towards the exit.

“Can you ride?”

“Yeah. I can ride.”

“I’m taking you home, Charles. I need to clean that wound and stitch you up.”

She pushes against his weight, helping him onto the saddle.

She shoves her medical bags into the saddlebag. Placing her left foot in the stirrup, she glides into the saddle and kicks her heels into the stallion’s ribs. They charge away into the darkness.

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26 A Patient Rescued It’s nearly midnight when they reach White Skies Manor.

They trot into the barn before she dismounts. She helps him slide to the ground and places his arm around her shoulders.

“You can’t leave him like that. He needs his saddle removed and water.”

“Don’t worry about the horse. I’ll take care of him later. We need to get you inside.”

Together they limp to the servant quarters. Her shoulders burn. He collapses onto the bed.

“I’ll be back. You lay still. I’m going to bring soap and water and clean that nasty wound. Then I’m going to sew you up.”

He nods and closes his eyes. She places a lantern on the table, casting a soft amber glow throughout the room.

She returns to the barn and unbridles her horse.

“C’mon boy. Let’s get this saddle off.” She leads him to a stall filled with hay and a full water trough.

Water from the well swishes inside a wooden bucket as she rushes across the lawn to the heavy front doors of the manor. She tiptoes through the foyer into the kitchen. She fills a cauldron and heats the water over a fire in the kitchen hearth. With soap and a clean cloth in hand, she swiftly carries the cauldron back to his quarters. He’s asleep. Mumbling and snoring disrupt the stillness.

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strain running a suture through the eye of a needle. He remains asleep but moans each time the needle passes through tissue, uniting edges of flesh with each tug of the suture. She dabs droplets of blood from his skin and applies a salve of garlic, oregano, and a small amount of tea tree oil she acquired from an herb shop in town months ago. She binds his shoulder with a clean bandage.

He’s sweating. Feverish. Restlessly squirming. Grunting and groaning. She pats his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. His face sheens with reflections of orange across moist skin. His body shivers. His boots slide off easily, thumping as they hit the floor.

She stretches a sheet across his body. A small wooden chair creaks beneath her thighs as she scoots close to the bed.

She whispers, “I’m right here, Charles.”

His jawline and chin are well-chiseled and defined—covered in scruff and stubble. He takes up the entire space of the bed with his broad shoulders and brawny arms. Long legs and bony knees still make her laugh. His feet are large. Larger than any man she’s ever seen. His hair is oily and disheveled. Whew. You need a bath.

She leans over him, running her fingertips tenderly across his lips. Caressing his face with an open hand. Why should their love be forbidden? Her people will disapprove. White society will disapprove. Why should she care? The Great Spirit has brought them together. Who has the right to question it? We are all the same people made by the hand of the same Creator.

She bites her lower lip. She gently slides the sheet downward until his chest is revealed. A damp cloth wipes the sweat and grime from his pectorals. She sets the cloth aside. The touch of thick muscle and course hair arouses her. Her hand hesitantly glides across his moist chest, titillating her palm. The men of her tribe never had hair on their chest or face. She stretches the sheet over his shoulders and leans back, momentarily closing her eyes.

Charles? Was I sleeping just now?

His fever rages like a brushfire. The sheets are drenched. He’s restless, twisting and turning—moaning gibberish nonsense.

“Maggie…where are you?”

“I’m here. I’m here, Charles.”

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He stretches a trembling hand towards her. She places his hand inside both of hers. His hand is broad, just like his feet. The heat causes her palms to sweat. He grips her hands and tries to speak.

“Shh. Be still. I’m right here. I promise I won’t leave you.”

“Maggie…you’re so beautiful…why are you so beautiful? I never forgot you…not for a single day…or your…that ridiculous doll with no face.”

He forces a laugh that quickly turns to a cough.

Her lips tighten. Tears well and run along her cheeks. She laughs and pats his hand.

“You were never funny, Charles.”

He stares deep into her eyes. His eyes cross just as his eyelids close—lips curling at the edges. *** A rooster crows. She jerks, popping her eyes open. Dim light peeks through the small window illuminating the room. His body has cooled. He’s snoring. She must have slept all night in the chair. The sheet lies at her feet. She drapes it over him and silently exits the room, closing the door behind her.

The foyer is quiet except for the pitter-patter of her tiptoeing across the floor. Edith sits at the table, eating a bowl of oatmeal and berries. Her eyebrows raise and her dimples are showing.

“Maggie! When did you get home?”

“Last night. Kind of late. I didn’t want to disturb you or your mother.”

“Why did you come in the front door just now?”

“I…uh…slept in the…my old room.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Like I said. I didn’t want to disturb you or your mother.”

“Never stopped you before. Mother said you left to help your friend, Charles. Is he here?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’m just wondering. Maybe because you’re acting odd.”

“Okay, Edith. Can you keep a secret?”

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Edith’s lips part. She smirks, cocking her head slightly. She’s far too anxious.

“Of course, I can. You can trust me, Maggie. Promise.”

“You better not break that promise, or I’ll put crickets in your bed.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would. So, lips sealed. Charles is resting in my old room. He was hurt and I had to bring him here to nurse him back to health.”

Edith blankly stares, then bursts into laughter.

“Sh. Edith, be quiet.”

“So, you brought your beau home and let him sleep in your old room. And I know you didn’t sleep in your room because you came in the front door this morning.”

“Okay…he’s not my beau. He’s my friend and I needed to help him. He’s my patient right now. I’m treating him.”

“I believe you, Maggie, but why do you smile so much when you talk about him, huh?”

Miss Nellie enters the kitchen in her nightgown and socks.

Her auburn hair laying across her shoulders.

“Why, Maggie. When did you return?”

“She got back last night, Mother.”

She kicks Edith under the table.

“Ouch. Why’d you kick me?”

Nellie’s eyes narrow and her lips pucker and smack.

“Did you find Charles? Is he okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. He was injured, Miss Nellie. Shot actually. He needed me.”

“Maggie slept in her old room last night.”

“Ah…Edith.”

“She did? Maggie? Did you bring Charles here?”

“Alright. Yes, I did. But he needed surgery. I removed a musket ball from his shoulder and the wound needed to be cleaned and stitched. He’s burning up with fever.”

Nellie pulls out a chair. Is that a smirk I see?

“Maggie, I could tell when I met Charles, he was very sweet on you. I saw the way he looked at you. And I also saw the way you looked at him. Something is going on there.”

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“No…there’s nothing. We’re just very good friends…and he needs me right now.”

Nellie stares. One eye half-closed and her lips smiling crookedly. What’s the point? She’s not buying it.

“Okay, you two. I have a patient to tend to. I’m just going to make him some breakfast to help him get his strength back. So, you can both go back to whatever you were doing.”

Edith giggles. “We were talking to you. That’s what we were doing.”

Maggie fries three strips of pork and boils two eggs. She reaches into a small icebox and pours a cold glass of milk from a small tin. She snags an apple from a fruit bowl and slices it, laying it across the plate.

“I’ll be back. I’m just going to drop this off and check on my patient.”

Nellie and Edith glance at each other, neither one saying a word. As she exits the kitchen, she hears chortling.

She carefully opens the door to the quarters and steps inside.

He lies sweating, eyes open, and alert.

“I have some breakfast for you, Charles. You need to get your strength back.”

“Thank you. Can I have some water first? My throat is as dry as a dirt road.”

“Of course. Sit up.”

She fills a tin cup of water. She sets his plate on his lap and then sits next to him on the bed.

“Eat. I need to take a look at that shoulder. It’ll need to be cleaned and rebandaged.”

He devours the meal and guzzles the glass of milk. A few white drops drip off his chin. She dabs his mouth with a cloth. He takes her hand and kisses it. She runs her hand along his cheek, embarrassed from his stare.

“Let’s change that bandage now.”

He nods and lays back. She clips the bandage. The bandage sticks to the stitches. She yanks it off.

“Ah. Damnit! What kind of bedside manner is that?”

“The best kind.”

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She examines the stitches. The wound closed but oozes with puss. She washes the wound and reapplies the salve.

“There. A fresh bandage. Just rest for now, okay? I have some things to tend to, then I’ll be back to check on you.”

“Okay, Doc. Don’t leave me here alone for too long. Seeing your face takes away all my pain. You are my best medicine.”

She takes a deep breath and sighs patting his hand. She exits the room, closing the door behind her. Having a patient doesn’t excuse her from her daily chores around the manor, after all. She spends the morning brushing down her horse and feeding the livestock. She picks fresh fruit from the orchard and tends to the garden.

Late in the afternoon, she carries a dinner in a tray to his room. Boiled chicken, squash, beans, fresh fruit, and a cup of coffee. She opens the door and backs in, using her foot to swing it closed.

“Here’s your dinner, sir. I hope you ...”

She turns towards him and drops the tray. He lies on the floor foaming at the mouth. His fever is raging and his body in full convulsions. She grabs the pitcher of water near the bed and pours it over him. She raises his head and places a pillow beneath it.

“It’s going to be okay, Charles. Breathe.”

His legs and arms continue to jerk. She holds him. When his body relaxes, she turns him onto his side.

“Charles. Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me.”

He nods.

“Just stay still. Try not to move.”

She holds his head in her lap and strokes his scalp. Her nerves tingle and her temples throb. There’s an ache in her chest, but it’s not a physical ache. The thought of losing him is unthinkable.

Remain focused. He needs me to be strong.

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27 Shaman Ancestors He’s delirious. His skin is on fire. She sighs, not recalling how they managed to get him back onto the bed.

What if he doesn’t make it? What if I have failed him? I’ve done all I can do. All but one thing.

Her lips press against his steamy forehead. “I’ll be back, Charles.”

The manor is dimly lit and quiet. Her thighs burn when she reaches the top of the grand staircase. The old cedar chest creaks, revealing an old ceremonial blanket neatly folded inside next to Grandmother’s mask and snapping turtle rattle. Tools of a healer.

Her native clothing fits tighter than they once did. Colorful beads secure her tight braids. She closes the door behind her and enters the hallway clutching her Shaman tools.

Dr. McKenna’s office remains as he left it. He stored his finest tobacco in the bottom drawer of his desk. The metal tin is still packed full of pungent tobacco leaves. A necessary item for the ceremony. Descending the stairway, she diverts into the kitchen.

In a matter of minutes, she has a small bowl of corn mush in her hands.

The night is dark, hindering the short walk back to the quarters where Charles lays dying. Having to balance all that she carries doesn’t help her situation.

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where it is burned. Its sweet, pungent aroma permeates the room.

Wood chips burn and char in a cauldron. The ash is sprinkled onto his body.

Grandmother’s mask eerily stares at her with haunting deepset eyes and a crooked nose. Red and black paint are as vibrant as the night Grandmother wore it in the wilderness years ago.

An old tobacco leaf remains folded and attached to the forehead below course ebony horsehair. Powerful vibrations from the wood whisper, calling to her.

Charles lays motionless an arms-length away. The floor is hard and cold against her knees. The shaking of the rattle creates a flood of old memories, inspiring and empowering her chants and prayers. They’re quiet at first. Chants merge with the ancient songs of the ages combining with the sweet scent of tobacco— drawing her deep into a relaxed state of meditation.

Her body moves in rhythm. Chanting and praying as Grandmother once did. Prayers synchronize with rattling, carrying her deeper into meditation until her spirit flies free of her earthly body. Visions of the old country flash across her mind. Is this what Grandmother experienced? Longhouses. Seneca living free. Boys playing stickball. Women weaving baskets and planting fields. A young long-legged girl racing the boys and beating them.

Babbling brooks trickle, vibrations embrace her spirit. Pure white light as brilliant as the sun bathes her in warmth and absolute peace. Her spirit is held by hands created from this light, singing and chanting along with her. She is enveloped in unselfish love and infinite understanding.

A voice calls out to her. Not a physical voice, but a spiritual one. Her spirit is one with the light and is itself the light. All things and all people exist as fragments of the light. They combine to form a great and wonderful love. The God of creation loves us unconditionally and beyond human imagination or understanding.

Faces of ancestors materialize. Grandmother joins them.

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feathers that emanate an aura of colors never before seen. High cheekbones and full coral-colored lips. Tawny eyes that sparkle like brown moonstone. Her arms are open and welcoming.

These are the past Shamans of our people. Grandmother begins to chant, mimicking my rhythm and cadence. The ancestors join in with humming and prayers.

A majestic voice resonates like beating drums and thunder.

He will live Kateri, and you will bear him a son. But the debt of saving him today will be collected tomorrow. You will know when this time comes, my child. Time on earth is borrowed time and what is taken must be returned at the designated moment.

A distant voice disrupts the others. Ripping her from this state of bliss. The chanting ceases. She plummets. Like a plunge from a great mountain. Her soul crashes into her physical body.

A flash of blue light blinds her then fizzles and crackles as it dissipates. A voice echoes from a distance.

“Maggie. What’s this ceremony you’re doing?”

She lifts the mask. Adoring eyes with glints of turquoise welcome her home. She will bear him a son one day. A secret she will guard in the deepest chambers of her heart.

“Charles?”

His eyes reflect her love like a pool of glass across a tranquil lake. She leans toward him. He cradles her face with strong, gentle hands. His lips move to meet hers. Her eyes close. The soft warmth of his mouth touches hers. She wraps her arms around the back of his neck and presses her lips deep and hard against his—igniting an eruption of passion. Chills travel along her spine, sending quivers of pulsating heat to the most personal areas of her body. What is this feeling? How can his simple touch send these warm vibrations through every part of her being?

Exhausted, she falls into his body. She will reserve these feelings for another time. When the moment is better suited. *** They lay entangled for hours in peaceful sleep. Chills travel along her face and neck, prompting her eyes to open. He’s 189

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caressing her cheek. His wide grin and smiling eyes create flutters in her heart.

“Thank you, Maggie. I don’t exactly what you did. But you saved my life. I will always be in your debt. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Her heart sighs. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

“Hey, can I have some of that tobacco? Where’d you find that?”

She pushes his face away and slaps him across the arm.

“Really? If you must know it was Dr. McKenna’s finest stash. He never let anyone smoke it. I might be able to find some more for you. But only if you promise me something.”

“Shoot. I’m all ears.”

“You must swear to me you will never allow yourself to be shot again. Not ever.”

“I’ll do my best. I swear I’ll learn to duck better.”

“Let’s see that wound. I need to change the bandage. Sit up, soldier.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, allowing her to cut through the old bandage with a scalpel. She rips it from his skin and stitches.

“Ouch. Goddamnit, Maggie. I think you’re doing that on purpose.”

“What makes you think that?”

“That…that cantankerous grin all over your face.”

She smirks and proceeds to wash his wound with soap and water. Her hand wanders, traveling along his chest. She glances at him, nibbling on her lower lip.

“Um, I don’t have a wound there.”

His grasp on her hand pulls her off-balance and into his lap.

She wraps her arms around his neck. He gently presses his lips to hers.

The door flies open. She leaps from his lap, stumbling backward into the wall. He guffaws and slaps his knee.

“Lunch is almost…Oh, Maggie. I knew he was your beau.”

Edith giggles.

“Edith. You should always knock first. That’s bad manners.

Please keep this a secret from your mother?”

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“Why should I? I think it’s funny.”

“I’ll uh…make you a sweet peach pie. Just for you. Is that a good enough reason?”

She nods and continues to giggle.

“Were you two kissing?”

Charles chuckles. “No, Edith. Maggie was just changing my bandage is all.”

“Never seen a bandage changed like that before. Was she changing it with her lips?”

“Edith. We’ll be there in a minute. Go.” “Okay. Bye.” Edith allows the door to slam. Her footsteps and giggling rapidly fade. *** Miss Nellie sets a steaming plate of yellow bass on the table next to a pot of boiled cabbage and squash. She pulls her chair away from the table and slides into her seat with poise and charm.

“So, Charles. When do you think you will be able to return to your regiment?”

He scoops cabbage onto his plate and passes it over to Edith.

“As soon as possible, Miss Nellie. Thanks to Maggie, I’m feeling much better now.”

Nellie frowns and tilts her head, using a large spoon to place cabbage on her plate.

“Do they even know you’re gone?”

“No, ma’am. I need to get a message to my sergeant, letting him know of my whereabouts. Many soldiers go missing for a lot of different reasons. I have a fairly good reason, I think. I hope to ride out in the morning and find out where my company is camped and rejoin them.”

Inhaling her tea causes Maggie to choke. Nellie grasps Maggie’s wrist.

“Are you okay? Goodness. Here. Take this napkin.”

He didn’t mention leaving so soon. She tries to make eye contact with him, but he avoids her stare. Allowing tears to show at this moment will only cause Miss Nellie to become more suspicious. He finishes his lunch, managing to dodge her glare.

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“Ma’am, this was one of the best meals I’ve eaten in a long while. Thank you for being such a fine host. I appreciate you allowing me to stay while I was recovering.”

Her hand stings from smacking the table. All eyes are on her.

“You’re still injured.”

The room goes silent. Edith’s widened eyes glance around the table. Charles lowers his eyes. Nellie wipes her mouth with a napkin and neatly replaces it on her lap.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Charles. And you are most welcome.

Maggie did a magnificent job in nursing you back to health. You are welcome to stay longer if you need to.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Edith, help me clear the table. Maggie and Charles have a lot to talk about…I presume.”

He glances at her, raising his brows, looking ridiculous—like a raccoon with his foot stuck in a trap.

“Maggie. Would you walk with me?”

She rises from her seat and storms through the foyer and out the front doors. He hastily follows. She steps onto the porch and turns to face him. He reaches for her hand. She pulls away. She folds her arms and steps off the porch and stomps towards the barn. He jumps off the porch and jogs to catch up with her.

“Maggie, I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me. I have to leave sometime. I’m still enlisted in the U.S. Army. I don’t want to be shot as a deserter.”

She sighs. “We didn’t talk about this. You shouldn’t have said anything at the table. You should have talked to me first.”

“I’m sorry. Miss Nellie asked me a question and I…I just said the first thing that popped into my head. She makes me nervous.”

“She has that effect on a lot of people.”

“I’m going to need to borrow a horse.”

“Oh, now you need a horse, too?”

She walks inside the barn and over to a small stall.

“Who’s a good boy? Huh? C’mon Shokdö:h. Let’s go for a walk. I need a man who wants to spend time with me. One who plans on being around for a while.”

“Oh, come on, Maggie. You know I’d love nothing more than to stay here with you.”

