CHAPTER
20 
The nightmare always started the same.
I sat at the kitchen table in my New York home. Dust covered the surfaces of the room, but a pot of Irish stew bubbled on the stove, a wooden spoon sticking out of the pot as if just used. I walked down the hall, calling for Maureen. Not finding her, I walked out the front door and onto the Texas plains. The wind whipped around me, releasing my hair from its untidy bun, and blowing the petals from the carpet of wildflowers. The petals swirled around me, obscuring the landscape, but Maureen’s voice rang out clear.
I turned. Through the smoke I saw flames consuming our schooner. I ran forward, toward the sound of Maureen screaming my name. “Katie!” Horses surrounded me, running in a circle, ridden by unseen men. I tried to escape but fell to the churned, bloody ground. I crawled toward a rushing river but made no progress. My hands and legs were mired in the mud. Someone grabbed my ankle, pulled me back, and turned me over. Cotter Black stood over me, holding a knife and smirking. He lifted the knife and cut his face from temple to jaw, his blood flooding down onto my face and dress. I turned my head to the side to avoid the blood and he fell on me, pinning me to the ground. I struggled to break free, but someone held my legs. Aén
hé’ke sat on my chest, holding a knife and pinning my arms to my sides with her legs. She lifted the knife over her head and screamed. Where her mouth should be was a black, vacant maw, out of which flew a blood-covered hawk. It landed on my face and stabbed me in the eye with its beak.
I screamed and thrashed and tried to get away from Aénhé’ke and the hawk, but my feet were tangled in sheets and my shoulders were being pressed into the mattress. Above me a bearded man hovered, saying a name over and over.
“No! Please, no! Let me go!” I screamed and thrashed and finally I was free. I jumped from the bed and landed on my knees. I crawled away as fast as possible across freshly hewn boards. I nestled in the corner and pulled my legs to my chest. I watched the man in the bed while my chest exploded with pain as I tried to catch my breath. He stood, walked to the dresser, and poured a glass of water. He held it out to me.
William.
I took the glass with a trembling hand and spilled more on my nightdress than I drank. I clutched it to me.
“Dreaming of Antietam?”
There had been few nights on the trail when I hadn’t woken, screaming, from a variation of the same dream. The Antietam lie had slipped out on the first night, and Kindle might have even believed it. He was long past believing it, and I was long past lying about it.
I shook my head and tried to drink again. My hand was steady and I gulped the water as if dying of thirst. I handed the glass to Kindle, who put it down and extended his hand to help me up. Though the dream wasn’t about him, had never been about him, I couldn’t meet his eyes.
He led me to the bed, tucked me under the blankets, and then went to the other side and crawled in beside me. We stared at the ceiling, not touching, a replay of the night before, though it seemed like an eternity ago. I knew sleep would not come for me, but thought Kindle had dozed off and was surprised when his voice broke through the silence.
“Is it always the same?”
“No.”
Aénhé’ke was new, and the rest went along in the same vein with different actors. Some nights the Comanche were predominant, some nights Cotter Black. One night I murdered all five bounty hunters with a bullet to the backs of their heads. But, the one aspect that never changed was Kindle’s absence, not only from the events of the dream, but also from my thoughts. It was as if in my dream world he didn’t exist. He never saved me, nor did I ever think he would.
“You know it’s the best of our bad choices.”
“I know,” I lied.
Before bed we’d talked for hours, hashing out how best to ride through the gauntlet of enemies surrounding us to get to Independence, Missouri. Asking the Army for protection was never considered. The Army wasn’t so big Kindle wouldn’t be recognized, as evidenced by the sergeant a few days back. It was too dangerous to wait for the US marshal to receive our reward for Bell and his friends. As such, we didn’t have enough money to hire Bob Johnson to scout for us and striking out with just the two of us was risky because of me. I was little more than dead weight, with few survival skills, though I was learning. Which left us with one option: traveling with the Cheyenne.
“Tall Buffalo knows—everyone knows—the allotment will fall short. It always has,” Kindle had said, pleading his case. “They will have to go on a hunt, which means north, which means out of Indian Territory and closer to Independence.”
I’d walked to the window and stared out in the night. I began to shake.
“Tall Buffalo offered to send a scout with us the rest of the way.”
I turned sharply. “You’ve already made the arrangements, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
“So this discussion was to humor me? To make me believe I had some sort of say, though I do not?”
“Laura, though this is going to chap you something fierce, there are times when you’re going to have to sit back, shut up, and let me make the decisions. I have lived in the West for years. I know these people, how they think. Whom we can and can’t trust. I trust Tall Buffalo a helluva lot more than I do Darlington.”
“What? Why?”
“Because Darlington is a good man who believes in law and order. He would turn us in, not out of spite but because it’s the right thing to do.”
“You saw what those warriors were brandishing tonight.”
“I did.”
“And, you want to travel hundreds of miles with them? It makes no sense.”
“The Cheyenne are no different from the US Army.”
“Oh, this should be rich.”
Kindle shook his head in frustration. “There are men who want peace, who want a resolution to the problem with as little bloodshed as possible, like Mackenzie, Tall Buffalo, Darlington, and Tatum. Then there are men like Custer who see the Indian problem as a way to be covered in glory, or men like Chivington who think it’s God’s divine will we eradicate the Indians. These warriors are no different. They think the way to be revered is to raid and count coup.”
