See part
one for the disclaimer. Native
American customs vary widely among the 500 nations in
Native American “Diggers” were captured from
many
Paiute language is in Lucinda Handwriting font.
Sacrifices
Part
Two: Grief
By:
Becky Hubler
As the
stage appeared in the distance, Joe used Adam’s handkerchief to wipe the dust
off Hoss’s face, and then let him return the favor,
grimacing a little at the rough feel of the cloth. Hop Sing’s father
had used too much starch again.
Pa
declared that the three of them were presentable, and they lined up behind him.
Ben opened
the stage door when the dust settled and offered his hand to Abigail. Hoss busied himself by helping the drivers
unload the baggage.
Joe moved
restively next to Adam.
“Be still,
Joe. You act like you need to visit the
outhouse.”
“I
do. I drank too much lemonade.”
Ben shot a
dark look their way, and Adam lowered his voice. “Well, hold it, boy. Pa would foam at the mouth if you took off
now.”
Joe smiled
sweetly, and Adam could barely hear him before he turned away in disgust. “You think Pa would like it better if I had
an accident right here, Adam?”
“Hush!” Adam whisper shouted, drawing another quick
frown from Pa as he motioned them forward to where he and Hoss stood. Pa’s gaze turned again to Abigail, who drew
him into a hug.
“John,
Abigail. You remember Eric.”
Aunt Abby
hugged him as she spoke. “My…how you’ve
grown, but I can still see that eight year old boy I knew in your eyes, Eric.”
Uncle John
thumped Hoss on the back. “Benjamin, I
can see that you didn’t exaggerate one bit in your letters. Hoss, I believe you could lift a steer.”
“Well, I
don’t like to, but it’s sometimes needful.”
They
shared a laugh. “Hoss. This is your cousin, Kathleen. She’s two years younger that you.”
“Howdy, ma’am. Welcome to
Kathleen
smiled shyly, liking the kindness she saw in this large cousin’s eyes. She touched his proffered hand with her
fingertips.
Ben smiled at the two.
“And you remember Adam…Adam?
Joseph? Hoss. Where are your brothers?”
Sneaky little mule! How do
you do that? One second you’re next to
me, and the next, you’ve vanished. I
know where you’ve gone. Sneaky little peeing mule! Just
wait ‘til I get my hands on you, boy.
Should
have stayed back with Pa; now I’ll catch it too… Adam sped up, practically
running through the alley toward the back of the Emporium. He nearly collided with Joe when he turned
the corner. Joe backed away from the expression
on his oldest brother’s face.
“You stay
right here, boy.” He pushed his little
brother up against the brick wall. “You
wait for me.” Serves me right for running. I guess I had too much beer…” Trying to ignore Joe’s smirking face,
he flung open the door of the outhouse.
Joe’s soft laughter followed him inside.
Pa had his
hands on his hips, brows lowered, eyes
thunderous. Adam took one look,
grimaced, and kept a firm grip on Joe’s shoulder.
Uncle
John’s laugh began softly, but it soon built in volume as he looked first at
Ben, and then at his slowly approaching sons.
“Benjamin. You look just like
Father did when he prepared to lecture us.
Relax, little brother, there’s no harm done.”
John
grinned back at Joe, who was smiling broadly up at him. It sure was funny to hear Pa referred to as
‘little brother’.
Joe felt
Adam’s tight grip relax, and he flexed his shoulder. Pa’s face had creased into a slight smile.
“John,
Abigail, Kathleen, these rapscallions belong to me. Adam, Joseph, thank you for joining us.”
“Uncle
John, It’s been awhile.” Adam shook
hands with this older version of
“Aunt
Abigail, you are as pretty as I remember.”
Adam kissed her cheek. “And you
must be cousin Katherine.”
“Yes, cousin Adam. I
must.” Her eyes danced in
merriment. “And you must be
as…relieved…as we are that we are finally here?”
Adam
blushed as Uncle John continued to chuckle.
After a minute Ben joined in. Joe
took this opportunity to push to the front, smiling at his pretty cousin.