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She lifts Shokdö:h from his stall and hugs him. She pushes Charles aside, bumping him with her shoulder as she walks from the barn towards the river. She bends and allows the pup to run free. He darts straight to Charles and humps his leg. He lifts the pup and allows him to lick his face.

“Yeah. Well, at least somebody here loves me.”

He hugs Shokdö:h and sneers at her. She slaps his injured shoulder.

“Ouch. Damnit. I knew you enjoyed inflicting pain on me.”

“I’ll make you wager, Private Flagg.”

“Oh, and what will that be, Miss Davis?”

“I will loan you a horse and allow you to leave tomorrow without a single complaint from me if you win my wager. If I win my wager, you must stay another day before you can leave.”

He grins. “Sounds fair to me. What do you want to lose at?

Cards? Fishing? Target practice? What?”

“No. I wager that I can beat you in a footrace. From here to the edge of the river.”

“What? Are you kidding? Maybe it’s you who has a fever. I’ll take that wager. Did you hear that Shokdö:h? She’s loco.”

He places Shokdö:h on the ground, glaring at her. Eyes wide, grinning, bobbing his head like a Banty rooster.

“You can say, ‘Go’ whenever you’re ready, princess. I may even give you a head start. And don’t start whining when I’m wait’n for ya down by the river.”

His arrogance is humorous. No way those bony knees are going to win. He chuckles and readies himself with an awkward stance.

Smirking. Taunting.

She sticks her tongue at him, “Go.” She leaps with a single bound like a whitetail and drifts along the grasses and the rocks with little effort. Stunned, he bursts from his stance and chases after her. She lowers her head and softly sings, syncing the motion of her long legs with the rhythm of her pace. She glides over fallen branches with the agility of a mountain cat.

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watch him bumbling along the slippery downgrade. She giggles and bursts into laughter. He stumbles on a rock and dances wildly, his limbs flailing about. He falls onto his face and slides across grass and mud, coming to a stop near her feet. Shokdö:h pounces on him, growling and ripping at his shirt, adding to his humiliation.

He lies motionless for a moment, then glances up at her. His face covered in mud. Grass protruding from his lips. His voice is humble.

“You win. I’ll stay.”

She folds her arms, smirking. She bends and offers him her hand. He shakes his head and pulls himself off the ground pushing the pup away. He walks to the water’s edge and kneels.

He washes the mud and grass from his hands and face in the frigid waters. There’s a bounce in her step as she joins him. She squats and grins.

“You missed a spot.”

“Where?”

“Right there between your damaged pride and your bruised manhood.”

He grins and chuckles.

“What’s so funny?”

He scoops a handful of icy water and splashes her, soaking her face. She falls onto her butt next to the riverbank, stunned.

How could he do such a thing? She kicks him with both feet, launching him into the river. He flails and hollers.

“Shit! Gimme your hand, Maggie! I can’t swim!”

She offers her hand and helps him from the river.

“That’s good to know. Next time I’ll wager a swim across the river.”

“I’ll concede that wager. Can we dry off? I’m freezing my ass.”

Charles lifts Shokdö:h into the air. “Can you believe that Shokdö:h? Did you see what she did to me? She treats me so mean. Whaaat? You too? We need to do something about her.”

Her eyes roll. She wants to laugh, but it will only encourage him. He’s annoying in every way.

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“Okay, Maggie. I’ll stay an extra night. Then I have to report to my regiment. And by the way, I’m not feeling my best. I’m a little off-balance. You took advantage of me.”

She shakes her head and scoffs. “I’ve heard those kinds of excuses my entire life. You lost to a girl. Accept it.”

“Yeah, but I almost died last night. And I wasn’t ready for a footrace with a rabbit.”

“You’re bleeding. Take off your shirt.”

The bandage is crimson. They rush to his quarters, where he strips down to a pair of white cotton drawers. He hands his clothes to her.

“Let me take this off so I can look at that wound. You broke a couple of the stitches. Hold still.”

“Ouch. Damnit. I told you I wasn’t ready for a footrace. I want a rematch when this thing is all healed up.”

“There. Good as new. I’ll race you anytime, anywhere, and beat you again. Do you seriously want to experience that humiliation once again?”

His eyes roll, “Is there any way I can convince you to wash these for me?”

“You want a servant?”

“No. Of course not. I’ll wager you this. A flip of a coin. I win, you wash my clothes. You win I wash my own clothes and you can watch.”

“I’ll take that wager.”

“Okay. Here’s a dollar. I’m going to flip it in the air and let it hit the floor. If the lady shows, you win and if the eagle shows, I win. Deal?”

“I want the eagle.”

“C’mon. Why do you always have to fiddle with the rules?

Okay. You get the eagle.”

He flips the silver dollar high into the air. It bounces off the ceiling and lands on the floor spinning, then rolling in a circle before finally coming to a stop.

“Damnit! This just isn’t my day.”

“I win. Ha! The washbasin is around back.”

She grins and hands him a bar of soap.

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“Why don’t you take a bath while you’re at it? I’ll have a tub of hot water ready for you in your room. So, when you get back from washing your clothes, you can wash your body.”

She pinches her nose and snatches a bucket. She struts out the door towards the well. I may need to help him with his bath.

He’s injured after all.

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28 Invaders He grunts as he steps into his bathwater, gripping the edges of the metal tub and lowering his body into the steaming water.

Her hands cover her eyes, facing the wall.

“Ah, that feels good. Thank you for this. I haven’t had a bath in over a week.”

“I’d say closer to two.”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Haven’t you had enough fun with me today?”

She turns, peeking through her fingers. Slowly, lowering her hands.

“We need to remove that bandage. It’s going to get wet.”

“No! I got it…ah. There. It’s off.” He tosses it to the floor.

Steam saturates the quarters. She straddles a chair behind him. Soap lathers his short hair and slides through her fingers with warm slimy wetness. The only time she has ever washed the hair and scalp of a male, was when she bathed her younger brother as a child.

His traps and neck are sturdy. Her hands tire from kneading and massaging dense muscle. His shoulders are broad. Her hands glide along his flesh, raising her heartbeat. Unsure if it’s the strenuous work of her hands or the sensual stimulation from touching him.

“My God, Maggie. I can’t tell you how great that feels.”

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his hair and slide along his shoulders and down his back. She works a lathered cloth in circular motions cleansing grime and sweat from his lats. Her hands burn and cramp from pushing her knuckles deep into the muscles of his back.

She stands and hands him the soap and cloth. She didn’t mean to look, but she can’t help catching a glimpse of his manhood beneath the soapy water. He grabs her wrist and gently pulls her close.

“Stay with me.”

She bites her lip. It would be so easy to stay. She slowly shakes her head, leans over and kisses him on the forehead.

“I’ll be back in an hour to put a fresh bandage on that shoulder.” *** Tea with Miss Nellie has become a regular routine in the manor. She sips the warm brew taking in the aroma of various spices and the sweetness of honey.

“Maggie, I’m not sure what goes on between you and Mr. Flagg, but you know he is a white man and you are an Indian woman.”

“I’m well aware of those facts. And there is nothing going on between us. Nothing that is any of your concern.”

“I’m just saying…it’s taboo for a woman of your race to court and marry a white man. It isn’t something I take issue with, but I don’t want to see you hurt by society or folks judging your relationship. The law wouldn’t even allow you to formally marry.”

“Why are you talking about marriage…and other things you know nothing about? We have no plans. We are friends. That’s all. And if I were to decide to marry a white man, nobody would stand in my way. I don’t care about white society or what anybody thinks.”

“I just worry about you, Maggie. There are many medical schools I know Thomas would have wanted you to enroll in. To further your education.”

“Why are we even having this conversation?”

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“I don’t know. Charles is a very handsome young man. And you are a beautiful young woman. The more time you spend alone, the greater chance something may happen. It’s natural.”

“Miss Nellie, please. Can we talk about something else? Like, when are you going to hire some help around here?”

Nellie takes her by the hand.

“Oh, Maggie. I see the way you look at each other. He’s in love with you. Can’t you see that? And, I’m not so sure you’re not in love with him too. I only want to see you happy. So, please understand what you are getting yourself into before you pursue this any further.”

“Thank you for your concern. I have some things I need to take care of.”

She rises from the table and kisses Nellie on the cheek.

“You worry too much. I have to tend to my patient.” *** He’s sitting at the small wooden table cleaning his pistol. He runs a ramrod down the muzzle and withdraws it, removing a soiled piece of cloth.

“What are you doing?…Is that one of my clean bandages you shredded?’

“Uh…no. Okay, yes. I ran out of rags. I lost my musket, Maggie. I only have this pistol and my buck knife to defend myself.”

“Did you forget, we took all those muskets from the Confederate soldiers we killed?”

“I did forget. Do you still have them?”

“In the barn. I had Amos hide them. One of them was Dr. McKenna’s. I had Amos put that one back in his den. It’s hanging on his wall.”

“I’ll fire a few of them in the morning. Figure out which one I want.”

“Let me bandage your shoulder with whatever’s left of my bandages. Hm. I think these stitches are ready to come out as well.”

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“I like the sound of that, cuz they itch and burn like poison oak.”

“We’ll take these out tomorrow…There. All patched up. Sleep well, Charles.”

His thick eyebrows raise over yearning slate-blue eyes.

“Please stay.”

“I-I can’t…you know I can’t.”

“I just meant, please stay and talk with me. Maybe lie next to me for a spell. Nothing else. I would never compromise your honor.”

“Alright. I’ll stay a little while longer.”

He lays his hands over hers.

“Maggie?”

“Yes.” “Where in the hell did you ever learn to run like that?”

She exhales and sighs. “I spent a lot of time running as a child. I’ve always been good at it. Grandmother once said it is my long legs that give me my stride.”

“You most certainly have long legs. Most beautiful legs I’ve ever seen.”

Her face flushes with warmth. “Thank you. I-I’ve never asked you about your family, Charles. Do you still visit your parents?”

He lowers his head and inhales a deep breath. He stares down the barrel of his pistol. Wiping oil from the muzzle and blowing into the shaft.

“My dad, William Butler Flagg, died when I was six. I never really knew him. He was only thirty-four when he died. Mom said the flu turned into pneumonia and stole him away like a bandit.

She was broken-hearted. Never got over it. Hasn’t remarried.

“My mother’s name is Sarah. Her maiden name was Stewart.

I try to visit her when I can. She lives near Pittsburg. She was three years younger than Pop. Pop was Irish and Mom is British.

Both were born in the United States to immigrant parents.

“I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I was born in Pennsylvania, but we moved around a lot. Especially after Pop died. We were living with my aunt in Ohio when I first saw you and your family pulling that rickety old wagon around with your wolves.

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“When I was old enough, I enlisted in the Army. That’s about all there is to my story.”

“That’s a beautiful story. I’m going to leave you now, Charles.

I need to rest. It’s been a long couple of days. And beating you today at…well, everything was exhausting.”

He bursts into laughter. “Tomorrow is another day, lass.”

He stands and places his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes close. Her body quivers with anticipation of his lips touching hers. Tasting his sweet breath. The softness of his lips brushing against hers. He kisses her gently. A wave of chills runs along her neck and travels down her spine.

“Sleep well, Kateri. One with the purest spirit and the swiftest of feet.”

“I will now. Breakfast is at 7:00 a.m. Don’t be late.”

She dashes across the lawn into the manor and prances up the staircase. She snuggles into her blankets and pillows. The taste of his lips remains on hers. The sight and feel of his naked body tantalize guilty thoughts and inspire sensual dreams. *** Luminous golden beams of sunlight find their way through the heavy curtains of her bedroom, erasing the shadows of the night. A pounding at the doors downstairs rattles the manor. She flinches. The pounding continues. She slips into her robe and scurries into the hallway.

“Miss Nellie? Who’s at our door?”

“I don’t know. Is it Charles?”

“Charles wouldn’t pound at the door like that.”

“Stay here with Edith, Maggie. I’ll go see who it is.”

Edith buries her face into Maggie’s chest. Her young body trembles. The doorway is in full view of the top of the stairway.

Nellie swings the doors open. Five Confederate soldiers stand at the entrance.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. My name is Captain John Mason of the Confederacy. We are soldiers in need of supplies and a hot meal. May we enter?”

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“Absolutely not! Who do you think you are, pounding at my door and terrorizing us?”

“I apologize for that, ma’am. But we are in need of a horse and food. Looks like you have plenty to spare. May we come in?”

“No. You may leave this property immediately, sir.”

Nellie attempts to swing the doors shut. The men push the doors open and force their way inside.

“Why don’t you get in that kitchen and whip us up some grub, woman? We haven’t eaten in two days.”

The men seat themselves around the kitchen table, leaning their muskets against the wall. Nellie slices pork loin and tosses it onto a hot skillet. She warms leftover squash and beans over the hearth.

Edith stares at Maggie with terror-filled eyes. Her body quivers, her face ashen.

“Edith, go to your bedroom and hide in your closet. Stay in there until I come and find you. You understand?”

Edith nods. Her eyes wide and tearing. Her chin trembles, readying to cry.

“C’mon, I’ll take you. Stay in here and stay quiet.”

Maggie slips back into her bedroom and pulls a summer dress over her head. She wets her Bowie with nightshade and slides the blade into her right moccasin and the vial of dark liquid into the other moccasin. She tiptoes down the stairway. The five soldiers, stuff their faces, slurping, and belching. Miss Nellie hovers near the table.

Captain Mason smirks, “You sit here with us and keep us company. We haven’t seen a woman of your fine beauty in weeks.

You’re a sight to behold.”

Her moccasins are silent along the foyer floor. The front door is only a few feet away.

“You can stop right there, miss. Turn around.”

She sighs and turns.

“What do we have here? A sweet little Injun girl. You are one pretty little Indian princess. Come on over and join us at the table.”

Nellie blinks rapidly. A short fat soldier pulls her onto his lap.

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Mason smacks his thigh. “Come on and sit on my lap, girl.

I’m not gonna hurt ya. I just wanna get to know ya better.”

“I’m not going to sit in your lap. And you! Let her go. Don’t any of you have any shame or manners?”

Several men chuckle.

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna confiscate everything of value on this plantation that we can carry. We’re gonna take a horse… maybe two, and if we wanna have a little fun with the both of you, we’re gonna do that too.”

The air leaves her chest when she hears the thump from upstairs.

“Who’s up there? Williams. Johnson. Go find out who’s upstairs and bring them down here.”

Maggie raises her hand in protest. “No. I’ll bring her down. I don’t want your men frightening her.”

“Another sweet little girl. Fine. You go fetch her. Johnson, go with her.”

Moments later, a terrified and shaking Edith joins them in the kitchen. Private Johnson sets her on his knee.

“No. Leave my daughter alone. She’s just a child.”

Johnson pinches Edith’s cheek. “And a perdy one at that.”

Maggie crosses her arms. “Do you and your men want some coffee, Captain?

“You know how to make coffee, Mingo? Well, make us some coffee, then.”

She brews a pot of coffee and slips several drops of nightshade into the brew after it boils. She sets five cups on the table. Williams starts to sip. The captain grabs his hand.

“Don’t drink that. What’d you put in this coffee, girl?”

“Nothing. Just coffee.” Why are there only five cups? Why aren’t you and your mistress here having any?”

“We do not drink coffee.”

He hands her the cup.

“You do now. Take a drink.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Okay then. Johnson. Hold the little girl. Williams. Pour some of that coffee down her throat.”

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The soldier grabs Edith and yanks her head backward. Edith cries and struggles.

Nellie pushes away from the soldier’s lap, clawing and slapping at Edith’s assailants. “I’ll drink it. Leave her alone!”

“Well, alright then. Let her mama have a cup.”

Edith sits quivering and sobbing. Nellie holds the cup to her lips, gathering her courage to drink. Eyes blinking wildly. Hand trembling.

Movement in the backyard. Did anyone else see that? Charles peeks his head around the corner of the back wall and peers through the kitchen window. His eyes are furrowed and narrow.

He raises his index finger to his lips and reveals a musket in his hands. She stealthily positions herself behind one of the soldiers.

Captain Mason points a pistol at Edith’s head. “Drink, woman.”

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29 The Enemy Within Glass explodes into the kitchen. A musket ball rips through Captain Mason’s thigh knocking him off his chair and onto the ground. Another gunshot rips through the chest of Private Williams. He hits the table and rolls to the floor motionless. She slides her Bowie knife from her moccasin. Before the Corporal sitting in the chair in front of her can make a move, she grabs his hair and slits his jugular. He falls to the floor gurgling and grasping his throat.

Charles bursts through the door. He throws his buck knife deep into the chest of Private Johnson near Edith. Johnson falls through the glass window and into the yard. The short, fat sergeant next to Nellie raises his musket and aims at Charles.

Nellie jumps on him just as he fires. The bullet misses, blowing a hole through the back door.

The sergeant slams his elbow into Nellie’s temple. She drops in a heap. Edith rushes around the table to escape. She runs past Captain Mason. He grabs her by the legs, tripping her and pulls her towards him, directing his pistol to her temple.

Maggie leaps onto the back of the sergeant and cuts him deep in the shoulder, leaving a black smudge mixed with blood across the shoulder of his uniform. He lurches backward and bucks her off. An excruciating punch to her stomach doubles her over. He retracts the butt of his musket. She collapses to the floor, heaving breaths and wheezing.

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Charles rounds the table and tackles the sergeant, taking him to the floor. The two men grapple, punching, kicking, and rolling around. They crash into chairs and into the wooden table.

Charles pulls him off the ground and delivers a right cross to his face, bloodying his nose. The soldier kicks Charles in the groin, sending him backward onto the table. Charles lands with his back against the tabletop.

The soldier lifts a chair into the air. Charles rolls away as the chair crashes into the wooden table, shattering into shards and splinters. Charles tackles him a second time. The soldier rolls him over and pounds his fist into Charles’s face over and over, bloodying his mouth and nose. Charles snatches a sharp piece of the shattered chair from the floor and jabs it deep into the soldier’s left thigh. He screams and falls backward—blood pouring from his leg.

The sergeant grabs his musket and raises it over his head, readying it as a club. Foam oozes from his lips. He falls to the floor convulsing. He holds his throat, choking, then lays still, eyes bulging and wide with shock. Charles shakes his head bewildered.

Nellie lays sprawled across the floor unconscious. Edith whimpers from the other side of the table.

“I’ll put a bullet in her head!”

Maggie is nauseous, but her breath has returned. She uses the hearth to pull herself upright, vomit enters her throat. She suppresses it. She points at the Captain.

“Let her go. Your men are all dead. There’s nowhere for you to run, Captain.”

