Their Frontier Family Page 12

  The warmth of the sun eased her tension and she relaxed against the back of the bench. She was going to town with her husband and daughter to bring home supplies just like any other family. She glanced at Noah from the corner of her eye. They even looked like every family hereabout.

  She’d taken extra care with her appearance and Dawn’s, and planned to be very careful in town to look the part of a contented wife and do nothing to call attention to herself. Her concern over saying or doing something that would reveal her past was becoming a burden. Would it lift in time?

  Dawn had learned to patty-cake and was showing off, trying to get Noah to pay attention to her. And it was working. The grim mood he’d awakened with appeared to be lightening.

  Soon they pulled into town and halted in front of the general store. Sunny’s easy happiness vanished in a blink.

  Mr. Ashford was chasing a woman from his store and swatting her back with his broom, hard. A little boy was hitting Ashford’s leg, yelling for him to stop.

  Without thinking, Sunny jumped down, throwing herself between the storekeeper and woman. The broom came down upon her back with force, nearly knocking the wind from her. She cried out.

  No second blow fell. Instead Mr. Ashford cried out in shock.

  Sunny whirled around to see Noah jerk the broom from the storekeeper’s hands. He threw the man backward against his store, pinning Ashford to the window with the broom across his neck. Murder blazed in his expression.

  Everything had happened so fast, leaving Sunny shaken by her own behavior as much as anyone else’s. “I’m all right, Noah,” she said, hurrying to pick up Dawn where Noah had set her on the wooden sidewalk.

  Mr. Ashford made a gurgling sound, his face turning red.

  “Noah,” Sunny implored, hurrying to him. “You can let Mr. Ashford go.”

  “I didn’t mean to hit your wife,” the storekeeper croaked with difficulty. “Just that thieving woman.”

  Noah stepped back, releasing the man. He still held the broom like a sparring stick.

  The storekeeper rubbed his neck and gasped. “She was stealing from me...behind my back...that Indian.”

  Indian? Sunny turned to see the woman racing north along the river with a little child by the hand.

  A horrific scene from Sunny’s childhood streaked through her and she started off, calling after the woman. She caught up, panting. “Please, please!” she called. “Stop!”

  The woman ran on and Sunny pursued her.

  Then Sunny got a hitch in her side and had to stop. She leaned over, gasping and rubbing her side.

  “Are you all right?” a hesitant voice asked.

  Sunny looked up into the woman’s pinched face and, between gasps, asked the same question, “Are you all right?”

  “I am sorry the storekeeper hit you.”

  Sunny nearly repeated the same words, but stopped herself. Instead she let the woman help her to stand upright again. “I just got a stitch in my side.”

  The woman was wearing clothes much like Sunny’s, not the buckskin dress of Indian women out West. Sunny offered the woman her hand. “I’m Sunny Whitmore. This is my daughter, Dawn.”

  The woman looked surprised but shook Sunny’s hand. “Then her name is like mine. I am Bid’a ban. It means It Begins to Dawn. This is my son, Miigwans, Little Feather.”

  Sunny listened but paid more attention to how shabby their clothing was and how thin they looked. The woman would have been pretty if her face hadn’t been so drawn and her eyes so desperate. “You need help,” Sunny said simply.

  Bid’a ban pressed her lips together.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I speak out of turn.” But Sunny didn’t leave. This woman obviously needed aid urgently. Sunny knew how the edge of desperation could cut deeply. The little boy looked to be about ten years old. He clung to his mother’s hand as if ready to defend her yet uncertain if he could.

  “I do need help,” the woman admitted. “Since my man was killed in the war, I have...trouble.”

  “The war? You mean the War Between the States?”

  “Yes, my man fought for the Union. Many Ojibwa, or white call us Chippewa and Winnebago, went to war,” the woman continued.

  “My husband did, too.”