“Oh my, Benjamin.”
Abigail’s hand covered her mouth.
“It’s as if I’m looking at Marie.”
They all
quieted as her soft voice and bright eyes.
“You do
resemble her greatly, lad.” Uncle John said
quietly as Joe turned to him and shook his hand.
“Thank
you. I…I don’t remember too much about
Mama. But Pa has pictures, and my family
tells me stories…” Joe looked down, but
then looked up quickly when Abigail touched his arm.
“I have
many stories to share as well, Joseph—perhaps we can talk some morning?”
“I’d like
that.” Joe’s eyes shone as she squeezed
his arm gently. Impulsively, he hugged
her. Abigail laughed, delightedly,
speaking over his shoulder.
“Ben…you
still have a charmer here—he’ll be breaking young
ladies’ hearts all over
“Joseph…are you all right?”
Side
conversations died as attention focused on the youngest Cartwright, who still
had not spoken.
“Son?” Ben touched
his arm. “Joseph!” He shook the boy’s arm now, worried at the
boy’s silence and closed eyes.
Joe, held
lightly in his Aunt’s arms, failed to respond immediately. Dimly, he heard his Pa’s concerned voice, but
his attention was focused inward.
At Ben’s
more insistent shaking, Joe’s eyes opened, and he blinked rapidly to focus
them.
“I…I’m
sorry.” He said in a husky voice. He looked quickly around at the confused
faces, then directly into his Aunt’s eyes.
“I..I…you let me put on the raisins? I remember.”
He closed his eyes, but despite his determination and to his great
embarrassment, tears escaped. “Your perfume? It’s
the same. I remember you both
laughing…Mama’s hands over mine, helping me.
I…I wanted to shape the dough by myself.
You said, ‘Oh, Marie. It doesn’t
really matter how they look. There will
be many more years for perfect gingerbread men.’ You let me put the raisins in for eyes.”
Joe
laughed a little at their serious faces, wiping his eyes self-consciously. “I…I didn’t mean to cause a fuss. I…I just don’t have very many memories of
Mama, and when you hugged me—that picture came into my head. Mama let me carry the plate to the table at
dessert time. She said that they were
the best cookies she’d ever eaten. I
felt her rub my back when I put the plate down.
Then I sat on her lap.”
Abigail
nearly turned away at the sadness in his face.
His
expressions are so like Marie’s, and he changes them quicksilver fast. How does Ben manage this one, I wonder?
Joe’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Hoss and Adam were making paper chains to
decorate the tree!”
“He’s
right. I’d forgotten that
afternoon.” Aunt Abby hugged him tightly,
and then released him with a pat on the back.
“Joseph, you were only two. I’m
amazed that you remember it so clearly.”
She smiled at him, but exchanged a look of concern with Ben and
John. Marie’s death scarred him. Just how much does he remember of those hours
in the snow ten years ago?
Ben and
John sat in the front of the buggy, while Abigail and Kathleen took the back
seat under the full protection of the buggy top and the thick lap robe. The wind had picked up. Although it was unseasonably sunny for
November, there was a briskness and chill to the gusts that promised colder,
darker days ahead.
Adam and
Hoss rode ahead, but Joe was content to ride beside the buggy when road
conditions permitted it. He listened to
some of the conversation, but his thoughts kept returning to Naavik and the ‘Indian troubles’. Pa was right.
There weren’t any easy answers when two groups of people wanted
different things for the same land.
Someone always suffered; someone always got hurt, and important things
were ruined. He wished he and Naavik weren’t caught up in this…wished he knew for sure
that Naavik was all right. He urged Cooch
forward, seeing the road narrowing ahead.
John
enjoyed the sight of the flashy pinto easing to a trot. “Brother Ben. Your Joseph is quite a horseman. He reminds me of Father the way he sits a
horse…the tilt of his head and the square of his shoulders.”