Mason pulls himself to his feet. His right leg bleeding profusely. He holds his arm around Edith’s neck and presses the loaded pistol hard against her temple.

“Bring me a horse. Saddle it. Or I swear I’ll shoot her.”

Charles cautiously approaches Mason.

“Okay. We’ll get you a horse. Just don’t shoot. Let the girl go.

You can keep the pistol pointed on me instead.”

Captain Mason’s face is soaked in sweat and blood and he’s growing paler by the minute. Blood pools on the floor next to his boot. He’s agitated.

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“Get me a horse! I’m not going to tell you again. I’ll blow her brains right out of her skull!”

“Stay calm. I’ll bring you a horse right over there…out that back door. Then you gotta let her go. You hurt her and I swear I’ll skin you alive and bury you in a red ant hill.”

Charles rushes out the back door. Nellie hasn’t moved.

“You’re bleeding to death, Captain Mason. Put the pistol on the table and I’ll tend to your wound. I’m a surgeon.”

“You’re a surgeon? Bullshit! You’re nothing but a filthy Mingo.”

“You’re about to faint. You’ve lost a lot of blood. That metal ball is in there, very deep. I can extract it for you. You won’t get far if it stays in there. What do you have to lose in trusting me?”

Mason grows paler. Sweat streaming down his face. A tick in his fingers turns to quivers.

“Put the pistol on the table. You’re a soldier. Not a murderer of children. Please let her go.”

He gulps. His breathing is rapid. He pushes Edith towards her and collapses into a chair.

“Okay, Mingo. Take it out.”

She whispers, “Edith, go upstairs to your room and lock the door.”

Charles enters. “I have your horse ready.”

“Charles, check on Nellie. See if she’s breathing. I’m going to remove the musket ball from the Captain’s leg.”

Charles lifts Nellie off the floor and carries her into the parlor. He places her gently onto the sofa propping her head with a pillow.

Captain Mason points a shaky pistol in her face. She digs deep into his thigh with her Bowie, quickly finding the ball and removing it—purposely rubbing the blade against the wound.

He grunts, smashing his fist into the table.

“Charles. How’s Nellie? Hand me that washcloth over there.”

“She’s breathing. She has a big knot on her head. Here. Catch.”

She wraps the wound tightly, creating a knot that won’t be easily removed.

“All finished. Your horse is out back. Now you can leave.”

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“Help me. Help me to the horse.”

Charles lifts Mason, placing the Captain’s arm around his neck. He walks him outside and helps him mount the horse.

Captain Mason sneers and points the pistol at Charles’s chest.

“At least you’re gonna die, Union scum.”

He aims. His eyes roll back in his head and he falls backward off the horse landing on the dirt with a heavy thud. The pistol harmlessly fires, kicking up dust where it ricochets. Foam oozes from his lips. His body convulses. Charles shakes his head. “Why is everyone dying like they have rabies?”

Nellie’s face is swollen and bruised. She peeks through a teary bloodshot eye.

“I’m going to lay this wet cloth over your eyes, now. Okay?

Try not to move.”

“Oh, dear. Maggie. What happened? Edith? Where’s Edith?”

“She’s fine. You’re going to be fine, too. You just need to rest.”

“And the soldiers?”

“They’re gone.”

“My head…it hurts terribly. I can’t open my eye.”

“You’ll be okay. I promise. I’m going to take good care of you.”

Tears stream along Nellie’s cheekbones. Nellie’s hand quivers inside hers.

“Thank God for you, Maggie. For you and Charles.”

“I’m going to check on Edith now. You lay still and don’t move.”

She taps on Edith’s door. “It’s me, Edith. It’s Maggie. You can open the door now.”

The door squeaks as it eases slightly open. Edith peeks through the slit, then swings the door wide. She collapses into Maggie’s arms, bawling and sobbing.

“Are they gone? The bad men…are they gone, Maggie?

Mother? Is Mother okay?”

“She’s fine, Edith. She just needs to rest a while.”

She tucks Edith into bed and climbs into the crimson satiny bedspread and pillows with her.

“Lay your head on my lap, sweet girl.”

She runs her fingers through Edith’s long brown hair, singing chants and prayers of protection and healing. Edith’s body 208

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relaxes. She yawns a deep sob and closes her eyes, singing along in whispers. Whispers that fade into snores.

She tucks Edith into the linen and pillows, then closes the door behind her. She tiptoes down the staircase and enters the kitchen.

Charles sits at the table, wiping his face with a wet cloth as she approaches. She plops into his lap, inviting his strong arms to embrace her. She buries her face into his chest. The beat of his heart pounds like war drums. Tears of terror, fear, anger, and sadness flow like tiny springs. His fingers guide her chin until their eyes meet. He puzzled.

“Maggie, the sergeant, and the captain both died foaming at the mouth. They were twisting and turning on the ground like they were struck by a rattlesnake. I don’t understand it.”

She reaches into her boot and pulls the vial of black liquid.

“Nightshade. I laced my blade with nightshade.”

He lowers his brows and glares at her.

“Nightshade? Must be some powerful medicine. Maggie, I need to dispose of these bodies. I’ll load ‘em into the wagon and haul ‘em away. First, I’m going to take a horse and check the surrounding area. I wanna be sure there ain’t no more Confederate boys camped nearby.”

“Alright. Please be careful.”

The clomp of hooves grows faint in the distance. She gathers the soldiers’ muskets and pistols along with their ammo, caps, and powder and hauls them into the barn. She adds the weapons to the rest of the cache. The barn has become a small armory. She rushes back to the parlor.

“Miss Nellie. Can you walk? I’m going to move you upstairs to your room.”

“Yes…yes, I think I can.”

They stumble one step at a time ascending the grand staircase.

Nellie’s body leans heavily on hers. She drags Nellie along the hallway, helping her sit on the edge of the bed. Nellie collapses into the bedding and pillows.

Maggie escapes to her bedroom, shutting herself off from the outside world. She burrows into her bedding, squeezing a plush pillow in her arms and curling into a ball.

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Tap, tap, tap. She raises her head and glances towards the doorway. “Come in.”

Charles nervously glances around as if he stepped into the wrong room. He hovers near the doorway purposely leaving the door open.

He whispers, “Maggie, I didn’t see any camps of soldiers nearby. I buried the bodies near the river. I have to leave tomorrow. I don’t want to leave you, but I have no choice.”

She slides off the bed, not speaking. Wrapping her arms around his neck and closing her eyes. “Kiss me.”

“Maggie, this is your bedroom. I shouldn’t even be in here.

I-I don’t want to compromise you. And, what if Miss Nellie walks in?”

“Then have a drink with me. Sit outside next to a warm fire, under the stars and the moon, before you leave me tomorrow.”

She takes his hand and leads him out of her room and into the hallway. “This is Dr. McKenna’s office.”

She opens a small drawer in his desk and removes a key. She holds the key between her fingers and smiles. Click. Her finger pushes a small cabinet door, allowing it to squeak open. She hands him a dusty bottle of Tennessee whiskey and two small glasses. She opens a bottom desk drawer and removes a metal tin and a pipe.

“Something to calm our nerves. Dr. McKenna rarely used this pipe. It was a gift. I don’t think he liked it.” *** The Virginia mountains extinguish the last of the lingering beams of sunlight. The September evening is cool and invigorating. She plops onto a wooden bench near a fire, wrapped in a tawny shawl. She scoots next to Charles, rubbing the sting from her knees and backing away from the flames. A hazy blue light bathes the countryside. The moon is full. Coyotes howl high-pitched quavering cries and short yips. Shokdö:h whimpers and joins in the howling.

She grasps his bicep and rests her head on his shoulder. “Well, are you going to open that bottle, or stare at it?”

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The cork pops. The glass in her hand only has a few drops of whiskey. His glass is filled to the rim. He winks.

“Really? You think I can’t keep up with you?”

His hardy grin sparkles through the dim light. He chuckles and fills her glass.

“Maggie, I gotta ask…when did you become such a fearsome warrior? You slit that soldier’s throat like a seasoned vet. You are full of surprises.”

“It was instinctive. I was so angry and so afraid for Edith and Nellie. I had no choice. I did it without thinking.”

“Tell me about the nightshade. You laced your blade with that? Where’d you learn that trick?”

“Our warriors would sometimes use nightshade for hunting or war. Grandmother taught me this.”

They sit in long silence. The fire crackles and sparks. Charles tosses a fresh log onto the embers scattering ash and smoke. The whiskey bottle sits half-empty between them.

“I have something for you, Charles. To keep you safe.” She wraps her Seneca bracelet around his wrist. “It doesn’t fit.”

He grins. “It never fit, Maggie. I carried it with me… sometimes I wore it around my neck on a string.”

The moon-shaped bead glitters from the firelight.

“What do you think fire is, Charles? I mean, what do you think it’s made of?”

“Never really thought about it. I think it’s made of pure energy. Like the sun…the stars.”

“No, I think it’s more like a living creature of the earth. Wild and ravenous. A predator.”

“How do you mean?”

“It hungers. It consumes food to survive. It requires air to breathe. It seeks to travel and devour everything in its path…an unquenchable need to destroy…like the white man.”

“Whoa. Like the white man?”

“Yes.” “How do you figure that?

“The white man spread across our lands like a raging fire consuming everything in its path.”

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“Well, we kind of conquered these lands, Maggie. It was God’s will. We settled the land. Civilized it.”

She shakes her head and sucks the remaining drops of whiskey from her glass. She extends the empty glass towards him. He refills it.

“Civilized it, you say? These lands were already civil long before the white man reached our shores. Your people were the invaders. The land was given to us by The Great Spirit…your God…our God. We’ve owned it and occupied it for thousands of years. Don’t you see? Your people stole this land from my people, Charles. And they will never give it back.”

Shokdö:h plops beside her feet. She runs her fingers through his thick fur, scratching his ears. Charles refills his glass. His lips purse and his eyes narrow.

“Can I see that pipe?…And the tobacco?”

He packs the pipe and pokes a twig into the fire igniting it.

He sucks the flame through the pipe until the tobacco smolders.

Puffing and blowing smoke into the night sky, he stares at her and cocks his head.

“Is that the whiskey talking? Things happen for a reason. My ancestors came to this land looking for a better life. There’s plenty of land here for us all to share.”

“Yes, but the problem is you don’t share. You take. You leave us with the scraps…the lands you don’t want. You claim the ripest part of the fruit, Charles.”

“The government tried to work with the Nations. But they attacked settlers. Ambushed wagons, kidnapping women and murdering their husbands. Stealing children. Wasn’t that wrong?”

“Yes. It was wrong. But it’s your people who attacked our people first. You invaded our lands and we have the right to defend it. To fight off invaders. You call us savages. But tell me, who are the real savages?”

“How are we savages? We brought civilization to the wilderness. Created industry and progress. The Indian Nations benefit from all this too.”

“How? How do we benefit? My people were enslaved. And when we were no longer useful to you, you enslaved the Africans.

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I see no benefits in any of that. Only suffering and heartache.

Families torn apart. Wasn’t that wrong?”

“Wow, Maggie. I never knew you hated the white man so much. Do you hate me too? Because I was born a white man?”

“Of course, not…I do not hate. I hate no race or person. I only hate evil acts. My friend Sukey taught me that we are all children of the Supreme Being. We are all equal and each one of us is just as important to Him as the next. There are good and bad in all races and in all people. And all have committed sins against Mother Earth and against each other. Just look around you…at this awful war.”

She sips. Her eyes well and gloss. Obscuring the orange flames of the fire.

“When I was a child, we were sent to live on a reservation because the government wanted our lands for themselves. We had to leave everything behind. They forced tribes and clans to practically live on top of one other, creating great tension and conflict.

“The settlers brought diseases with them from across the oceans. Our native people fell ill and we lost many lives. Smallpox destroyed my clan. My grandmother, my mother, and I had to flee. We were the last of our clan. I lost Grandmother and Mother too…in the wilderness. A trapper tried to rob and rape me as a child. I had to kill him to survive.”

“I’m truly sorry for your family. I never knew of these things.

You never spoke of them.”

“I’ve kept them to myself. I guess this firewater from Tennessee is bringing the truth out in me tonight. I-I don’t know why.”

She manages a slight grin. Her eyes shift to the fire.

“Maggie. How do you feel about me? Do you share the same feelings for me that I have for you? Does the fact that I am a white man get in the way of…”

“Yes, Charles. I have feelings for you too. But…but I am so conflicted. Your people are the enemy of my people. My tradition, my culture would not allow us to be together. They would be against it. Just as your people would.”

“Why do we care, Maggie? What does it matter what they think, as long as you and I want to be together?”

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“I’m only supposed to marry within my own people, Charles.

Marrying you would take away who I am. Your white world would erase my heritage.”

“Why do you say that? Nothing could ever take away your heritage. I would never ask you to give up your culture or your heritage. Where is this coming from?”

“I’m afraid, Charles! I’m afraid. I don’t know if I have the courage to be with you…the way I want to be with you.”

His fingers gently turn her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Warm wet tears drip from her nose and lips. His eyes mist reflecting shimmers of moonlight. He turns his body towards her. She looks away.

“Maggie. Please…please look at me.”

She hesitates. Her eyes slowly raise, locking with his intense glare. Muscles in his square jawline clench. His thick eyebrows raise.

“Maggie. I’m in love with you. I can’t help how I feel about you. I loved you the very first day I saw you in that dusty old town.

My heart broke watching you ride away. I’ve kept your bracelet close to my heart all these years. Hoping. Hoping I might find you again.

“But if loving me causes you such pain and conflict in your soul, I’ll try and understand. I would never do anything to cause you to sacrifice who you are. But please be honest with me and tell me what it is you want from me…what you need from me.”

“Charles, just give me time. Time to think. I’m confused. I…I want to …”

She flees, stumbling through the dark. Scrambling up the great staircase and slamming her bedroom door behind her. She collapses onto her bed burying her face into a pillow. Screaming.

Crying. Digging her fingers into the pillow, muffling her uncontrollable sobs. Why does she hesitate to open her heart?

She’s meant to be with him but, how can she be? This evil world won’t accept it.

Sobbing turns to deep yawns and exhaustion. The terrible events of this day almost cost the lives of those she loves the most. Edith. Nellie. And Charles Flagg. This is a day to wipe from all memory and never revisit.

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30 Missing In Action She slept the entire night in her clothes. Her heart is empty like a broken vial of sweet perfume. She can sense he’s gone. No need to go and look. He’s a man of great honor and duty. He will have gone to rejoin his regiment by now.

His quarters need to be tended to. But why this hesitancy to open the door? The door creaks open to silence. His blanket, bedspread, and linen are folded and stacked in the center of the bed. His pillow resting on top of the stack. Rays stream through slits in the curtains casting a luminous glow across rustic floors.

No letter. No envelope. Dr. McKenna’s pipe and tobacco tin rest in the center of the table. A half-empty bottle of whiskey placed next to them.

She lifts the pipe. He cleaned it. Bedsprings squeak in protest against her backside. The bowl of the pipe is polished mahogany etched with an intricate image of a tree. An ashy scent emanates.

Nobody around. It’s awkward in her mouth and tastes like ash.

She rises, releasing tension from popping bedsprings. She gathers the pipe, tobacco tin, and whiskey bottle. These should be returned to Dr. McKenna’s desk. *** Six months pass. No word from Charles. A courier delivers mail from the station in Wheeling each Friday at Noon. Every 215

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Friday provides the hope that a letter or a clue might arrive to inform her of his whereabouts. She waits by the road for the courier as she does every Friday. He’s rarely ever late and today is no exception.

“Come on, Shokdö:h. Sit with me. You can chase squirrels later. Yes, you’re my good boy.”

His fur grows thick and white. His legs grow longer with each passing week. He licks her cheek, whining and growling, nibbling on her fingers. Hooves clomp in the distance. A familiar rider turns the corner of the country road.

“Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Only a couple pieces of mail for you today, ma’am.”

“Thank you, John. Have a safe journey back.”

Two letters. One for Miss Nellie from a local banker. And one addressed to her from an army post in Pohick Church, Virginia.

Her heart races. Will the news be good or bad? She closes her eyes, heaving a deep breath. The anticipation is too great. She shreds the envelope and strolls along the riverside.

March 12, 1862 My Dearest Maggie, I’m sorry it has taken me so many months to write you. We have been engaged in heavy battle and there hasn’t been much of an opportunity to do so. We’ve been holed up in a church in Pohick, Virginia. We’ve taken some casualties. I know I promised I wouldn’t allow myself to take another bullet, but I took one to my lower leg several days ago. Don’t worry though, it was only a graze. No need to ride off and rescue me this time.

Maggie, my heart is deeply troubled from our last night together. I have no words to offer that can make things better between us. I know you’re scared. But so am I. Neither one of us should live our lives afraid. And if we have each other to hold and love, no power in Heaven or Hell can stand against us. I love you, Maggie. I’ve always loved you. But please, tell me what I need to do to win your

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heart? My soul wanders mindlessly without you. The last thing I see each night before I fall asleep is you.

Charles March 21, 1862 Dearest Charles, I was relieved to receive your letter telling me you were safe and well. My heart soared like an eagle. My prayers and my spirit are always with you. I’m sorry I left you alone that night. You deserved an explanation. One I didn’t have then and one I still do not have now. Forgive me.

I hold you deep in my heart. You are a man of great character and courage. A warrior. A man I admire deeply.

I didn’t mean to blame you for the evil deeds of other men.

You are not guilty of their sins or their deeds.

I miss you, Charles. More than you understand.

But to win my heart requires patience. The patience of a good man. Give me time. Time to find my courage. Time to decide what I am capable of giving back to you. You deserve a love that is pure. Nothing less.

Until then, stay safe and may The Great Spirit, the God of all the heavens watch over you and protect you and set you on a safe journey home to me.

Until our paths cross again, Maggie June 25, 1862 My Dearest Maggie, Our regiment has moved around the country and fought so many battles these past several months. We are near Richmond as I write this letter. We are preparing for yet another battle in the morning. The wounded are many.

And there is so much death, Maggie. So much death. I’ve seen my fill of it. I fight now only to survive. To make it home to you. The thought of seeing your face once again is what keeps me alive. My only purpose.

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I miss you. I miss kissing your face and holding you in my arms. My heart longs for you, Maggie. I pray every night that you will wait for my return. Wait for me, Maggie.

Please wait for me.

I promise to give you all the time you need. But the problem with time, my love, is that time always runs out.

Always in my heart, Charles July 17, 1862 Dearest Charles, These months have been long. And I miss you too. So very much. Edith is growing so fast. Miss Nellie isn’t doing well. She spends most of her time in her room or in the parlor. I think she still misses Dr. McKenna, as we all do.