  The two women gazed at each other, linked by this connection. Sunny couldn’t ignore the need she saw. And there was more to the story than the woman would admit—Sunny could see it in her eyes.

  She heard Noah coming up behind her. She cringed, wondering how he was taking this.

  At first she couldn’t make herself look into his face. Nonetheless she felt the waves of tension flowing from him. A stolen glance upward told her that he was clearly angry.

  “Bid’a ban, where do you live?” she asked.

  “Along the river, the Chippewa.” The woman motioned northward. “About three miles north from town.”

  Sunny nodded. “I’ll come visit you. Soon.”

  The woman took one look at Noah’s face and then turned and began walking briskly away, her son in hand.

  “We got shopping to do,” Noah said curtly.

  Sunny merely nodded. Now wasn’t the time to contradict him. She knew why he’d become upset with her. She’d made a scene, which was exactly what Noah wanted to avoid at all costs.

  She hurried alongside him to the store. Inside, the atmosphere was strained, wrapping around her, nearly smothering her.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitmore. I didn’t mean to strike you,” Mr. Ashford said stiffly.

  “I know you didn’t, Mr. Ashford. I just acted...without thinking. I put myself in the way of hurt.” Sunny smiled though she felt like telling the man what she thought of his actions.

  Noah fumed silently at her side.

  “I’m very sorry,” she apologized again, though the words nearly stuck in her throat.

  “No problem, ma’am. What can I do for you today?”

  One glance told Sunny that Noah remained too upset to speak. “We need seed for our garden, writing materials and a few other items. We’re also picking up things for the Osbournes.” She removed the list from her pocket. She and the storekeeper went through the list with Noah a brooding presence.

  Finally Noah carried out the newspaper-wrapped packages. Mr. Ashford hovered near Sunny at the door. “I’m really sorry. We don’t have any law hereabouts and what’s a man to do to protect his property?”

  Sunny checked her own feelings, making sure she concealed them. “Mr. Ashford, I understand completely.” Sunny didn’t like prevarication, but she knew better than to say that she understood thievery couldn’t be tolerated but that this was a case of unmistakable need. “Please give Mrs. Ashford my kind regards.”

  He smiled and nodded, finally looking relieved.

  Noah helped Sunny up onto the wagon. Dawn was fussing, wanting to nurse. Sunny soothed her till they drove into the cover of the trees. Then she put the child to nurse and prayed for the right words.

  “I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

  He did not reply.

  Sunny held herself together. Noah might be angry but he wasn’t going to strike her or leave her. He just needed time to cool off. Then she could discuss the widow’s plight. Sunny silently rolled the unusual names around in her mouth, Bid’a ban and Miigwans. Sunny had never realized that Indians might have fought in the same war as Noah. Sunny knew what having no one to turn to felt like. She’d faced life alone—after her mother died. She recalled the day a man had attacked her mother and her, just like Bid’a ban. Would she be able to make Noah understand why she must do something to help this woman and child? Or would she have to do it against his disapproval?

  At home Noah helped her down. Dawn slept in her arms so she went inside to lay the child into the hammock. Noah and she car
ried in the packages from the store, then he left the cabin without a word. She heard through the open door Noah unhitch the oxen and then put the cattle to graze among the trees. They had intended to stop at the Osbournes and leave their supplies, but obviously Noah was in no mood to visit neighbors.

  Burdened with a heaviness, Sunny washed her hands outside, then refilled the pitcher with water. Inside she lifted off her bonnet and donned her apron. With a potholder she lifted the kettle she’d left simmering at the back away from the fire. The grouse stew with beans and wild mushrooms would be ready when Noah came in.

  She bowed her head. Unbidden the parable of the Good Samaritan came to mind.

  The Gabriels had explained the story to her. A man who had been beaten up by thieves and left for dead. Two holy people had walked by without helping him, till the Samaritan—a person considered to be unholy—had stopped and cared for the man. Everyone in Pepin—if they knew the truth about her—probably would class her as a Samaritan. So she’d do what the Good Samaritan had done. Somehow, someway, she’d help this woman. Whether Noah agreed or not.