Ben
glanced Joe’s way, his pride unmistakable to the buggy’s inhabitants. “I hadn’t noticed the resemblance to Father
until you spoke of it, John. Marie could
get a horse to do most anything, so I’ve always attributed his talents to her,
but I see what you say—I’d forgotten the way Father tilted his chin just so…”
“Like he
was ready to take on everyone?”
Ben
laughed. “Yes. Anyone and everyone, watch out! Joseph Cartwright is coming through…”
“What,
Pa?” Joe had caught his name.
Ben
smiled, shaking his head. “Sorry,
son—talking about your grandfather…”
Kathleen
chose this moment to lean forward, smiling at Joe. “Pa—since Joseph is such an excellent rider,
may I ride with him for awhile? I’d like
to feel the open air on my face.”
Joe reined
in and waited. He would be happy for the
company.
“If your cousin agrees.”
Ben eyed
Joe. “You take care of her, Joseph.”
Joe nodded
and gave her a hand up. He slowed
Cochise to a walk to compensate for the added weight, and they dropped behind
the buggy. He was glad for the
distraction from his own thoughts.
After a comfortable
silence, broken only by saddle creaks and the fading voices ahead, Joe spoke to
her over his shoulder. “Two turns ahead
is split chimney rock. It’s the border
of the Ponderosa.”
“Where did
that name originate, cousin?”
“Which? Split chimney? Or the
Ponderosa?”
“I’d like
to hear both, actually.”
“
“Joe! What..?”
Kathleen clutched at his waist.
“Not
now! Slide off and hide!” He pried her hands away and thrust her off Cochise’s rump. She
stumbled and grabbed the stirrup to catch herself.
“Go that
way. I’ll be back for you. Go!”
“No!! Joseph!”
But he had already kicked Cochise into a gallop.
Kathleen
took one faltering step after him, and then turned and fled downhill for the
concealing brush along the tree line.
Unknowingly, her hands came up to cover her ears as her mother’s screams
rent the air. She slipped and fell when
a quail, startled by her passage, flew up, thrumming the air right in front of
her nose. Her hands came away from her
head in time to keep her head up from the rocks and dirt, but her fall bent both
of her wrists backward. She stayed where
she fell, groaning and drawing her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. Indians! Indians!
Indians! Mama was right. Indians!
Joe’s
decision to leave Kathleen tore at him.
He had heard the panic in her voice and felt it through her grasp, but
she was safer here. He shuddered as
every whispered atrocity committed against women captives flashed through his
mind. He had just met Kathleen and
barely remembered Aunt Abby, but he knew that his Pa and brothers would die
protecting either of them from such a fate.
He could do no less.
He knew
how she felt, though. He was so afraid
for his family, but he urged Cochise on.
He risked one look behind him and couldn’t see Kathleen anywhere. Good.
Hopefully, she’d have sense enough to hide and hide well.
He rounded
the bend at a full gallop, pushing the tiring gelding to his top pace. As he caught sight of the overturned buggy,
he reined Cochise in, standing him on his hind legs for a moment. Then Joe was on the ground running, his leg
threatening to fold up on him. Adam and
Hoss lay next to the downed buggy. Adam
was draped partway over Hoss as if he collapsed while trying to protect his
younger brother. Joe’s mind registered
the wounds, the blood, but he kept going toward the buggy itself, toward a gray
haired man lying so still. An arrow
tugged at his sleeve, but it did not wound.
Joe could hear someone cursing in Paiute, and
realized dimly it was his own voice he heard.
“Cowards! Weak
children. You shame your
ancestors. Your descendants will deny
you honor when they sing of you…”
One step
too late and Joe failed to dodge a Paiute brave. His arms were captured and the brave yanked
him forward to face his leader. Joe
struggled, trying to reach his uncle and brothers. He saw now that the man lying halfway under
the buggy was Uncle John.
Joe spat
at the Chief.
The brave
holding him laughed, twisting Joe around and slapping him hard across the
mouth. “You are a child. But you speak
like one of the people, with a true voice.”
Joe shook
his head, splattering drops of blood on the chest of his captor. He had been moved to face the Chief. He knew this man, knew this tribe, and he
looked for any advantage that fact gave him.