Edith asks about you all the time. You wouldn’t believe how much Shokdö:h has grown. He is a wild spirit. The same wildness I see in your spirit, Charles. Don’t lose heart. Stay strong. Be the brave fierce warrior I know you to be.

I will wait for you. You deserve that. My heart misses you too. Return home safe.

With deepest sincerity, Maggie May 3, 1863 Dearest Maggie We have been sent to Chancellorsville, Virginia, to aid General Hooker in a battle he is losing to General Lee. Hooker lacks courage and hesitates, costing his men their lives. The battle is fierce and rages on. I am weary, Maggie. Weary of war. The fighting, the killing, the dying, and the wounded. I pray for this damned war to end. I’m committed to serving in it until September 11th of 1864. I don’t know how many more battles I can endure, but I will never desert my regiment. So many men have. They lose heart and run.

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I don’t know when I can write again, Maggie. After Chancellorsville, they are sending us to Gettysburg, where a major battle is expected.

I pray you are safe and well. I know I’ve told you so many times how much I love you. But I want to say it one more time in case I can’t write again soon. I love you, Maggie Davis. And no matter what, I’m coming home to you and I’m going to convince you to be my wife. And I’ll be the best husband any woman could ever hope to have. I promise you. I keep your bracelet close to my heart. It has your magic keeping me safe. It hangs around my neck.

My heart belongs to only you, Charles Days pass. Months pass. Another year passes. No more letters arrive. He was due to be discharged on September 11, 1864.

Where is he? What could have happened? The most difficult fear to overcome is fear of the unknown. It preys on the mind like circling vultures—wondering when they will land and tear at your flesh. The mind fills in the voids with hopes and possibilities that end up leading to deeper fears. One more letter must be written. One that might answer the question she’s terrified to ask.

September 30, 1864

Dear Colonial Hays, I am writing this letter asking for your help in locating one of your soldiers. The soldier I am searching for is Private Charles Flagg. I last heard from him in March 1862, over two years ago. He was to be discharged on September 11th of this year from the 63rd Infantry Regiment. A Regiment you command. I wonder, sir, if you could help me locate him. Please. It’s a matter of great urgency.

Respectfully, Miss Maggie Davis, White Skies Manor, Clarksburg, West Virginia

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Fridays come and go. Weeks pass awaiting a response from Colonial Hays. On this particular Friday, an answer finally arrives.

21 October 1864 Dear Miss Davis, In response to your inquiry about the whereabouts of Private Charles Flagg of the 63rd Infantry Regiment of Pennsylvania, I am saddened to report that the location of Private Flagg cannot be determined at this time. He was either killed in action, missing, or taken prisoner. He did not report back to his company following a fierce battle at Gettysburg on 3 July 1863.

Should more information become available regarding Private Flagg’s whereabouts, we will immediately inform you. Until then, God speed.

Best Regards, SignedMajor Maurice Wallace on behalf of Colonial Alexander Hays 63rd Infantry Regiment United States Army Pittsburg, Pennsylvania

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31 A Terrible War Ends April 9, 1865, Ulysses S. Grant accepts the surrender of Robert E. Lee at Appomattox Courthouse. The bloodiest war in the history of the United States finally reaches an end.

Writing in a personal journal maintains her sanity. Deciphering thoughts, feelings, and ideas into words. Transferring torment from her heart onto paper with ink.

It’s been more than three and a half years since I last saw Charles.

The war has taken its toll on the White Skies Plantation as well. With no help to run the daily operations many of the crops have died and much of the land is overgrown with grasses and weeds. The manor has aged and weathered. The plantation itself has shrunk in acreage. Selling off bits and pieces of the land is the only way Miss Nellie has avoided financial ruin.

I’ve taught Edith and Nellie how to plant The Three Sisters, Corn, Beans, and Squash to sustain us. We have a healthy crop growing across one of our last remaining fields.

I continue to maintain my vegetable and fruit garden. We have enough farm animals to provide eggs, milk, and meat.

Most of the orchard was destroyed by fire when Confederate soldiers passed through last summer. A few productive fruit trees remain. The soldiers found the weapons and ammo cache in the barn and confiscated it 221

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along with our finest horses. All except one. They also left one wagon behind. Demonstrating Southern hospitality, they said.

The news of the end of the war has crushed all hope of Charles’ return. Days are empty. I spend my time toiling in the fields and gardens to occupy my mind. It is the nighttime that has become my enemy. A lonely mind is cruel and without mercy. Reading his old letters brings his spirit back to life. I can hear his deep tender voice in each word. And I can see his boyish smile beaming through each page. I feel his strong and warm embrace. I cry myself to sleep. A torturous nightly routine.

Miss Edith is off to Emory and Henry College in Emory, Virginia, to study Education. Her desire is to become a teacher. There wasn’t money for college, so I used my dowry to pay for Edith’s tuition. It had belonged to Sadie anyway and I couldn’t bear to see her dreams destroyed.

Miss Nellie suffers from extreme depression and severe headaches. She spends most of her days lying in bed.

A strong brew of willow and peppermint tea eases her headaches. But there is no cure for a broken heart.

Come home, Charles. Come home to me. *** The day is warm. June always is. She tends her crops in the fields. Cultivating the soil is a temporary therapy for her loneliness. Digging her fingers into the rich earth takes her back to her days in the fields with Grandmother and Mother.

The earth is warm against her knees. Her fingers are raw from pruning vines and working the dirt into furrows. Beads of sweat sting her eyes with saltiness. She removes a straw bonnet and wipes her brow with her sleeve. Glancing across miles of dirt fields against a deep blue sky she notices a figure approaching.

A stranger perhaps. A migrant looking for work. She ignores it.

Scores of war veterans pass along these roads daily. Wandering.

Looking for employment or just trying to find their way home.

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modest meal from the kitchen. Shokdö:h growls and barks at the oncoming figure. He’s protective.

“Shokdö:h! What are you barking at? Get back here.”

Shokdö:h stops in front of the figure and continues to bark and run in circles, harassing the man. He’s filthy. His clothing torn and shredded like grungy rags. He uses a homemade crutch to walk. He’s tall. Thin. Doesn’t look like he’s eaten in a very long time. His beard is thick and ratted. His hair long and oily. Grime covers his face.

“Shokdö:h, get back over here. Leave this poor man alone.”

The man kneels. Shokdö:h approaches him cautiously. His tail barely wagging, his ears pinned back. He cautiously licks the man’s hand.

“Oh, I guess he likes you. Can I help you? Offer you some food or water?”

“You are very kind. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You can follow me to the manor. Over here is a well where you will find all the water you can drink. Please help yourself. I’ll bring you something to eat from the kitchen. Just wait outside… over by the well, please.”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

She returns with dried fish and fresh fruit.

“I know it’s not much, but it’s all we have.”

“It’s more than enough, ma’am. Thank you for your generosity.”

He pours a full bucket of water over his head, soaking his long hair and beard. Drinking the last of it. He devours the food.

Tearing it with his hands and shoving it into his mouth.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, it looks like this plantation has fallen on some hard times. I’ve traveled far. I’m in need of a place to rest for a day or two. I can work for food and room and board. Maybe help clear these fields.”

“By the look of that leg, I’m not so sure you’d be able to do much around here.”

“The leg is healing up. If you know of a doctor who can have a look at it for me, I’d be much obliged.”

He’s a pathetic sight. Maybe a veteran. Her heart always had a weakness for strays and outcasts. What would it hurt to help him? Everyone deserves kindness.

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“Well, sir, we could use the help. Maybe just for a couple days.

I can examine your leg for you.”

“Thank you for your kindness. Is there anywhere I can clean up or take a bath…maybe wash my clothes?”

“Of course. I can fill a tub with warm water inside those quarters over there. And I think I have some fresh clothes you can have.”

“You are mighty kind, ma’am. God bless you.”

“Just wait here and I’ll fill the tub.”

Shokdö:h. plops next to him as he sits on a bench near the quarters. He stirs ashes in an old fire pit using a twig. Patiently waiting. Massaging Shokdö:h’s neck.

“You can go in now. Here’s a bar of soap and a towel. And there’re some clean clothes folded on the bed. They may be a little big for you. But they don’t belong to anyone. Not anymore.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I sincerely appreciate your charity.”

“When you’re done, let me know and I’ll take a look at that leg.”

Why shouldn’t we accept his help? He can clear some of these fields and maybe repair the shutters on the manor. She waits outside the quarters for him to finish. Shokdö:h lays on the ground grumbling and whining. He leaps off the ground and snaps at a green June bug, chasing it across the lawn and into the fields.

He peers out the door. “Ma’am, I’m finished. The clothes are a wee bit baggy, but the length seems fine. Would you mind tending to my leg, now?”

She nods, folding her arms as she enters the room.

“Place your leg on this table. Looks like you have an old bullet wound. Were you a soldier?”

“I was, ma’am. This wound never quite healed right.”

“Well, let’s clean it out and bandage it up. This salve will help it to heal.”

He projects a genuine smile, glancing at her momentarily than refocusing his eyes on the floor. He remains quiet. She rubs the salve into the wound and proceeds to bandage his leg.

“Where did you serve? Were you Union or Confederate?”

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“I was a Union soldier. I fought at Gettysburg. Spent the last couple years in a Confederate prison.”

She pauses and glances at him. “I lost someone very special to me at Gettysburg. I’m so sorry to hear you were taken prisoner.

That must have been terrible for you.”

“It was terrible, ma’am. A lot of good men died inside those walls. Died of starvation. Fever and disease took many more lives.”

“Do you have a family to go home to?”

“Not really sure, ma’am. But I am trying to find my way home.”

“There. That leg should heal now. You are very welcome to stay for as long as you need. You may stay in these quarters.”

“Very much obliged, ma’am. You’re very kind. I’ll start clearing your fields in the morn. I think I can have that orchard cleared for you too, so you can replant.”

“Thank you. Uh, what is your name? What do I call you?”

“You can call me, Jones.”

“Well, alright, Mr. Jones. Please rest today. I’ll bring you some dinner later.” *** Sleep eluded her the entire night. She eases the door to Miss Nellie’s room, finding her resting peacefully. The stairway banister allows her to maintain her balance as she descends into the foyer. She lights a fire in the kitchen hearth.

She steps onto the porch with a tin plate of fried pork, two hard-boiled eggs, and fresh-cut strawberries. Colorful wildflowers bloom among the grasses. A soft, fragrant breeze wisps across her face.

He’s already working? Half the fields are cleared. She steps off the porch and approaches him at the edge of the field.

“Mr. Jones, I have some breakfast for you. How long have you been working on all this? I see you found our wagon and our only horse.”

He wipes his brow with his sleeve and removes a pair of work gloves, setting them on the edge of the wagon.

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“Yes, ma’am. I was up before dawn. Just clearing these fields so you can plant a good crop. Your horse here had a boil ‘neath his hoof causing him to limp a bit. I cleaned it out for him. He’ll be fine.”

“You know horses?”

“Yes, ma’am. Spent a lot of time tending to the officers’ horses in the Army.”

He accepts the plate and flops onto the wagon. The wagon is filled with grass, weeds, and debris. She folds her arms and stares at him. Sizing him up. He doesn’t appear quite so lost today.

“Your hair and beard look much nicer this morning. I’d be glad to trim them for you. Give you a haircut and a shave if you like.”

He stares at the ground forming a partial grin. “Nah. But thank you. I’ve grown used to it.”

“How’s your leg?”

“It’s feeling fine, ma’am.”

“Please. Call me Maggie.”

“Leg’s fine…Maggie. That’s a real fine name.”

“Thank you. I’ll…I’ll leave you to your work…Mr. Jones.

This field almost looks ready to plant already.”

“I’ll have it cleared before the end of the day. Then I’ll find an ax or a saw in the barn and start clearing the orchard of dead trees for ya. Make room for those saplings I see growing around ‘em.”

“Saplings? I never noticed any saplings.”

“The young trees are nourished by the ash and decay of the old trees. The orchard is renewing itself, Maggie.”

“Hm. Mother Earth always finds a way to replenish herself.

Funny, I didn’t notice the new life she was creating.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to see what we’re not looking for.”

“It was nice talking to you, Mr. Jones. If you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to Miss Nellie. She’s the owner of this plantation.

She’s not been well.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. And of course. I should get back to work as well.”

He hands her his empty plate, hops off the wagon, and slips his hands back into his work gloves.

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32 An Orchard Reborn She jerks and sits upright, gathering her sheets and blankets around her. There it is again.

“Maggie? Maggie, what’s that pounding I hear? Please give me something to help me sleep.”

“It might be the worker I hired days ago. He’s been helping around the plantation. Maybe he’s working on the walls outside.

I’ll go and see.”

Tiptoeing along the hallway, she eases Miss Nellie’s door open.

“Here. Take this. Try and rest.”

Nellie groggily accepts the glass of water and the small white pill. One of Dr. McKenna’s opioid pills. The pounding grows louder as she descends the staircase and enters the foyer.

A ladder leans against the outside wall. Jones pounds a nail into a loose shutter securing it into place.

“You seem to be everywhere, Mr. Jones. May I bring you some breakfast?”

He climbs down from the ladder and wipes his brow with the back of his gloved hand. He sets the hammer on the ground.

“You have a lot of shutters that need fix’n. And this entire house could use a good whitewashing. That window up there… it’s broken. It’ll need new glass. I could go into town for it.”

Walking to the edge of the porch reveals portions of fields that haven’t been ready for planting in years.

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“You truly are an amazingly hard worker, Mr. Jones.”

He grins behind his thick chestnut beard. “Would you like to see the orchard?”

Wildflowers seem to have sprung up everywhere. As if they multiplied overnight. The dead scorched fruit trees have been cleared along with the debris. A few of the older surviving trees neatly pruned. Young saplings grow in abundance and are well tended to. A pile of firewood is stacked against the wall of a small shed next to the orchard—an ax wedged into a single log. When did he have time to do all this?

“You chopped all this firewood? I could use some in the kitchen.”

“I only have a few more to split. I’d be happy to bring ya some.

In fact, it’d be my pleasure, ma’am.”

He removes his shirt and wrenches the ax from the log. His body is lean but muscular. A dozen raised scars stripe his back and shoulders. He must have suffered terrible beatings. He has the stripes of a slave.

Something dangles around his neck. Something shiny.

Almost familiar. She steps closer.

“What is that around your neck? Where did you get that?”

He pauses. His lips part and his eyes widen. He takes the shiny object into his hand. He glances at it, then stares at her.

“It…It was a gift. From someone very close to me.”

“That belonged to Charles. I gave that to him. Where did you get it? Tell me! Did you steal it from him?”

He sets the ax against the stack of wood and steps closer.

“I didn’t steal it, Maggie. You gave it to me once.”

His right shoulder bears an old scar. A bullet wound. His eyes. Powder blue, burning into her very soul with fiery glints of sapphire. It can’t be. Numbness rises in her throat. She gasps.

She’s frozen in place. Her knees crumble. His face blurs and the world around her fades into a spiraling blackness. ***

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Lights and shadows twirl against blue skies overhead. A blurry face is coming into focus. Gentle eyes crinkling at the corners gaze at her. That boyish grin behind the guise of a thick beard. How could she not see it? How could she be so blind?

Why, didn’t he tell her?

“Maggie? Maggie, I got you. You fainted.”

Her numbness changes to tingling and soon dissipates. She’s in his arms. He kneels with one knee on the ground, bracing her.

“Charles? Is it really you? But why didn’t you …?”

“I had to be sure, Maggie. Sure, that there was no one else.

Sure, you hadn’t forgotten me…that you waited for me.”

“You’ve lost so much weight. I-I didn’t recognize you. You should have told me. How could you do that to me?…Make me think you were dead?”

She pushes away from him and stands.

“Charles! I waited for you. I promised you I would. Why couldn’t you just trust me?”

“I was afraid, Maggie. Afraid for you to see me like this. I had to be sure.”

He hangs his head, avoiding her glare, continuing to kneel before her. Her knees land in front of him. Her arms embrace him.

He whispers, “Maggie. I’m here with you now. I won’t ever leave you again. I promise you.”

She lifts her head to the sky. How could he fool her like this?

Play with her heart so cruelly? He flinches. His eyes widen from the shock of the sting across his cheek.

“How could you do this to me, Charles? Damn you, damn you, damn you!”

He stares. Bewildered. Eyes empty and saddened. No response to her question. Her heart aches for him. What is this pain in his eyes? What is this dejected look of emptiness and agony? Like an animal stripped of its dignity and forced to live in a cage.

How can she be angry with him? Grabbing his beard, she pulls his face close to hers, pressing her lips against his. A familiar sense of a time long forgotten. Tenderness and passion sending chills along her spine. Old feelings once dormant, now alive and 229

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reborn. This precious face she holds brings a smile to her lips and a dagger to her heart.

She whispers, “Charles. What happened to you?”

He rises and steps away. He slides into a crouched position against the wall of the shed. He buries his face into his hands.

“I can’t tell you…I just can’t. I never wanted you to see me like this, Maggie.”

Her arm reaches across his tensed shoulders, running her nails across his scalp, rolling its soft strands around her fingers.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, my love. I’m here now. You’re home. You found your way home.”

He lifts his face from his hands and stares at her. A forlorn figure, eyebrows raised in deep torment. Mucus drips from his nostrils. He wipes his nose with his sleeve and looks away.

“I’m here for you, Charles. I’m listening. You’re safe. Just talk to me. Tell me what happened to you.”

Laying his head on her breast, he closes his eyes. Soft kisses to his head relax his breathing, calming his heart. His body fidgets with an agitated rhythm. His voice is raspy and low.

“We were in Gettysburg. The fiercest battle I’d ever seen, Maggie. Cannon fire. Bodies blown apart. Blood and guts all over me. I could taste the blood. I couldn’t scrape away the pieces. Bits of bone and mangled flesh …

“The smoke was heavy…hard to see where we were. The fighting continued…I thought it would never end. My buddy… my partner went down…he went down…I-I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save him, Maggie. I tried. I carried him. I tried to find the ambulance to get him help. And somehow, I got lost in all the chaos.”

He sits upright and vacantly stares towards the sky, inhaling deeply then slowly exhaling. He turns to her and takes her hand.

“Oh, Maggie. All I could think of was never seeing your face again…wondering if you’d forgotten me and found someone else.”

“There’s no one else, Charles. Only you. My heart fought it for so long, but I surrendered to it. Charles…listen to me.”