  * * *

  “Noah! Come eat!” she called later, stepping outside. She waited.

  He didn’t come.

  She picked up Dawn and listened, shushing the child’s prattle. She heard Noah working on the spring house foundation. She took a deep breath and headed toward him. He’d had a couple of hours to calm down, but regardless, they needed to eat. “Noah, dinner’s ready.”

  Noah stood hip deep in the shallow pit he’d dug around the natural spring that he’d found on their land. He paused in his work, leaning on his shovel.

  “I know you’re upset with me,” she said conversationally but with determination. “But we need to talk about what’s bothering you and then eat our dinner without upset stomachs.”

  Noah did not look up, which wasn’t like him.

  She’d spent hours pondering how to get him to talk about what had upset him, to get it out into the daylight. “I know you don’t want us to stand out different than others. I didn’t mean to make a scene in town. But I didn’t do it on purpose. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Noah still wouldn’t look at her.

  She jiggled Dawn, who was trying to get down to go to Noah. Sunny felt the same urge. Perhaps she should just tell him here and now.

  “Noah, when I was a little girl, one preacher in a town we lived in for a short while would stand out in front of the saloon and shout at the women inside.”

  She had tried to forget this incident. “One day my mother and I were walking home from eating at the café and he came out of a store and started shouting at my mother, calling her a harlot and worse. Then he snatched up a walking stick and began hitting my mother. She picked me up and ran for the saloon.”

  A lonely mourning dove cooed in a nearby tree. Even Dawn had stilled. Sunny’s voice had gotten away from her and had come out with stronger emotion than she wanted to show. The memory still had the power to make her tremble.

  “No one helped us. They just watched him beat her as we ran. When we got safely through the saloon doors, he stopped. But he kept shouting till the bartender brought out his shotgun and threatened the man.” She looked at Noah for any sign of understanding.

  “No one helped us,” she repeated in a whisper. She refused to cry. All that had happened so long ago. She hugged Dawn to her, thanking God no one would ever do that to her little girl.

  Finally Noah climbed out of the spring house foundation. He looked like he didn’t know what to say. “You said dinner was ready?”

  She nodded, looking away.

  “Then let’s go eat.”

  Sunny wanted more than this, knew Noah needed to talk this out to let it go. But evidently he wasn’t ready. She pressed her lips together. She would wait and pray.

  But she would also go tomorrow and find Bid’a ban and help her. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop her. Not even Noah Whitmore.

  * * *

  The next morning, Noah rubbed his gritty eyes. He hadn’t had any nightmares last night because he hadn’t slept. He kept seeing Ashford hitting his wife. Then he imagined Sunny as a little girl running from a preacher who was beating her mother.

  Sunny poured his coffee and he wrapped his hands around its warmth. He had rarely given much thought about Sunny’s life before they’d met. But now he knew she’d been born into the saloon. And that moved him.

  Sunny sat down with her coffee across from him. Their plates of breakfast sitting untouched. Dawn sat on the floor, knocking over blocks and prattling. He sipped the steaming coffee in a strained silence at the table. He wanted to speak, to comfort Sunny, to make things right. But how?

  She cleared her throat. “Noah, I want to take the horse north along the shore to the river and find that woman. If I can. She’s hungry and it’s not right to leave her and the boy that way.”

  Shocked at this unexpected request, Noah put down his cup. “You want to what?”

  She repeated her intentions. What caught him was that she sounded like she expected him to argue with her. Was that what she thought of him? “I would never let any woman go hungry,” he said fiercely.

  Sunny rested her hand beside his. “I know you wouldn’t but after yesterday, I didn’t know if you’d want me to go after her. People don’t think much of Indians—”

  He cut her off with a sweep of his hand. “That doesn’t weigh with me.” The words he’d held back rolled forth. “Yesterday upset me because Ashford struck you. I’m supposed to protect you.”