He was nearly straddling Adam’s prone body, but his eyes were locked on
Red Eagle’s.
“Red Eagle. I am unarmed. Are you so fearful of me that I need to be
restrained?”
Joe risked
a glance around and saw that his Pa was surrounded by four warriors. One had Aunt Abigail by her arms while the
other three had forced Pa to his knees.
Joe’s heart ached, torn between rushing to his Pa’s side or staying
where he was and falling to his knees to try and help his brothers. Were they still alive? He bit his lip, his hands trembling. He tried to steady himself as he met the
Chief’s eyes.
“Your son has said that you are a great warrior, worthy of
his admiration and honor. Why do you
attack the wounded? Threaten the
helpless? White Bear would..”
“White Bear is no more!”
Red Eagle’s eyes were filled with rage and dark with
hate. The Chief leaned toward the boy.
“Wha..what? How?”
Shaken,
Joe’s eyes lost focus, remembering his friend.
Unthinkingly, he fingered the twin scars under his shirtsleeve, a sign
of his blood tie with Naavik.
He and Naavik had exchanged vows of brotherhood the year he turned
eleven. They had known each other for
three months when Naavik had used his knife to cut
deeply into his own arm. Swallowing
heavily, Joe had taken Naavik’s knife and done the
same, and then pressed his forearm firmly to his friend’s wounds.
Naavik whispered. “One
cut for me, one cut for you. One unites
you to me. One unites me to you. Now we are brothers in the Great Spirit’s
eyes. One flesh. We are connected. One spirit, you and I. We are connected with the Great Spirit. He created us and holds us close.” Memories replaced this one in flashes of
images in his mind. Naavik
teaching him how to shape obsidian, swimming with him to the island, sitting
around a warming fire as their clothes dried, talking and laughing together…
Joe was
jerked back into the present as Red Eagle yanked him forward by his shoulders
and roughly shook him.
“How do you know my son?
Why do you…?” Joe’s shirt
tore under the harsh assault and the rawhide necklace of bear claws and
obsidian were exposed.
Red Eagle
released him so abruptly that Joe almost fell.
Dizzy, he nearly tripped over Adam’s legs.
“No! No..how did you get this part of
my son’s birth totem?”
Before Joe
could recover, the Chief tore what was left of his shirt away. Distantly, Joe could hear his Pa’s frantic
shouts.
Red Eagle
grasped Joe’s arms, examining them. He
dropped the unmarked arm to tentatively finger the double scar on Joe’s
forearm.
“You are…Laughing eyes?
You are…my..my.. “ He stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said
quietly. “My son filled many evenings around our fire with stories of you…. He
loved you…”
Joe closed
his eyes at the naked pain in Red Eagle’s voice. He felt the Chief lift his chin and opened
his eyes, meeting the grieving father’s gaze.
“Yes. You have eyes
the color of the great tree, brown as bark, green as leaves…” His soft touch reminded Joe of his
Pa and he blinked furiously, not wanting to show weakness.
The Chief
released him and turned away. “You asked what happened to my son..”
Joe felt a
hand at his ankle. He looked down and
saw Adam’s eyes, dark with pain. The
pressure at his ankle increased and he read the questions in his brother’s
eyes. He shook his head and minutely
jerked his hand back and down. The
grasping hand fell away, but not before he saw the relief and comprehension in
his eldest brother’s face. He shook slightly as some of the terror left
him. Adam, at least, was alive. He knew that Adam would find Kathleen if
something happened to him. Somehow, she
would be safe.
Joe
watched Red Eagle’s strong fingers comb through his horse’s mane as the Chief
chose his next words. His voice was soft
now.
“My son is no more.
He was hunting in the mountains and did not return when expected. We searched, but to no purpose. No sign of him did we find. Three weeks passed and a filthy, weak and
ragged creature crawled into our camp.
Even when he called to me, I did not recognize him.
Red Eagle
paused, and stared into the boy’s wide eyes.