His reddened eyes struggle to hold her stare.

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“I love you. I’m going to help you get through this. Two hearts and two spirits are stronger than one. Our hearts are of one flesh, and my heart belongs to only you.”

She cradles his brokenness and soothes his spirit with her gentle voice singing ancient songs. Chanting prayers of purity and love. He was always her destiny. She was always his. He came into this world to protect and defend her. Now she must protect and defend him until he can find his way back to her through this darkness and face the demons tormenting his soul.

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33 An Evil Cleansed The orchard thrives. Young saplings grow tall and strong.

Mature trees produce ripened sweet fruit. The fields yield sizeable crops of corn, squash, and beans. Enough to send overages to market. White Skies nets a profit for the first time in years.

The manor is freshly painted, shutters and windows repaired.

The lawns are green and lush once again. Colorful pastel flowers decorate the porch and the many flower beds along the manor walls. Miss Nellie spends her days tending to the rose garden.

She lays freshly cut roses atop the graves of Thomas and Sadie and spends many hours talking and visiting with them.

Hearty meals and hard labor have restored thick muscle to Charles’s frame. He walks with a slight limp in his gait and continues to hide behind a mask of whiskers and hair. Nightmares continue to haunt and torment him. Pouring himself into the restoration of White Skies Manor has given him purpose. He’s searching for himself.

He surveys the fields, hands on his hips. She slips her arm around his waist.

“White Skies prospers once again, because of you, my love. I have one more very special request to ask of you.”

“Anything. All you have to do is ask.”

“See that tree over there? The one at the edge of the field?”

“Yeah. What an ugly tree.”

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from the earth and burn them too. The evil spirits of that tree must be banished with fire and the ground must be blessed.”

He narrows his eyes and tightens his lips. “Of course, Maggie.

I’ll take care of it.”

“Can you also tear down those old shacks over there and burn them? I cannot look upon them anymore.”

He slides his hands into leather work gloves and walks towards the barn. He returns with an ax and delivers powerful strokes into the bark at the base of the tree. He rips chunks and splinters from its twisted trunk. Alternating whacks causes wood chips to fly and fall forming a V-shaped wedge in the wicked old tree.

“Charles! Watch out!”

A thick rotted branch cracks then crashes to the ground barely missing Charles’s head. He tumbles backward dropping the ax; His momentum forces him to take a seat on the ground.

Picking himself off his laurels, he leans the ax against his waist.

Heaving a breath and spitting on each of his palms, he grips the ax once again. His glance carries a look of shock and relief. That was way too close. He rolls his shoulders back, cocks his head, and resumes hacking.

She chants prayers of protection. Calling to the Good Spirits to bind the Evil Spirits infesting the roots of the tree.

He pauses momentarily, leaning on the ax, heaving more breaths.

“Just need a minute, Maggie. This old tree is coming down.

I promise.”

Charles resumes chopping—widening the V. He walks to the opposite side of the tree and proceeds to hack a new wedge.

On his second hack, his ax collapses into rotted wood with the woosh of a vacuum. Angry hornets fill the air with an ominous cloud of buzzing fury. He drops the ax and scrambles.

“Run, Maggie!”

The angry cloud of hornets expands. She dashes towards the manor. Charles scampers as fast as he can. It isn’t fast enough.

Hornets reach him, gliding next to him, landing and inflicting painful stings to his arms and face. He swats at them and continues to sprint.

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When she reaches the porch steps, she turns to locate him.

“Run, Charles. C’mon!”

He shakes his head, pushing himself forward. “This is all I got, Maggie. I’m trying.”

She swats and pulls hornets off of him. They leap onto the porch and rush into the foyer, slamming the doors behind them.

He rips the few remaining hornets from his arms and face and smashes them between gloved fingers.

“Come into the kitchen and sit. I’m so sorry. Let me look.”

White puffy welts rise on his arms, neck, and face, each surrounded by a pink rash. Charles slows his breathing.

“Take off your shirt. I’ll be right back.”

She returns and proceeds to wash each welt with warm soapy water. There are at least a dozen stings or more. She dabs each with vinegar.

“Look at me.”

He stares up at her. A sting on his nose has caused it to swell.

It’s lopsided. He frowns and squints.

“Anything else you need me to do today? Maybe clean out a rattlesnake pit…or stick my head in a badger hole?”

His nose looks like a deformed strawberry. She didn’t mean to. It just sort of came out of nowhere. She bursts into roaring laughter. Doubling over and sitting on the floor, pointing at his nose.

“What? What the hell is so damn funny?”

She can’t stop. Her abdomen cramps and she can’t catch her breath.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You send me over to that nasty old tree to chop it down. It drops a branch to crush my head…then sends a swarm of pissed-off hornets in my face and I’m the only one who gets stung. You’re on the floor laughing because my nose is the size of a plum. Does that about sum it up for ya?”

She inhales deeply, calming her laughter. She rises to her feet and resumes dabbing his nose with vinegar. She hugs his neck and snorts and giggles.

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“I’m so very sorry, Charles. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. The nose. It was the nose. Maybe we should pay somebody to remove that old tree.”

“Oh no. No, you don’t. That tree is not whupping my ass. It’s my turn, now.”

He slides his chair backward and slips on his shirt. He struts outside in a huff. Maggie follows behind him.

“What are you going to do? Those hornets are probably still very angry with you.”

“I have a special treat for those little bastards and that cursed tree.”

He pauses and faces her. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks to the barn disappearing inside. She waits, arms folded, watching. He emerges with a small bucket in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. He marches toward her. He extends his arm gripping the torch.

“Here. Hold this.”

He approaches the tree and douses it. A powerful odor of kerosene assails her nostrils. He drops the bucket and approaches her, reaching for the torch.

“I’ll take that now. Ya might wanna move back some.”

She folds her arms and steps backward, counting off fifty paces.

He grins like a lad playing with matches. He tiptoes toward the hornet nest. They immediately swarm him. He bellows a mighty war cry and swings the lit torch like a mighty sword, swatting burning insects from the air. He burns his own skin killing them, then drops the torch into their nest. Flames burst into the air like the blast of a cannon. The base of the tree is engulfed in flames.

“Take that, sons of bitches! Damn you all to hell!”

“Charles! Get back here…get away from the flames!”

His eyes are wild, his grin curls into a sneer. He’s lost his mind. He lifts the ax and viciously attacks the tree with no regard for the flames like a mighty warrior bent on slaying a demon from Hell.

She grabs his arm. “Charles, please. Please drop the ax. We need to get away from the flames.”

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Her voice tempers his insanity. He drops the ax and focuses his attention on her.

“Maggie! I have to get you out of here.”

He swoops her into his arms and bolts towards the house.

He drops to his knees in the grass and wildflowers, setting her gently on the ground. She wraps her arms around his neck as if her life depends on it. What has she done? What has she put him through?

“I’m so sorry, Maggie. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in danger.”

“Sh. Be still. Quiet your heart. Listen to the winds. Hear the songs of the birds. Breathe the sweetness of the air and feel the warmth of the sun. Sit with me.”

“All I hear, Maggie is the buzzing of hornets and the crackling of fire.”

The rotten old tree is overcome with raging flames. A blast of heat forces them to retreat further. An inferno consumes branches and sends smoke and ash billowing into the sky. Fiery bursts and screaming hisses purge the evil spirits, cleansing the land of their presence.

A loud crack echoes. She flinches. The ancient tree leans then falls like a slain monster, crashing into the earth scattering burning twigs and cherry embers across the ground.

She leans her head on his shoulder and wraps both her arms around his bicep.

“Maggie, I don’t believe in a lot of what you believe in, but it sure does seem like whatever was in that old tree didn’t want us destroying it.”

She nods. “Let it burn. Let it burn to ash. The evil spirits tried to take you from me. They’re gone now. The smoke and the wind have driven them away. We’re finished for today, Charles.”

His arms are charred. There’re more stings. His beard and hair are singed. Why did I have him do this today? He wasn’t ready.

“Charles, I need to put salve on these burns and treat the other stings. They could become infected.”

He nods and follows her to the kitchen. He sits silent, staring at the floor.

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“Charles, why don’t you let me shave this beard and trim this hair?”

“No. I’m not ready, Maggie.”

“Okay. Okay. I just thought…maybe …”

He shakes his head in protest. His chair creaking in rhythm with his body.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. When you’re ready…only when you’re ready. I need to wrap your forearms. The burns aren’t too bad. I think you’ll be fine.”

He hugs her waist, pressing his cheek against her breast.

“You can lie with me tonight in my bed. Nothing else. I just want to feel your body next to me, Charles.”

He nods and follows her up the grand staircase.

“Maggie? Maggie, is that you? Can you please bring me something to help me sleep?”

She presses her index finger to her lips. “Sh. Go on inside. I’ll meet you there after I tend to Miss Nellie.”

“Maggie, is someone there with you?”

“No, Miss Nellie. Just me. Here you go. Take this and rest.”

Nellie’s hand grabs her wrist as she turns away.

“Maggie, thank you. Thank you for everything you do here.

With Thomas and Sadie gone and Edith away at college, I don’t think I could ever survive here alone without you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Nellie. I’ll be in my room. Try and rest now. I’ll check on you later.”

Charles sits on the edge of the bed, blankly staring at the wall. She faces him, placing her hands on his shoulders. He stares through her.

She pulls his shirt from his body, tossing it to the floor. Her hands push him back onto the bed. Each boot hits the floor with a thump. He rolls onto the bed facing her. Her dress slides from her body, dropping to the floor, exposing her undergarments.

Snuggling into his body, she runs her fingertips gently across his scalp. Her soft humming follows the tempo of each stroke.

His body relaxes and his breathing slows. He sighs and begins to snore. The droning rhythm of his breathing carries her into a deep slumber.

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*** Mumbling. Moaning. Her eyes open to stillness and darkness.

His body jerks, soaked with sweat.

“No…let me out…listen to me!…I want out.”

His pecs are slick with sweat. Her hand glides over them, gently shaking him. He jerks and screams, “Get me out!”

“Charles, you’re home. It’s okay. You’re having a bad dream.”

“Maggie! Maggie, wake me up…get me out of here.”

Pushing her hands into his chest and patting his face yanks him from his nightmare. He sits upright and inhales a screech.

“You were only dreaming, Charles. You’re home safe with me. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

His breathing slows. He swipes a hand over his face and turns to her.

“I’m okay. Go back to sleep. I’ll be okay.”

He lays facing away from her. Her arms slide around his waist, cuddling him from behind. His hand squeezes hers, guiding it to his heart. What could have happened to him on that battlefield?

What hell did he endure in that terrible prison? The terrors of the night torment him like a merciless wraith that returns each night—replaying traumatic scenes over and over trying to steal his soul. His soul is one with mine. To steal his soul would mean to steal my soul. You will never take him. I will not allow it.

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34 An Absolution The bedroom door creeks open. “What are you doing in here?! Who are you?!”

Her eyes pop open to witness Miss Nellie standing at the base of her bed aiming a musket at Charles.

“No! Miss Nellie put the musket down. Please.”

Charles is frozen, his back pressed against the massive mahogany headboard. He slowly raises his hands.

“It’s okay Maggie, I’ll chase this charlatan out of your bed.

How did you get in here? Answer me.”

“Nellie, please put it down. You don’t understand.”

“I do understand. This man you hired has slipped into your bed in the middle of the night while you slept. Did he touch you, Maggie?”

“No…no, he didn’t touch me. Nellie, I invited him.”

Nellie’s mouth widens. Her eyes glare without blinking. She lowers the musket.

“Miss Maggie Davis! Are you telling me you let this hired hand into your bed on purpose? You wanted him in your bed?”

“Please, let me explain. It isn’t what you’re thinking. We didn’t do anything…It isn’t like that…”

“But even so…you invited a strange man into your bed.

Someone you hired to do work around here. Are you that lonely, child?”

Nellie scowls at Charles. “Get up. I want you out of here and away from this plantation.”

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“Yes, ma’am.”

Charles slides off the bed and stands. He glances at Maggie.

Eyebrows raised over guilty slate-blue eyes.

“No. Please stay.”

“Don’t you defy me, Maggie. You’re not thinking clearly.

Being lonely doesn’t mean hiring a handyman to warm your bed or engage in a torrid affair. I know how much you miss Charles, but Maggie …”

“Miss Nellie, he is Charles. This is Charles. He’s come home.

Can you believe it?”

“Oh, Maggie. You poor, poor child. What has he done to you?”

“Miss Nellie! This is Charles. I didn’t believe it at first either, but then I realized it really is him. He’s come home.”

“How dare you pretend to be Charles, just to find your way into this young lady’s bed. That’s despicable. You are a scoundrel, sir. I should shoot you right now.”

Nellie raises the musket and aims. Charles backpedals, his eyes searching for an escape.

“Give me that musket, Miss Nellie, before you hurt someone.

Wait. The trigger isn’t even cocked.”

She grabs the musket from Nellie’s hands and sets it against the bed. Charles cautiously approaches, lowering his hands but showing her his palms.

“Miss Nellie, it is me. It’s Charles. Charles Flagg. I’m home from the war.”

“Oh, now you want to slip into my bed? You’re a beast of a man, whoever you are.”

“No, no…you wore a maroon gown when I first met you, looking regal and beautiful. I kissed your hand. You made a delicious meal of bass and cabbage for lunch…remember?”

Nellie squints and steps closer.

“It’s me, Miss Nellie. Remember the soldiers that invaded your home? One of them tried to shoot me, and…and you jumped on him and made him miss. He hit you with an elbow and knocked you out. How would I know all that if it wasn’t me?”

“Well, you are about his height and he had the bluest of eyes…like yours.”

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“Miss Nellie, look at his right shoulder. He has the scar from the bullet wound I treated.”

“Charles? Maybe it is him. Oh my…oh, my, dear. Welcome home, Charles. Now get the hell out of my daughter’s bedroom.

This minute!”

Nellie scowls and wags a finger. “Maggie? You sure you two didn’t…”

“No! We didn’t.”

“Alright. But I don’t want to see Charles in your bedroom ever again. Unless he’s ready to marry you like a proper gentleman.

He can sleep in the servant’s quarters. Alone.”

Suppressing the laughter rising in her throat is crucial to avoiding Miss Nellie’s wrath.

“Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Well, why don’t you take Charles into the kitchen and prepare some breakfast for us all, Maggie.”

“Of course. Charles, please follow Miss Nellie into the kitchen while I dress. And…I’m just going to put this back on Dr. McKenna’s wall where it belongs.” *** Strips of pork sizzle on an iron skillet. A salty-sweet aroma of smoke saturates the kitchen. Cornbread heats in a pan over warm bricks by the fire, coated with melted butter. Squash boils in a small black cauldron. Steam rises and mixes with the smoke.

She wipes her hands on her apron and places a serving of pork, squash, and a slice of cornbread on three plates of fine china. She sets a plate on the table next to Charles, then another for Miss Nellie and one for herself.

“So, Charles. It’s so good to see you. I think you were much more handsome and dignified without the beard and all that hair. What do you think, Maggie?”

“I…uh, think he’s handsome either way.”

“I’m just comfortable with it at the moment, ma’am.”

“Well, you presented yourself as a more respectable gentleman before. But that’s just my opinion. What do you plan to do now that the war is over, Charles?”

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“I haven’t given it much thought, ma’am. But I came back for Maggie—truth be known.”

No. Why did he have to say that?

She kicks him beneath the table. His eyes dart between Nellie and her. He shrugs, confused.

“Well, I think you made your intentions very clear this morning, Charles. I expect you’ll want to marry her.”

Why is this chair so hard and uncomfortable all of a sudden?

The back of her neck itches. Her face flushes with warmth.

“Yes, ma’am. I do want to marry your daughter. I love her. I always have.”

“I appreciate your honesty. She’ll be a good wife to you. You better be a good husband to her.”

“Miss Nellie, can we talk about something else? Please?”

Nellie pats the corners of her mouth with a napkin, neatly returning it to the table next to her plate.

“Of course, Maggie. What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything. Uh, how are you feeling? Are you still having headaches?”

“I am. But they seem to be far less strong these days. The medicine has been helping. What do you two have planned for today?”

“Well, we tore down that horrible old tree at the edge of the field. We need to dig the roots out and bless the earth around it.”

“The old hanging tree? I always hated like that horrible thing.

It came with the property. Has a scandalous history.”

“Yes. I remember. Sukey and Jakar remember too.”

“I continue to be very sorry about that, Maggie. But that slave murdered one of our workers. He had to be punished.”

“That slave had a name. His name was Abe. He was a good man.”

“Good man? He smashed that poor man’s face in with a sledgehammer.”

Muscles in her throat tighten and her teeth clench. She heaves a deep breath.

“That man saved my life.”

Nellie’s eyes narrow and her brow lowers. Her lips purse.

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“What do you mean, Maggie? How did he save your life?”

“I can’t talk about this anymore. Excuse me, please.”

She tosses her napkin onto the table. Her chair screeches across the floor. She marches toward the front doors, Charles’s footsteps quickly approaching from behind.

“Maggie…wait up. Maggie.”

He follows her off the porch and into the old barn. She clenches her fists and folds her arms.

“Maggie?”

“I’m sorry, Charles. It was just too much ... I love Miss Nellie… but…she can be so ignorant at times. So insensitive.”

“Maggie, how did this man, Abe, save your life?”

“Sit next to me, Charles.”

He slides next to her on a bale of hay, turning his body towards her. Intently staring into her eyes.

“It was my thirteenth birthday. I went for a walk and I heard someone crying in this very barn. So, I went to see who it was and if they needed help. One of the Overseers had Abe bound and hanging from that pulley up there. He was whipping him mercilessly. I think he was going to whip him to death. So, I stopped him.

He hit me and knocked me to the floor. I kicked him…real hard between the legs…and while he was bent over, I got up and started to run. But then I saw the sledgehammer. I was so angry, I hit him. I didn’t kill him, Charles. The blow only knocked him out. I freed Abe. He told me to run because they would hang us both. So, I did. I thought he did too.

He knew the Overseer would tell everyone what I did to him.

So, he pretended to run away. But he came back and killed him… to keep him quiet. They hung him for it. They might have hung me too if they knew. He took it upon himself to save me, Charles.”

“Well, what happened next? Did they punish you for running?”

“Yes. They sent me to live in the slave’s quarters. To teach me to appreciate my privileges. But I learned far greater lessons living with Abe’s family. They welcomed me into their home.

Never knowing I was the one responsible for Abe’s death.”