  Silence. Then Sunny wrapped a hand over his. “Thank you, Noah, you did protect me. And today I don’t think anybody will bother me, but I have to help this woman. She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  He recalled the times when he’d tried to help others. “Some people don’t like taking charity. I haven’t met many Indians, but they’re proud people.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t need charity,” Sunny replied. “She told me her husband served in the Union Army and was killed. Shouldn’t she be getting a widow’s pension?”

  “Her husband was a soldier?” He sat up straighter. Indignation burned in his stomach.

  “I want to find her, help her get what’s coming to her,” Sunny said.

  “She should be getting her husband’s pension,” Noah stated firmly. “The government promised that.” He turned the problem over in his mind. “She may not have told you the truth about where she’s living. I’ve heard the government is trying to move all the Indians hereabout out of Wisconsin.”

  Sunny frowned. “I don’t think she lied to me. She said her place was north on the Chippewa River.”

  “The Chippewa does run north of town. It flows into the Mississippi.” He began to calculate how to get there, how long it would take.

  “Would you let me take the horse? And some food?” Sunny sounded determined but uncertain. “I don’t want to leave her in need.”

  “No.”

  Her face fell.

  “I’ll take you myself. I can’t let you go alone. Why would you think I’d let you do this alone?”

  “Noah, I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand, smiling tremulously. “I didn’t understand. You didn’t tell me.”

  He offered her a shrug in apology and then picked up his fork. His stomach burned and he had no appetite, but he needed strength to do this. “We better eat and then get ready to go.”

  “Yes, Noah.” She looked at him as if he’d just done something special. That kind of hurt. I should be kinder to my wife. I’m not doing a very good job of being a good husband.

  Chapter Nine

  Noah stood beside the table, figuring out how to do this thing, how to go to help this widow in need. They couldn’t take the wagon since there probably wasn’t a road or even a trail
where they would be going.

  As usual, Dawn had gravitated to his side. Her constant preference for him managed to lighten his heavy heart. As he looked down into Dawn’s eager face, he had an idea. “Sunny, I need a large dishcloth or a baby blanket.”

  Sunny looked surprised.

  “I need to make something so we can carry Dawn with us on horseback.”

  Sunny nodded, though obviously mystified, and got him one of Dawn’s smaller blankets.

  “While I get this rigged up, you gather some food and necessities for the woman and her boy.” While he sounded as if this were an everyday occurrence, he carried this new responsibility as a palpable burden.

  Sunny gathered some essentials, such as food and pans, and stowed them in a couple of flour sacks while Noah folded the blanket corner to corner and tied it over one shoulder. As he did so, he considered the possibility that he was planning, once again, to go against the community he lived within. The thought didn’t please him.

  “Oh, you’re making a little hammock for her,” Sunny said.

  He nodded. “I saw women working in the fields in the South carry their babies like this. See? My hands are free.”

  “I’ll put a fresh diaper on her and two extra soakers.”

  He smiled at her thoughtfulness. And her kind nature. Of course Sunny wouldn’t let this widow and fatherless child suffer.

  Soon they were outside. Dawn didn’t mind Noah settling her against him. In fact, she looked happy to be so close to him. He tried not to let this hearten him and failed. Dawn had captured him all right.

  He climbed on the saddle and then helped Sunny up behind him. The sacks of provisions and necessities had been hung on the saddle or tucked into the saddlebags. Through the towering trees Noah set off westward toward the river. He wondered what she’d do if they couldn’t find the woman and her boy.

  Even worse, they would have to ride through town. He hadn’t wanted to go there again so soon. He’d wanted to give people a chance to exhaust all the gossip about Sunny and Ashford. But it couldn’t be avoided. A soldier’s widow needed help. And they had to go where he could follow the river.