“My son died that night as
his mother tried to feed him, tried to heal him. But the damage was too great. He had been made to dig, to live underground. He was beaten when he did not find the
worthless blue rock that means so much to your people…starved when he tried to
leave…” His eyes flashed with rage
and then became empty. “When he was of no use to them, they turned him out. He had heart enough to come home to us,
strength enough to whisper his love to us, but the miners had taken too much
from his body for him to live…my son is no more…”
Red Eagle
stepped away from the comforting presence of his horse and stared stonily at
the pale boy in front of him, but his eyes saw only memories of his son. Memories were all he had now…
The boy’s
movement startled him, and he stepped back as the child swayed, then stumbled
toward him, falling to his knees. The boy
moaned involuntarily as the warrior behind him, also startled by the child’s
sudden movement, pulled the boy backward by his hair.
“Stop! Release him. He does not intend to harm me.”
Joe moaned
again as the rough hand released him, pulling some hair out as the hand jerked
free. He was on his hands and knees
now. He shook as the world wavered
through his widening eyes and time seemed to slow down. His right hand clenched in the wet red mud,
mud colored by the growing pool spreading from his brothers. He could hear Adam’s unsteady breathing, Hoss’s soft groans, his father’s
supplications. But the story he had just
heard reverberated in the forefront of his mind. He knew that they were all going to die—but
oh, God. Naavik…Naavik! He was dead
already. And for what?
He pushed
off the ground, ears roaring, shoving aside Adam’s shaking hand. He swayed on his knees. Naavik! Naavik! Oh God…Why?
His left
hand closed around the totem, and he yanked, feeling a burning pain at his neck
as the rawhide broke. He lifted the
totem high and screamed White Bear’s name to the setting sun, and now, somehow,
he found himself on his feet, turning to the four winds. He raised the totem to each and cried out Naavik’s name. His
vision blurred, but he could clearly see a bronzed face and brown eyes alight
in friendship. He felt a tearing pain in
his chest as he realized the depth of Naavik’s
suffering. His friend had been separated
from his people, his language, his land…
Joe’s
hoarse voice shouted to the winds of his friend’s bravery, his love for his
father and his tribe, his dreams for his future…
He was not
aware that he cried out in Paiute, not aware of the
silence, the shocked stillness of both groups, each person frozen in place,
watching his every movement. He finally
collapsed at the feet of Red Eagle, and scraped a shallow grave there, dropping
the broken rawhide strand into the red earth, his hands trembling as he patted
the soil down.
Oh Joe, how you loved
him. Adam could see the tears dropping from
his youngest brother’s eyes. He shifted,
biting down on his tongue as another tearing pain lanced through him. “…joe..” But his brother
did not hear him, and what words could he say, what could he do to fix this, to
make it right? Adam closed his eyes,
unable to bear the helplessness that he felt.
He managed to grasp Hoss’s hand before the
blackness swirled across his mind.
Red Eagle
stared down at the rocking boy for a long moment, then
signaled his braves to lift him. Joe
turned his face away, trying to hide the wetness there, but Naavik’s
father would not allow it. His palms
rested on the boy’s damp cheeks. He was
shaken to see that the sorrow in the boy’s eyes nearly matched his own.
“You gave tribute to my son.
You honored his place among the people, among his ancestors. For this, I will show you my justice.”
He
released Joe and raised his arms. “I have decided. All
here will not die. Today, I will take
one life. One life will be my payment
for my son’s life. One life only will satisfy
my vengeance.”
Joe had
collapsed as soon as Red Eagle had let him go.
The roaring in his ears was louder now and a gray-black haze was
gathering in his peripheral vision. But
he heard Red Eagle’s next words.
“I choose this life—this boy’s life is mine.”
Joe’s fading consciousness registered his Pa’s anguished
shout, his offer of himself as a substitute for his son, and he tried to move,
to struggle against the grasping hands, terrified that Red Eagle would change
his mind and accept Ben as a substitute.
His last thoughts were full of his family. I love you,
To be
continued…