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Warm tears roll off her cheeks. Saltiness touches her lips. The rusted chain and shackles on the barn floor where she once lay bound, blurs and mixes with golden hay and cool grays from the barn walls as she stares at them. She gasps. Gasps similar to Abe’s as he was beaten and whipped.

She blinks, sending a gush of tears over her eyelids onto her dress. He winked at her. Just before they kicked the chair out from under his feet. Sukey lost her husband and Jakar her father.

Maybe Abe would have survived the beating. Who knows?

“Maggie? Is that why we cut down that old tree? And why you asked me to tear down those shacks?”

“Yes. For Abe. I wanted to free his spirit and destroy the evil that binds the memory of his murder to this place. When you burned the tree it released his spirit, reuniting it with the light of the Heavens.”

His strong hand pulls her from her seat. His embrace is crushing. He tugs her hand, leading her from the barn to the charred remains of the Hanging Tree.

“Let’s finish it, Maggie. I’ll dig those roots from the ground and burn them to ash. Then I’ll tear down those old shacks.

They’ve mostly fallen apart anyway. All the wood has rotted.

Shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

“Thank you, Charles. Thank you for understanding.”

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35 Hell Is Called Andersonville The wood is infested with termites and other vermin. Only a few of the planks are suitable for firewood. The walls collapse easily, yielding to the powerful blows of his sledgehammer and ax. Three old shacks, symbols of a terrible institution, now lay scattered. Specters of a haunted past.

Three piles of rotted wood soak in kerosene. He glances at her with an ornery disposition. He creates a homemade torch by wrapping a rag around one end of a stick. He douses it with kerosene and lights it. Blue flames engulf the rag with a whoosh.

He nods and extends his arm.

“Here, Maggie. You do the honors.”

Sukey once said, “The Lord purges our souls with the fire of the Holy Spirit. And child, through that fire we are set free and all things are made new again.”

She touches each pile with the flame—tossing the torch on top of the third and final pile. His arms slip around her waist from behind her. Rocking her back and forth. His whistling and humming pulsate through her neck and shoulders and resonate inside her ear. He breaks into song, singing the lyrics of The Battle Cry of Freedom. A song she’s heard whistled and sung by dozens of Union soldiers as they passed by White Skies Manor.

Her eyes tear from the smoke as she watches the old shacks burn. She’s never heard Charles sing. Her body sways in rhythm with his. Humming the chorus—catching a word or two. He 245

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has a pleasant voice. The chords are soothing. Charles’s upbeat serenade inspires giggles and a deep sigh. He understands her.

He is the smile within my heart.

Three singed chimneys are the only reminders of the slave quarters. Swift blows by his hammer topple the first two. Burnt red brick and stone scattered in piles.

“This is the last one, Maggie. These stacks were built solid.”

“Maggie? Do you hear that?”

“Sounds like a kitten, Charles. Maybe it’s stuck inside.”

He squats and peers inside the flue of the chimney.

“Hey, there he is. Aw, the little fella got himself stuck. I’m coming. We’ll get ya out of there little fella.”

“Be careful, Charles. Doesn’t look like there’s much room in there.”

“Ya? Well, maybe you should be crawling your skinny butt inside here then. Ah! My shoulder’s stuck…I can’t move. Maggie.

I can’t move.”

“Don’t panic, just try and relax. Slow your breathing, Charles.

You’re breathing too fast. Stay calm. Charles?”

His legs jerk and convulse. Grunts echo from inside the flue.

“Charles! Talk to me…breathe, Charles…breathe…try to relax.”

Her heart pounds inside her eardrums. Her hands tingle. She has to save him. Think!

She lifts the sledgehammer, gripping it. Mustering enough strength and determination, she swings, pummeling brick and stone. The stack shutters from the blow. Several bricks and stones topple and fall harmlessly to the ground.

He isn’t moving. Heaving another breath, she sends the tenpound hammer crashing into the side of the stack, over and over until the side crumbles revealing the interior of the flue. There he is! His breathing is rapid. His eyes are glazed, focused on nothing.

Lips trembling. Where is his mind?

“Charles. Wake up. Look at me. Give me your hand. Charles, give me your hand.”

He rattles his head and focuses his eyes on hers. “Maggie?”

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He reaches for her. His arm tenses, resisting her tugs. He falls forward, collapsing into her body and knocking them both to the ground.

He rolls onto his back and sits upright. Placing his hands over his ears he sits and fidgets.

“Charles…Charles? Look at me, my love. Look at me, please.”

His head turns towards her. Color has drained from his face.

His eyes twitch and blink.

“Focus on my eyes, Charles. Breathe slowly. That’s it. Listen to the whispers of the wind and the leaves in the trees. Breathe deep. Hold it…blow out slowly. Feel the sun on your face. You’re okay. You’re with me. Talk to me. What happened in there?

Where did your spirit go just now?”

He glances at the ground, then examines his hands. Staring at his palms, then rolling them over to examine his knuckles.

“Maggie. There is so much I need to tell you. I can’t keep it inside anymore.”

“You can trust me. Charles, tell me.”

“They transported us to Andersonville Prison. My friend, Adam and me. There were thousands of soldiers crowded together…in the open. A few made shelters. Some men dug holes to hide from the weather. Most were dressed in rags or no clothes at all.

There was shit and piss all over the grounds…a river ran through the camp. The water was pure sewage. We had to drink it. No choice. They starved us. Forced us to eat dogs and rats… insects, anything we could find. Men who approached the fresh part of the river were shot like animals. The air was putrid. We could barely breathe. Disease was everywhere. Men died by the thousands. Many were murdered. It was their only escape.

Adam was sick. I convinced him to try swimming upstream with me…maybe escape using the river. They caught us. The Captain whipped us for nearly an hour. He was a sadistic son of a bitch. Cruel. When it was over, I carried Adam to a safe spot. By the time we got there, he was already dead. He died in my arms, Maggie. Because he was fool enough to listen to me.

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Men were shot on a daily basis. Nineteen feet. That’s as close as you could get to the walls. Any closer than that and they’d shoot ya. No one was given blankets or a tent. They left us all to fend for ourselves. Against disease, against the weather and against each other.

There were twenty or thirty-thousand men imprisoned there. One day a group of boys came up to me and demanded my clothes. Called themselves Raiders. We fought. They didn’t get my clothes. But the guards locked me in a sweatbox in the middle of July. You can’t breathe in there, Maggie…you suffocate.

The heat and steam are unbearable…with no chance of escape.

I think they forgot about me for two days…they left me there to die. I struggled to get out. It was no use. All I could do was think and reflect on my life…all the things I wasn’t gonna do. I thought about how much I missed you and how much I love you.

As I lay dying, the image of your face smiled at me. I held your bracelet in my hand. I never let anyone see it. The bracelet was the only way I could manage another day. After I passed out, I woke up and found myself laying on the ground outside the box.

I was inside that box just now, Maggie. Inside that chimney, I was in that sweatbox again. Help me, Maggie. Help me escape from the box. I’m still trapped inside its walls. They close around me, still.”

Charles weeps. She allows him to empty his soul into hers, embracing him in silence for several moments. *** He clutches her hand and rises to his feet. He reaches through the opening in the side of the chimney.

“His little foot is stuck. He’s afraid. I know how you feel buddy. Come on, I got ya.”

He frees the kitten’s paw from a crevice in the flue wall.

“Ah, shit! He’s got all four paws dug into my forearm.”

“Here, let me help you. Here kitty. I got you. I’ll save you from this mean man.”

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Maggie reaches for the kitten. It screeches and leaps from Charles’s arm scratching his forearm and chest before scurrying away across the open fields and disappearing into the brush.

“Hey! You’re welcome!”

She places her hand over her mouth and giggles.

“I’m happy to have amused you.”

Charles’s face grows somber. His eyes crinkle, his lips purse.

He wraps his arms around her waist, gazing into her eyes. “Thank you, Maggie. Thank you for being here for me when I needed you most.”

He glances at his arm. “What do you have in your little medicine bag for cat scratches?”

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36 A Tryst Of Innocence Whoever said, I can walk this path with my eyes closed, never walked the hallways of the White Skies Manor in the dark of night.

Her hands slide along the walls leading to the grand staircase.

Miss Nellie’s snores are reassurance of her deep slumber and the only sounds resonating in the quiet manor. The solid wooden banister helps balance each descending step along the staircase leading to the chilly floor of the foyer.

Ow. Who put that there?

Outstretched arms guide her to the entrance. Why does darkness create anticipation of bumping into something, even when you know nothing is there? The porch is slippery. Her toes slide along the whitewashed wood with each step. The night air is filled with moist sweetness. Cricket chirps serenade the spirits of the night, creating a giddy twinge within her chest. Damp grasses and wildflowers tickle her toes as she glides over them like a fairy scampering through a forest. Soft winds ripple across her nightgown, flowing off her thighs like soft white wings.

Hinges creak as the door eases open just enough to allow her slender body to slip through. She eases it closed. The floors of the quarters are rough and splintered. She forgot about that, carefully tiptoeing across the room. A soft light illuminates his body stretched across the bed. Shirtless. Laying on his back with his right hand tucked behind his head. His gentle snoring is followed by an occasional snort. She giggles.

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The bedsprings squeak. Cuddling his rigid body tantalizes her senses. Tingles spread across the tiny hairs of her skin. Her palm glides over the coarse hairs of his pectorals and abdomen, sensing the fine contours of his body. A strong, gentle hand lays across hers, squeezing and guiding it to his lips. He turns his body towards hers, wrapping his long arms around her. She slides her arms around his waist, crawling inside his embrace. Their bodies entangle. She drifts away with each beat of his pounding heart. *** Rumbling rolls across the heavens culminating in a crackling and thunderous explosion. Her body flinches and curls into a ball. Charles leaps from the bed hollering, “Get down!” just before he hits the floor and rolls towards the wall. He sits upright and reaches for a knife that isn’t there. He glances at his empty palm then back at her. They lock stares in silence.

“I just…can’t seem to find that buck knife every time this happens.”

His pain is her pain. But he’s found his humor again. A gift he’s always had, turning a serious situation into an amusing one.

He’s not funny, but he always makes her laugh.

“Charles. Thank you for saving me from the thunder. But you left me up here all alone. Climb back into bed and I’ll help you find your knife.”

His eyes widen and blink. He sighs then grins. “That’s actually funny, Maggie. I guess this is something that’s going to take a while. But I’m doing better, thanks to you.”

She slides off the bed and sits close to him. Facing him, sitting with her legs crossed.

A thundering boom rattles the walls and the tiny window.

He jerks—inhaling deep and holding his breath, then slowly exhaling. His eyes crinkle at the corners.

“See, I’m learning. You’re a wise teacher as well as a great healer, beautiful Kateri of the proud Wolf Clan.”

“I see you again, Charles. I see you under all that hair. That man I grew to know and love. He’s still in there. And I’ll be right here when he’s ready to emerge and return to me.”

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Moisture glosses over his eyes and his lips tighten. He nods.

His face beams with that playful boyish grin, absent for so long.

His full set of teeth not as white as they once were, but still perfect and straight.

The way he looks at me now fills my soul with joy and causes my spirit to soar.

His hands enfold hers. He leans towards her. Heavy rains pound the roof and walls, tapping the windowpane with a musical rhythm.

“I had a dream last night, Maggie. I dreamt I was standing at the edge of a raging river and you stood on the other side. Calling to me. Singing to me the way you always do. I could feel your love.

I could feel your heart…and its deep love for me. The river was keeping me away from you. It separated us. I was heartbroken in this dream because I couldn’t cross the river to reach you. But your voice kept calling. It never gave up. I watched as a bridge of the finest crystal, arose from the waters. You crossed it, and rescued me.

I no longer want to hide behind my past. I’m ready now. I’m ready to come back to you. To be the man you deserve.”

Keeping her hands enfolded in his, he rises to his knees. She rises with him.

“Maggie. I came back to White Skies for you. I belong with you. I’ve known it since the day I rescued you from those boys who stole that silly faceless doll from your hands. You needed me then, and you need me now…need me to be fearless. I’m becoming that man again. Because of you. And nothing will ever tear us apart again.

I want you to be my wife, Maggie. I want to marry you… spend the rest of my days on this earth devoted to only you. Give you a child and a family of your own.”

Muscles tighten in her throat. Waves of tears spill over her cheeks. That little boy who faded into the distance and from her life so many years ago has returned. He kneels before her, gazing into her eyes with love and adoration as rare as a blue rose.

“Wait here, my love. I want to fill a warm bath for you.”

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*** Steam rises from the large metal basin. She drenches his hair using a metal pitcher. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

She runs her fingers through his long thick hair and begins to snip and cut.

She scrapes along the contours of his face revealing a strong and familiar jawline hidden away for far too long. His head rests on her lap. Gently shaving away stubble and patches of beard with each stroke of her loving hand. She lathers his hair and massages his scalp and the nape of his neck, working her way along his shoulders. Shoulders having returned to their former thickness.

Sliding her hands along his pectorals, she senses his nipples erect between her fingers. Caressing his stomach, she gently tugs at his body hair.

In silence, she rises and stands alongside the tub. She releases her braids and shakes out her hair, running her fingers through its thick strands. She glances at his nakedness beneath the soapy water. His eyes burn with lusty blue shimmers.

She leisurely unbuttons the front of her gown. Her heart races and flutters like the fragile wings of a hummingbird. Her breathing grows rapid. Almost panting. She slides the dress away from each shoulder, allowing her gown to fall shamelessly to the floor. Her body trembles with innocence. She places one leg into the tub, then the other. She slides her body into the steamy water wrapping her legs around his.

He leans towards her and gently places his hand behind her head. Her eyes close. Steam rises, moistening her cheeks and adding to the heat of her body. The anticipation of his lips on hers sends trembling shivers along the inside of her thighs. His moist lips caress hers. Brushing gently against them, suckling her lower lip. Pressing his mouth hard against hers, moving from her cheek to the lobe of her ear. Her head tilts, allowing his lips and tongue to glide along the fine sleek muscles of her neck.

Her breathing grows more rapidly. Her body moves in rhythm with his. Her thighs pulsating and tingling with arousal.

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pulling her dark nipples erect. Her body shivers. Chills shoot along her spine. Goosebumps raise across her arms and breasts.

She surrenders. Two souls meld as one, connected only by their flesh and their heartbeats.

They stand together in sync with one another like dancers performing a slow waltz. He lifts her body and carries her to the bed—his insatiable passion for her noticeably throbbing against her thigh. His body trembles with anticipation. Muscles hardened and tense. Two bodies intertwine sharing an ecstasy unknown to both. Revealing a beautiful secret, a precious gift given to the world at creation. Climaxing into total bliss, she witnesses a storm raging in his eyes and allows it to carry her away in its fury. Bodies gripped with tension explode and release their jubilation—exhausting all their energy into a euphoric relaxation. Rapturous fulfillment flows through her veins, connecting her spirit to his, forever. *** He lies beside her, eyes closed, a soft smile across his full lips.

Her fingertips glide across the strong contours of his face. His body remains wrapped around hers. She can feel him inside her still. Her heart and soul have found peace. She combs her fingers through his short hair, playfully tugging at it. He grins and peeks through one eye.

“I’ve never experienced a more beautiful adventure in my life, Maggie. I love you with everything that I am. I would give my life for you.”

“You don’t have to give your life for me. Just give your life to me. Yes, Charles. Yes, I will marry you and become your wife.

And I will care for you all the days of your life and stand by your side. I will walk through the darkest corners of hell with you. My love for you will rage and burn like a ravenous fire across endless grassy meadows. Never will my love for you be satisfied, nor turn to embers or ever burn out.”

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37 An Eternal Bond Trickling waters and chirps of birds relax her spirit. Shokdö:h’s warm tongue licks her ankles. The sun peeks over the horizon casting a peaceful golden-orange glow over the West Virginia mountains—an ideal time to transfer thoughts and feelings to paper. Her journal lays open across her lap. She nibbles on the end of her pen. Charles is fast asleep. He was awake into the early morning hours preparing for today’s ceremony. Her pen scratches and scribbles over the fine parchment.

May 19, 1867 – Two years have passed since Charles asked me to marry him. A lot has happened. Edith has returned home a graduate of Education. She’s taken a job as a schoolteacher at a local schoolhouse in town.

Charles has devoted all his time to White Skies, keeping up with the daily repairs and maintenance of the manor and other structures. He feels an obligation to Miss Nellie for the kindnesses she and Dr. McKenna have shown him over the years. We’ve added three more horses and a mule, making him happy because of his deep love of horses. They are his spirit animal and they love him as much as he loves them. He has been content to live in the servant’s quarters while I continue to occupy my room. Miss Nellie wouldn’t tolerate us sneaking around or sharing a room until we are

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properly married. Charles and I find a way, however. We cannot bear being apart for more than a day.

Financially, Miss Nellie has returned White Skies Manor to a profitable state thanks to the help of Samuel Jenkins, a local banker, who calls on her consistently and attempts to court her. She accepts his help but rejects his courtship. She’s never recovered from the loss of her husband. And she finds Mr. Jenkins, in her words, “… a bit revolting in his appearance.” Miss Nellie always speaks the truth from her heart.

A letter came last year from my sister, Jakar. I never knew where Jakar and Sukey settled until her letter arrived one day. She told me her mother Sukey passed suddenly.

She didn’t say how or why. It grieves me deeply. Charles accompanied me to the funeral in Cincinnati. I had the pleasure of meeting Jakar’s husband and three children.

Two boys and a girl. She seemed very happy with her new life. Her husband, Ray was very kind to us. I understand why she married him. We both laughed when I told her about Tanne and Amos. Her comment was, “That girl gonna whoop ‘dat boy’s black ass into shape fo sure.”

I finally met Charles’s mother, Sarah. A pleasant woman who seemed to accept me. I’m still not sure. She’s doesn’t talk very much. She chooses to observe the world around her instead of engaging in it.

Today is my wedding day. The day I will bond forever with the one who holds my heart in his hands. Miss Nellie has allowed us to wed in the rose garden. It will be a very small and simple ceremony. A ceremony of Seneca tradition and Christian tradition. Our two worlds separate but joined together.

I have prepared my basket for him. My gift. Inside are materials to make clothes. To show him that I will clothe him and our children all the days of my life. I made him his first pair of moccasins. Miss Nellie helps him prepare his gift for me. A basket with a traditional cake made of cornmeal and strawberries. I am thankful Miss Nellie is 256

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the one making it. Charles can’t cook or bake anything that isn’t burned over a fire.

Charles continues to struggle with terrible memories from the war and the personal hell he endured in prison.

His knife continues to elude his grasp. He’s getting better though, I believe. The episodes are becoming less. Of course, he always has a joke to tell when it happens. I laugh not at his jokes, but at his attempts to tell them.

He accompanies me on my trips through the community to deliver babies, treat the ailing and the injured, and tend to farm animals in need of medical attention. He can lance the boil of a calf and give it no further thought. But the sight and sound of a broken bone being set turn his face paler than it already is. He always finds an excuse to leave the room.

I must go now to dress for my wedding day. My heart soars like an eagle with great joy this day.

Sweet roses permeate the air and bless the day and all who attend. Charles sits by her right side on a wooden bench decorated with roses and summer wildflowers. His mother, Sarah sits next to him to his right. Miss Nellie sits next to her to the left.

Her dress is made of fine white cotton. Strips of leather and purple-colored porcupine quills hang from its sleeves.

Black lace and feathers lay across her chest covered by a dozen colorful beaded necklaces. On her left hand is a bracelet. Made of seashells and beads. A center bead made of a pearly sky-blue seashell in the image of the moon. The bracelet that has tied their destinies together since she first tossed it to him as a gift of friendship years ago. Around her waist is a crimson pouch, decorated with white beads and lace. Her moccasins are colorful, crimson leather across the tops embroidered with white and golden thread. Across her head lays an array of multi-colored feathers. Her hair is braided and intertwined with leather and tiny white feathers.

Charles wears a black wool tailcoat with six front buttons and a peaked lapel, black wool pants, and a vermillion vest. On his 257

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head rests a black felt derby. He fidgets constantly and straightens his black bowtie.

The first thing everyone sees as they enter the garden is a wedding wheel. A symbol of all their hopes and dreams. A circular wooden frame with deerskin stretched across, decorated with feathers, beads, seashells, and wildflowers.

A local Seneca Tribal Leader stands before them dressed in a plum-colored shirt trimmed with golden leather tassels and golden bands around his upper arms. A white sash is tied across his waist. A ceremonial headdress of many feathers inside a golden band rests upon his head. Beads wrap around his neck and the symbol of a wolf hangs from a necklace. He wears black leggings and moccasins cover his feet.

He begins the ceremony with an opening prayer of thanksgiving and acknowledgment for all the friends and family who have joined them today.

“We give thanksgiving to Mother Earth and all the waters of the world …”

He carries a vase of water and approaches the couple.

“Charles. Maggie, also called Kateri, one who is pure in spirit, extend your hands, and receive the cleansing waters of the earth.”

He pours the contents of the vase over their hands.

“Great Spirit, we your people are of one mind and one spirit and we send our love, greetings, and thankfulness to you. Creator of Mother Earth from which man was formed from its clay. Man was alone, so woman was made his companion to comfort him and populate the earth. Welcome to all who have joined us today.

The rest of the ceremony I will speak in our native Seneca tongue.”

Her mind travels to a time when she listened to Grandmother’s stories. Grandmother would remind her that one day she would take a husband and have children and grandchildren of her own.

And her time would come, to pass down the stories of our great people, so they will not be forgotten. Grandmother’s spirit is strong in its presence this day. As is, Mother’s spirit.

The Tribal Leader finishes the ceremony with one final thought. “Never alone again.”

Miss Nellie’s local Pastor rises and walks to the front of the ceremony.

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“Thank you all for sharing in this beautiful day, uniting this man and woman in Holy Matrimony. In their union, they also bring together two worlds. Two cultures. We all worship the same God of creation. I believe this to be true. So today, I want to bless this couple and ask that they both stand.”

They stand and face one another. Beads of sweat glisten across Charles’s forehead. Adoring misty blue eyes stare deep into hers.

“As you are all witnesses this day before God, I ask you to share with them your prayers and blessings for their future and for this union of marriage. May no man break this bond, God has made today. Charles, please place the ring on Maggie’s finger.”

He slides a solid band made of pure silver etched with the word, de:yádahnóöhgwa’ inside, which means they love each other. An unexpected surprise.

“By the power granted me in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, I pronounce you husband and wife. Protect each other in times of health and sickness. Defend each other in times of trial.

Charles, you may kiss your bride, son.”

His heart and soul belong to me now, and mine to him.

A great feast of chicken, corn, squash, cornbread, beans, fresh fruit, and berries is prepared and displayed on tables next to the rose garden. A small choir of Edith’s students serenades the new couple with beautiful songs of summer and love. Four girls and two boys in all.

“Miss Maggie, my students have one last special song for you and your new husband. It’s a song I taught them and it’s my gift to you both.”

The sweet voices of the children hum, then sing the words.

Smile my child Have no fears Mother’s love Is always near Face the warmth Of the morning sun Filling you with strength Your day has begun Appreciate all things 259

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Big and small Look after the weak Help them when they fall In the wisdom of our mothers You will one day know It’s peace in your heart That will make you grow Take Care, my child Listen to me Your heart is the spirit In all, you can see Emotions squeeze her throat, hearing Grandmother’s words sung in English by the angelic voices of children. Light blurs with the scenery melding into many colors as teary droplets gush along her cheeks. She kisses each child and turns to Edith.

“This is the most precious gift you could have ever blessed me with my sister. Niá:wen. Thank you.”

She faces the children, “Allow me to return to you this gift and share this beautiful song with you in my native language as I listened to my grandmother sing it when I was a child.”

The children sit on the lawn and intently listen to each word, following each movement of her hands as she shares her story with song.

Edith embraces her. She slides her arms around Edith’s waist and whispers into her ear, “I’m so very proud of you. I love you greatly. I’ve missed you dearly.”

Arms tug at her from behind. A familiar giggle that can only be one person. Jakar.

“Oh, girl, don’t you just look so beautiful. I wish mama was here to see you and all this celebration. You look so happy on your wedd’n day.”

“My heart soars seeing you here today, Jakar. And with your beautiful family. I also wish your mother was here with us. I truly miss her. But I see her in your eyes, Jakar. Her spirit lives within you. So, I’m going to hug you both now.”

Jakar’s lower lip trembles. “You just had to go and make me cry now, didn’t you? Sisters forever Miss Maggie Flagg.”

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*** A full moon casts a luminous glow of white across tiny clouds, leaving shadows of lilac and gray along their puffy edges.

Clouds drift silently across a sparkling ebony sky. The rose garden is deserted and quiet. Two shadows sit alone on the decorated wooden bench where they devoted themselves to one another earlier today. Charles holds an empty pint of whiskey. He swigs then peeks inside the bottle. Shaking the bottle as if doing so will magically produce more liquor.

“Charles. Look at me.”

“Every time you say that Maggie, I know it’s going to cost me something.”

She slaps his shoulder. “That’s not true.”

“Okay, well what is it, Maggie? What can I do for my beautiful Indian Princess that will make her heart sing to the mountains?”

“You can give me a child. I want a baby…and a family. I want little ones to sing to and tell stories to. Children of our own who we will love and teach the lessons of life.”

His lips tighten, his head nodding slightly. He turns toward her and beams a mighty grin.

“Okay, Maggie. Let’s get started.”

He stands and swoops her into his powerful arms. She screams, clinging to his thick neck, kicking her feet and giggling.

He carries her through the dim moonlight to the edge of the river and gently sets her atop cool thick grasses and clover. He spreads his tailcoat across the lawn. She rolls over, facing the stars. He removes his vest and shirt, twirling them with his finger, then flinging them to the wind. His arrogance as prominent as ever.

His hands grasp her hips. She’s exposed as her dress slides above her waist. Her undergarments slip away, sending nervous flutters along her thighs into her tummy. His lips caress her calves, working their way to her knees, then inside her thighs. Quivers resonate from her toes to her breasts. Two shadows meld into the darkness, hidden from the world around them. The throes of their passion join with Mother Earth’s orchestra of the night.

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38 A Terrible Reunion In the late Spring of 1871, she began to show signs of her condition. Her breasts hurt and her nipples were tender. If it weren’t for the radiance and suppleness of her skin and hair, she’d be completely miserable and feeling fat. His arms encircle her from behind. His hands gently caress her belly. His lips glide across her neck with soft kisses, suckling her earlobe sending chills and quivers along her shoulders.

“You’re gonna be the best mom, Maggie. What’d you think it’s gonna be?”

She holds his hand firmly to her belly, turning her head to the side, inviting him to continue with his seductive kisses.

“I will give you a son, Charles.”

“Ya sure do sound cocksure about that. How do you know?

What if it’s a girl?”

“Then you will have a daughter to spoil and worship almost as much as you do me. I need to go to town for some medical supplies and herbs. Would you take me? Please?”

“Of course. I’ll hitch the wagon and meet you out front in around fifteen minutes. I might as well pick up feed for the horses while we’re there.” ***

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The ride to town is peaceful and uneventful. The hills and mountains burst with color from sprouting wildflowers spreading across the land as if painted by the hand of God. He brings the wagon to a halt in front of a medical supply store and herbal pharmacy.

“You take your time, Kateri. The pure-spirited one. I’ll be right across the road at the feed store. I’ll meet ya back here shortly.”

The medical store only opened recently. It should be exciting to see what supplies they have and the many exotic herbs they carry. Maybe find a new herb from a strange land across the oceans to add to her medicine bag. She browses wooden shelves lined with jars of various herbs and spices. Along another wall are surgical instruments and tools. Other shelves are lined with tiny brass scales and mortars and pestles for grinding herbs and medications.

“May I help you find something, miss?”

“Oh…no, I was only browsing.”

“Are ya a nurse?”

“No. I’m a healer…and a surgeon.”

“A healer? Like a medicine woman?”

“Something like that. My skills combine ancient medicine with modern science.”

“Ya sound like a witchdoctor to me.”

The pace of her heartbeat increases. Her stomach tightens with nausea.

“I…I’m just going to leave now. Thank you.”

He blocks her way to the door, locking it and flipping the sign to Closed.

“What are you doing? Let me leave, please. Get out of my way.”

“I just wanna have a little private conversation is all, witchdoctor. Look’n like you’re carrying a child. Is it an Injun child…or maybe a half-breed?”

“Do not speak to me like this. My husband is across the road waiting for me. Now move out of my way.”

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“I, uh don’t recall seeing anyone with you when you walked in. Are you maybe, lying to me cuz you’re afraid of me? I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

“I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

She shoves him and reaches for the lock. He grabs her wrist and yanks her hand away from the door—twisting her arm and gripping her wrist.

“You’re hurting me. Get your hands off me.”

A digit is missing on the index finger of the hand holding her wrist. Oh no, it can’t be. Her breathing grows shallow, her heart palpitates. She slaps him across the face with her free hand.

He shoves her into the counter, forcing her into a back office, kicking the door closed behind him.

“When I woke up this morning, I would have never guessed my day would go this well. Remember me, you little Injun bitch?”

He holds his right hand in the air. “Remember this?”

“My husband is going to kill you when he walks through that door.”

“Oh, your husband that ain’t here, ya mean? If you even have a husband. I think it’s more likely you’re a whore.”

He pushes her against the back wall. She drives her knee into his groin sending him backward.

“You little slut!”

Electricity buzzes inside her ears, a flash of white light explodes in the back of her eye sockets. She can’t stop herself from falling backward, crashing into the wall and collapsing to the floor. She struggles to breathe, his hand squeezing her throat.

Her shirt ripped open. His filthy hands fondle her breasts.

“Ah…you Injun bitches are so ripe. I’m gonna take something from you in return for my finger. You know what that is?”

“Maggie? Maggie, are you in here?”

His voice!

“Charles! Help me!”

His eyes widen. He pulls a small blade from a sheath in his belt and presses it against her neck. The door splinters and flies open, scattering bits of wood and shards across the tiny office. It dangles on a single hinge.

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“I’ll cut her. I will cut her throat if you come any closer…you.

You! You took my finger. You’re that soldier. I should have taken your arm.”

“Felix! I’m going to cut your fucking balls off. Let her go, now!”

Felix forces her to stand, keeping his blade on her throat.

“Step away. Walk back. Into the store.”

“I’m gonna stand right here until you let her go. You hurt her, I will skin you alive and feed you to the hogs. I promise you that.

You’ll suffer a slow painful death, asshole. Give her to me now, and I’ll let you go.”

“No…you step backward. You…you walk out that front door and I’ll push her out the door to you. Then you both leave and don’t come back.”

A warm wet trickle drips along her neck.

“Alright. Alright. I’m backing up. Follow me out.”

“All the way out. Open the front door, then step back. I swear I’ll cut her.”

He slides the knife on top of her belly.

“Okay. The door is open. I’m stepping out. Now send her over to me.”

Felix breathes heavily in her ear. His sweat dampens her skin, and his body trembles like a coward. He forces her forward towards the threshold of the doorway.

“Send her to me. Send her now, you little bastard.”

He lets go of her body. His grip crushes her wrist. A slicing pain burns through her index finger. Warm blood spurts, over her hand. Her body flies out the door. Her knees ache from hitting the ground. The door slams behind her followed by a loud click.

“Maggie!”

He rips off his shirt and kneels beside her, tightly binding a nearly severed finger. He lifts her and places her onto the bench of the wagon.

“I have this under control, Charles. I’ll be okay. Go find him.

Find him, Charles.”

He hesitates, clenching his jaws. His blank face flushes red and his eyes grow dark beneath a lowered brow. He kicks the door open and enters. Disappearing into the store.

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The shirt is soaked in deep crimson. The finger throbs as she squeezes it tighter. She pushes the nearly severed digit tightly against the base of her finger. Charles will have to stitch it.

Charles stomps across the porch.

“He’s gone, Maggie. I couldn’t find him. He went out the back and ran off. We need to get you home. I’ll come back another day and settle this score.”

Charles paces the mare at a fast trot, unintentionally hitting every pothole along the way. He pulls the wagon to the front door and jumps off. His arms effortlessly lift her off the wagon and carry her safely inside.

“Get my bag upstairs. You’re going to have to stitch this.”

“I’ve only stitched cattle and horses. I don’t know if I can …”

“Charles. Look at me.”

“Here we go. Okay, I’ll get your bag. But you’re gonna have to talk me through it. I don’t wanna hurt you, Maggie.”

“Go get the bag. I’m already hurt. Nothing you can do is going to make this hurt more than it already does.”

He clomps up the grand stairway. He returns clomping down the stairway. She braces herself at the kitchen table gingerly removing the shirt to examine the extent of the damage. It’s deep. He almost got the entire finger. At least the cut is clean and should be easy to stitch. For her, anyway.

“Okay, Maggie. I have the needle and sutures. I’m ready to do this.”

“Boil some water. We need to clean the wound thoroughly before we sew it up.”

She holds the digit tight to the flesh. Each little movement sends a wave of sticky blood over the finger. He places a small cauldron of warm water on the table along with clean rags and a bar of soap. He soaks the rag and lathers it. He takes her hand and gently washes away the blood.

“Okay, I’m going to lift my finger. I need you to dab inside the wound with the soapy rag, then I’ll rinse it in the pot.”

Their eyes lock in a deep intense stare. He dabs, she screams.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She plunges the hand into the warm water. Swishing it then jerking it out. She pushes firmly on the digit. Sealing it tightly.

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“Okay, Charles. Stitch. Make sure you go deep enough with the sutures. It has to be stable if it is to heal properly.”

He sighs. “Hold still.”

“Ah…do you have to be so slow?”

“I-I don’t wanna go too fast…you said the stitches have to go deep. Right?”

“Yes! Just keep going…you’re doing fine. I’m sorry.”

He stops and smiles. Adoringly admiring her.

“Stop looking at me. Focus on the finger.”

“Alright, alright. Last one…and that should do it.”

“You did good, my love. I’m a terrible patient. I’m sorry you have to put up with me. Now bandage it. Tightly.”

“I’m gonna find him. I swear I will. He’s a dead man.”

“He’s an evil and cruel man. I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble with the law. Take me to the Sheriff tomorrow and we’ll report it.”

He stares at the ceiling, clenching his jaws and narrowing his eyes.

“I’m gonna find him.”

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39 Justice Served Cold Charles’ stitches are crude but effective. He packed a pair of muskets, a sawed-off shotgun, and his trusted buck knife for the trip. It didn’t take much to convince Maggie to bring her Bowie.

The wagon rolls to a stop in front of the local Sheriff ’s Office in Clarksburg.

The office is small. There’s a single jail cell in the rear with a prisoner passed out on a ratted cot. A desk stands between them and the cell. The Sheriff rests his dusty boots on a desktop and leans back in his chair. He wears a tan vest over a white cotton shirt, brown canvas trousers, and a black bandana around his neck. A leather holster around his waist packs a Colt .45. He glances up momentarily, then resumes digging at his fingernails with the tip of a Bowie knife. His weathered eyes crinkle at the corners. He gnaws on a toothpick behind a thick set of Burnside mutton chops. His drawl is low and raspy.

“What can I do fer ya?”

“Afternoon, Sheriff. I’m Charles Flagg and this is my wife, Maggie. We’d like to report a crime that happened in your town yesterday.”

He slides his boots off the desk and sheathes the blade. He stands and walks around the desk extending his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, folks. I’m Sheriff Johnson. So ya say this crime took place here yesterday? Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. It happened over at the Medical Supply and Herbal Pharmacy store up the road.”

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The Sheriff retrieves a pen and pad of paper from his vest and scribbles.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Yes, sir. I left my wife at the store for a few minutes. She’s a healer and a surgeon and needed some supplies. I walked over to the feed store and picked up some grain for our horses. When I walked back, I found my wife being assaulted by a man we know as Felix. We’ve had some trouble with him in the past. He physically roughed her up, ripped her shirt, and held a knife to her throat. He nearly cut her damn finger off. He put his filthy hands on her.”

Sheriff Johnson continues to scribble, frowning, brows furrowed.

“Now, son, you say you know this man from a previous encounter?”

“It’s a long story. I was a soldier in the United States Army during the war. My wife was a surgeon. This man Felix, claimed to be a doctor, but he wasn’t. That fraud tried to take my arm. He butchered a lot of good men, Sheriff.”

“Sounds like a real piece of shit if ya ask me.”

“Yes sir. He is. We’d like to ask ya to charge him with these crimes we mentioned.”

“Just so happens, the store owner reported damage to his place of business earlier this morning. Well, what say we take a little stroll down the road and pay him a visit?”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I believe that would be helpful.”

“Ma’am, other than that bandage on your finger, that scratch on your neck and that bruise on your cheek, are you hurt in any other way? Did he do anything else to you?”

“No Sheriff. He tried, but my husband stopped him.”

“Very well. Follow me.” *** The Sheriff opens the newly repaired front door to the Medical Supply store. He leads the way inside.

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A man in his early thirties, steps from behind the counter.

He’s short. Hair parted in the center. He removes a pair of round spectacles, placing them in his vest pocket.

“Greetings, Sheriff. Any news about the robbery and the damage to my store?”

“Yep. It seems I have some, Tom. This lady here, claims she was attacked in your store yesterday by a man who goes by the name of Felix. Said he hit her, tried to cut her finger off, and left that bruise on her cheek.”

“Well…I’m not quite sure about that Sheriff. Somebody robbed me of all my cash and some surgical tools and made off with them.”

“Tom, is this Felix around anywhere? Kinda like to have a little chat with him.”

“He…uh, didn’t show up to work today.”

The Sheriff removes his toothpick and folds his arms. He squints and leans in close to the store owner.

“Um, Tom? Did it ever occur to you, that the man who robbed ya might also be the same man who assaulted Mrs. Flagg over here?”

“Uh…no sir. That hadn’t occurred to me. Felix was a trusted employee…a physician himself.”

Her impatience with the storeowner has reached an unbearable limit.

“He was no physician. He butchered many wounded soldiers during the war. He’s a fraud.”

“Tom, if this employee returns, I need you to inform me of that fact immediately. He’s gonna stand trial for assaulting this lady and by the looks of things, for robbing your store.”

“Of course, Sheriff. I’ll notify you if he shows. I’m very sorry this happened, ma’am. I apologize for any harm done to you.”

“Thank you. I accept your apology. Do you mind if I browse your store?”

Charles grips the Sheriff ’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Thank you, Sheriff. We reside at the White Skies Manor outside of town. Would be very much obliged if you would let us know of any developments.”

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The Sheriff nods and replaces the toothpick. He opens the door and pauses.

“Yer welcome, son…Ma’am?” *** Her cheeks are moist from the warm air as they make their way along the road back to White Skies. Charles keeps the mare at a slow trot. Mountains are painted dark green with colorful bursts of wildflowers. Waterfalls flow into babbling brooks beneath a clear sky.

“Maggie, I don’t remember those logs in the middle of the road up ahead, do you?”

“No. I don’t either.”

“Thieves. These idiots aren’t even subtle.”

“What do we do?”

Charles stops the wagon.

“Those logs are about three-hundred feet away, so they’re probably hanging in that group of trees just off the road. Problem is, we don’t know how many. I’m going to jump out here.”

He loads two shells into the sawed-off shotgun, then loads both muskets. He straps one of the muskets over his shoulder and carries the other.

“Maggie, place this blanket on your lap and hold the shotgun in your right hand and the reins in your left. Keep the shotgun ‘neith the blanket and keep the horse at a very slow pace. I’m gonna follow behind the wagon and duck into those trees just before you reach the logs. Don’t hesitate to use that shotgun if you need to. Understand? You have two shots if you need ‘em.”

“Yes, yes. Be careful.”

The wagon moves along the road slowly. She grips the shotgun. Muscles in her abdomen tighten. Deep breaths…in deep, out slow.

Footsteps separate from the rear of the wagon, crunching through the brush. She brings the wagon to a halt twenty feet from the logjam.

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horseman is Felix. His pistol raised and pointed directly at her.

The horseman on his left holds a musket on his hip, pointing into the air. The horseman on Felix’s right is Shawnee. A rifle lays across his lap.

“Where’s your husband, bitch? How’s that finger feel’n? Need me to take a gander at it? Well, don’t just sit there staring at me like a frightened little doe. Say something. Where’s your husband?”

“He stayed in town. Now get out of the way.”

“Or what? You gonna run me over with your nag?”

The Shawnee dismounts and approaches her, rifle resting over his left shoulder.

“Don’t you come another step closer.”

He laughs and extends his hand, gesturing her to climb down. Her palms sweat. Her finger slides over the trigger. Her breathing grows rapidly. The Shawnee’s eyes narrow, his lips part.

He glares into the trees behind her and lowers his rifle. She fires through the blanket blowing a hole through his right shoulder and launching him backward.

She waddles and rolls into the rear of the wagon. A crack echoes. The front plank of the wagon explodes. Splinters and chunks of wood fly. Another shot crackles and echoes across the hills, followed by a heavy thud. Hooves race toward her and around the wagon. It’s Felix. He stops and turns his stallion, facing her from the rear of the wagon. She curls into a tight ball.

He points his pistol and fires. An excruciating ache explodes through her kneecap, blood spatters across her face, and the side of the wagon. He quickly turns and rides off. Another set of hooves approach.

“Maggie?!”

“It’s a graze, Charles. I’ll be okay. Go! You have to catch him.”

He grinds his teeth with the angry scowl of a bear, his eyes dark and narrow behind a crimson face. He turns and rides after Felix, hooves kicking up clods and dust and thunderously pounding into the dirt.

Charles closes in on Felix, maneuvering behind him. Felix wildly waves a pistol and fires, grossly missing with each shot.

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the distance between them. Using one hand he grabs Felix by the collar and yanks. Felix rolls backward across the animal’s hindquarters and is flung to the ground. He bounces five then six times before rolling to a stop. He doesn’t move.

The wound is a deep graze across her kneecap. The ache is agonizing. She unsheathes her Bowie and rips material from her dress, tightly wrapping it around her knee. She leans back against the side of the wagon.

Please keep him safe, Great Spirit.

Charles pulls up on his reins and dismounts. Felix lies on his back, glaring at him. He slides a blade from his boot and waves it in the air. He picks himself off the ground and stands defiant, pointing the blade at Charles.

“Fuck you, Charles. You want me, come get me.”

Charles bulrushes him and swats the blade from his hand like a bug. He grabs Felix by the throat and pounds his fist into his face knocking him to the ground. Charles kicks him in the ribs repeatedly. Felix wheezes, blood dripping from his lips. Charles unsheathes his buck knife and kneels next to Felix. Gripping Felix’s right hand, he slices off his thumb with a single swipe. Felix screeches and howls. Charles shreds Felix’s sleeve and binds the bloody hand. He lifts Felix by the front of his shirt and coldcocks him. He throws Felix’s limp body across the hindquarters of the horse Felix was riding.

Hooves approach. Her eyes open. Charles carries Felix’s limp body over his shoulder and tosses him onto the bed of the wagon.

He hogties Felix’s hands and feet behind him.

He scoops her into his arms. She’s nauseous. Her knee pulsates with every heartbeat. He gently sets her on the bench of the wagon. He loads the deceased bodies of the other two bandits onto the bed of the wagon, next to Felix. He tethers all three horses to the rear of the wagon and turns the wagon around towards Clarksburg.

“I’m taking you back to town, Maggie. You need a doctor.”

“But I’m a healer. I can take care of myself.”

“Not this time, my love. You’re going to have to let someone else help you.”

She lays her head in his lap and closes her eyes.

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*** He carries her inside a local hospital in Clarksburg. He places her in a wheelchair and rolls her to the desk. A nurse escorts her to a hospital bed.

“We would place you in a cast, Mrs. Flagg, but you’ll need access to the wound until it heals. Then if the patella isn’t yet mended, we will place the knee in a cast. You’re free to go.”

On their way out of town, he stops in front of the Sheriff ’s office.

“I’ll be right back, Maggie. Don’t run off.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

He throws the wriggling body of Felix over his shoulders and carries him into the Sheriff ’s office. The Sheriff is sitting in the same position where they left him earlier today. Feet up, whittling his fingernails. The Sheriff ’s eyes widen and he slaps the Bowie on his desk and stands.

Charles tosses Felix to the floor.

“There’s your man, Sheriff. I have a couple more for ya in the wagon along with all three of their horses.”

The stunned Sheriff spits his toothpick from his mouth.

Charles stacks the bodies of the other two bandits against the outside wall and ties off all three horses to a post. Sheriff Johnson steps onto the sidewalk, hands on his hips, glaring at the dead bodies.

“Son? Mind telling me what happened here?”

“Sheriff, Felix and his two buffoons tried to hoodwink us on the road home. We were one step ahead of ‘em. I’m sorry about the mess, but our man Felix shot my wife in the knee. I need to get her home.”

“Ma’am, I’m deeply sorry to hear that, but I’m relieved yer okay. I’ll handle these boys. I’ll stop in for a visit in the morning to get both yer statements.”

The Sheriff slaps Charles on the shoulder and returns to his office. The ride back to White Skies is quiet. Thank God.

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40 A New Arrival It’s a rainy Tuesday, October 17, 1871. She’s surrounded by the gray walls and white trim of her bedroom, lying back against the wall across her bed, legs lifted and spread. Waves of cramps grip her abdomen, groin, and lower back. Sweat glistens across her face, soaking her hair. She’s flush and feverish. She squeezes the hand of a nursemaid while focusing on the voice of the midwife. A ridged boulder rolls along her spine, crashing into her pelvic bone. She screams. The world around her disappears.

Only the intensity of her labor exists.

“Push, Maggie. Push harder. Deep breaths…keep taking deep breaths.”

One final push. This baby either comes out into the world or it will take my life.

Delicate warbling cries fill her ears. Her spirit dances to its song. Quivering wails of a new life entering the world of her ancestors. Her body relaxes, exhausted from the fierce battle. She conquered the most intense pain she has ever endured to bless her child with life.

“It’s a boy, Maggie. A big handsome boy. He’s beautiful.”

He stares at her as if to say, “I’m helpless Mother, I need you.”

The second her eyes gaze upon his pink wrinkled face and dark blue eyes, her heart realizes, she is his mother. This is her child.

Her baby. Charles’s son. A tiny miracle staring back at her.

“I’ve got you, my precious boy. I’ll never let you go. And if you should ever fall, I will pick you up and love you so much.

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Your name is Charles, like your father. A proud name that means, free man. You are a free man, little Charles.”

She hums and sings songs of the Haudenosaunee. Songs that channel Grandmother and Mother into singing along with her in spirit. Traditions of olden days and ancient times will I teach you.

I will raise you up my son, teaching you the ways and ancient traditions of your Haudenosaunee ancestors. And your father will teach you the ways and ancient traditions of your Irish ancestors. Stories of great warriors that came before you. Both Seneca and Irish. You have the blood of both great people. You will have the heart of the bear, like your father and the spirit of the wolf like your mother. You will be wiser than both of us, my son. And we will love you and care for you all the days of our lives, sweet boy. The heart of your father and the soul of your mother will live in you always.

“Are you ready to meet your father, my son?”

Charles enters the room tiptoeing, eyes wide with excitement.

Her eyes meet his. His lips tighten and his eyes moisten. He plops on the edge of the bed next to her and his newborn son.

“Oh…Charles. Be careful. I wasn’t ready for that. Are you ready to meet your new son, my love?”

A lump fills her throat with emotion as she hands her little Charles over to the arms of his father. The Great Spirit is wise.

This man was meant to be a father and a husband. Filling her eyes and heart with this magnificent sight of the two men who now complete her life brings her inner peace and great elation.

Her life’s journey has traveled full circle. Her destiny fulfilled. *** November 10, 1889, Wheeling, West Virginia Eighteen years drift away like dust blowing over the winds of eternity. Charles Junior has grown strong and wise. Daring like his father and fearless like his mother. Miss Nellie succumbed seven years ago last Summer. We never knew what ailment stole her away. Her body withered away like fragile petals beneath a sweltering sun. She withdrew 276

Kevin Miller

from us, living off of wine and opioid pills her remaining days. But I believe I know what stole her life away from us. A broken heart. The wound never healed from the loss of Sadie and her beloved, Thomas. Edith was devastated.

She sold the plantation and lived with us on our ranch in Wheeling. She continued to teach and even mentored Charles Junior through school. She married a businessman three years ago and moved back to Clarksburg. She has a beautiful red-headed daughter named Sadie whom she sings to. She taught her Grandmother’s song.

Nearly one month after Charles Junior’s eighteenth birthday, his father and my beloved husband is in the battle of his life facing an evil spirit they call leukemia. There is nothing anyone can do for him, they say. But I have never been one to give up hope. He’s too young. Only forty-five.

We have so many years left to share.

I wait outside the door while Charles Junior visits with his father. My beloved refuses to lay dying in a hospital, so we brought him home. Home, where I will heal him. I will save him as he would save me. I patiently wait. Allowing father and son to speak the words they need to share.

The hinges creak. Charles Junior emerges. His eyes weary and red. He stands proud, wrapping his arms around her with the strength and comfort of his father.

“I’ll save him, son. You’ll see. He will live.”

“Mom. He’s not doing well. He’s asking for you.”

She gently closes the door behind her. The evil spirits have ravaged his body. His once-powerful hands now tremble and shake. His eyes are sunken into an ashen face. Bones protrude from his jawline and body. He reaches for her hand.

“Maggie. My beautiful wife. My love and companion.

You raised our son well. He’s a good man. A man of principle and honor. I couldn’t be prouder of him…or you. You are the strongest person I have ever known, my Maggie. Your heart has sustained me all these years. My heart grieves, now knowing the time has come for me to say goodbye.”

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“No! No, you cannot say goodbye, Charles. It’s not your time.

Stay with me. I need you…I can’t live without you, my love…no, no, no. I won’t accept this.”

“Our Savior…The Great Spirit has called me home. I’ll wait for you, my precious wife. My spirit is bonded with yours forever.

And Maggie, you were always worthy of the name Kateri, my love. One who is truly pure in spirit. I will see you again, Kateri.”

“No…Charles, no.”

The light in his deep blue eyes dims and extinguishes. His grip on her hand loosens. She presses her face to his and inhales his final breath into her lungs. She crawls into bed with him and lays her head across his chest. Her body shuddering—crying out in her native tongue to The Great Spirit.

God of my people. God of all people. The Great One known as the Creator of all things. Known to my husband as Jesus the Christ.

I pray to you now. Please take my love into your bosom and give him rest among the lush fields and rivers of the Heavens, where wild stallions race and rejoice. Give his spirit peace and take him into your paradise where I know I will join him one day. I accept the time has come to let go of his spirit and allow him to return to you. Hold him in your arms for me until I am reunited with him once again. *** The pyre blazes, consuming the remains of Charles Flagg, Senior. Releasing his spirit to soar across the winds of freedom.

“You have lived your life well, husband. I am proud to be called your wife. You are a warrior, brave, and honorable. And your love and courage will live in my heart for eternity. I will see you one day again, my love. Until then, be free and rest well.”

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Epilogue Until We Meet Again “Grandmother? Why did you never marry again?”

“Because granddaughter, there never was a man like your grandfather, Charles. He stole my heart at a very young age. Before I even realized he had done so. He was brave and courageous. And as stubborn as they come. I fell in love with him, my child. He was my only love and no other man could ever sway me. When you give your heart away completely to someone, it remains with them for eternity.”

“Do you need anything? Can I get you some water…or something to eat?”

“No child. There is nothing I need now. I’ve have lived a full life with no regrets. And where I go now, I know he will be there waiting to greet me.”

She sniffles. “Grandmother are you comfortable? Need another pillow?”

“I do need something. I need to give you something.

Something very dear to me. Can you hand me that box over there?”

“This one? It’s beautiful. Is it made of cedar?”

“Yes, but that’s not the gift I want to give you. Hand me the box.”

She reaches inside the box and removes a piece of jewelry.

She holds it in her hand for the last time stretching her arm out to her granddaughter.

“Open your hand.”

A bracelet falls into the palm of her granddaughter. A Seneca bracelet. A bracelet filled with love and magic.

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“Grandmother? Is this the…the bracelet from your story?”

“The very one. It belongs to you now. It is filled with love. The love your grandfather and I have for each other. Its magic will one day lead you to find a man like my Charles. Brave, courageous, and devoted to you, my precious granddaughter.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. It’s so beautiful. More beautiful than you described in your story. I will treasure it always, Grandmother.”

“I know you will, EmmaMae. Because you’re a Flagg, I know you are a woman of your word. I need to rest now, child. Thank you for visiting me, and thank you for listening to my life’s story.”

EmmaMae kisses her on the forehead and leaves the room.

The light from a single window in her bedroom grows dim.

Exhilarating waves of emotion travel through her body. Her eyes close.

The window radiates with a sunburst of bright light. A light as bright as a star, but her eyes can look through it. She strolls along a familiar path. A path she once walked as a young woman each morning.

Three wolves sit on the road ahead. Hato! Kake! Shokdö:h!

How did you get here? How can this be? Their tails slap the dirt.

They whine, yip, and bark. She dashes to them. They pounce on her, knocking her to the ground, licking her face, running in circles.

Her old moccasins…her legs are long and slender once again! From behind the trees emerges a tall Union soldier sitting high on a glorious tawny stallion. Eyes piercing blue like fiery sapphires. He dismounts. He grins, beaming an oh-so familiar boyish charm. His arms are spread wide and welcoming.

“Charles!”

She leaps to her feet and rushes into his arms. They mount the stallion and gallop through luminous white skies. Racing past meadows bursting with brilliant colors, sparkling waterfalls and lakes as peaceful as polished crystal. Majestic golden light infuses them, carrying them into eternity.

The End 280

In Ohio Country, 1854, twelve-year-old Margaret flees a terrible epidemic devastating her Ohio Seneca clan. Mentored in the ancient arts of medicine and healing at a young age, she travels to Wheeling, Virginia, in search of a new life with her mother and Shaman grandmother.

When Margaret finds herself suddenly orphaned, she is thrust into the wilderness and an impending winter storm. Abandoned amid fur trappers, wild animals, and fierce weather, she struggles to survive the treacherous journey along with her two beloved wolves, Hato and Kake.

An unexpected betrayal leads Margaret into servitude on a Virginia plantation. Her captivity changes the course of her life forever and sets her on a path of mercy as a medicine woman during the darkest hour of American History—The Civil War. A chance encounter with a Union soldier leaves Margaret torn between two very different worlds and one very forbidden love.

KEVIN D. MILLER

White Skies Black Mingo is Kevin D. Miller’s second book. His first award-winning book, Heart of Steel, is scheduled to be a feature film. Kevin was born in Canton, Ohio, and moved to Tempe, Arizona, at the age of six where he grew up. He has Bachelor degrees in Electronics Technology and Information Technology and is a professional Web Developer and Technical Writer.

A United States veteran, Kevin D. Miller, served in the U.S. Air Force eight years. Father and step-father to nine children, he and his wife, Annette, currently have twenty grandchildren between them. He currently resides in Southern California with his wife and two young daughters. Both daughters are pursuing careers in acting while they attend school.

KEVIN D. MILLER