“Right now, my only purpose is to get us out of Indian Territory alive. I’ll kill whom I need to make sure it happens. Indian or white man, doesn’t matter.”
I covered my face with my hands. “What have we become? If I’d had any idea of what we would have to do I would have gladly let my hands be bound in chains and returned to New York.”
“We’ve been over this. It’s too late for that. We’ve committed to a path and we have to see it through.”
“Is it true you would be shot for desertion?”
“With my record, most likely.”
“What does that mean? Sherman and Mackenzie seemed to think highly of you. Harriet was half in love with you.”
Kindle sat on the bed and removed his boots. “I have mistakes in my past I’d rather leave there. We’re going with the Cheyenne. End of discussion.” He took his clothes off and laid them over the footboard. He’d pulled the blankets back to get in bed when I told him to wait.
“Let me check your wounds.”
He straightened and let me unbutton the top of his union suit and pull his left arm out. The scar from the surgery I had performed at Fort Richardson three months earlier was straight and had healed nicely. Kindle released his right arm and I pulled the bottom down past the scar on his thigh where I’d removed an arrow. This scar wouldn’t have made a textbook as a great example of stitching, but the sky had been darkening and a storm was bearing down on me when I did it. But, it was as healthy as the one on his shoulder. I stepped back, trying to ignore his growing erection. I supposed ordering me around like a traditional wife excited him. Even if I had wanted him to touch me before, I didn’t then.
Camille King’s voice was clear in my mind. The most successful madam on New York City’s Twenty-Seventh Street didn’t suffer fools. I learned the hard way when I’d asked her how she could submit to men like she did. She laughed for a good minute before replying.
I don’t submit to men. I give myself to them.
That’s worse.
It’s when the men think they have the most power that you do. Men only have power when women give it to them.
“Laura?”
I banished the memory from my mind. Kindle watched me from under furrowed brows. Would I change his mind about traveling with the Cheyenne if I gave myself to him? I shook the idea from my head. I didn’t want to be the type of woman who would manipulate her husband to get what she wanted, nor did I want to know if Kindle would be so easily conned.
“Is there any pain?”
He threaded his arms through the union suit and buttoned it. “Occasionally I’ll feel a sharp twinge, but nothing debilitating.”
“I’ve noticed your limp is almost gone. Except when you get off a horse.”
“The leg stiffens up when I ride, but it’s manageable.”
Kindle got into bed and pulled the blankets over him. He tried to fluff the flat pillow and instead turned onto his side and pushed his arm beneath to add lift. “We leave with Tall Buffalo’s band after the allotment, probably tomorrow afternoon. If you’re thinking turning yourself in is the answer, get it out of your mind. It’s a death sentence for us.”
Now, hours later, we lay in the bed, the sky lightening outside the window. The terror of my nightmare was dissipating, but my daytime fear of Indians, of warriors, was thickening and hardening around me.
“What can I do to help you?” Kindle said.
“I don’t know.”
He lifted his arm and I put my head on his chest. He pulled me close, running his hand up and down my arm. “I had nightmares about Antietam, too.”
“They aren’t about Antietam.”
One side of his mouth crooked up. “Mine weren’t, either. I kept reliving the fight with my brother, killing my father. Cotter Black, the slave.”
“How did you get rid of them?”
“Whisky. Lots of whisky.”
I settled my head back on his chest. “Laudanum helped at Richardson.”
Kindle’s head moved. “You had the dreams at Richardson?”
I nodded.
Kindle pulled me closer. “You don’t have to be afraid of the Cheyenne. I’ll be right by your side. Every day. And Aénhé’ke will be there. Your saving her protects you much more than I can. No one will hurt you. I promise.”
“You can trust them. I’ll trust you.”
Kindle chuckled and kissed the top of my head. We fell into a doze. The morning sun streamed into our room.
“She’s recovering from grievous injuries.”
I propped myself on my elbow. By the brightness and the sounds of activity outside I guessed it was midmorning or later. I heard Kindle talking in the hallway.
I rose from bed and went to the door to better eavesdrop on the conversation.
“I have spoken with the Indian woman and she is amendable to the idea. She’s never been photographed,” Soule said.
“Photograph her alone, then.”
“But, it would be a better photo with the three of you. With your eye patch and that scowl of yours …” Soule cleared his throat. “It will show that white men and Indians can get along, can combine for a common good.”
“Oh, you’re out here for the common good, and not to line your pockets with gold when you return East?”
“There’s no reason I can’t do both. You’ve already agreed to give Pope your story—”
“We have, have we?” Kindle said.
Someone stepped forward in the hall. “I understand your hesitation, but I promise not to use your real names,” Pope said. I imagined Pope’s mouth turning up into a smirk. Lord only knew the kind of names Pope would saddle us with.
“She has been through an ordeal and is sensitive it shows in her looks.”
“I told her last night I had powder—”
“And I wouldn’t want a photograph out there she wouldn’t be happy with. She’s a vain woman, and won’t want the picture. And if we don’t want a copy, what’s in it for us?”
“I’m not sure what—”
“Oscar wants you to pay him, you idiot,” Pope said.
“Pay you? People pay me!”
“So be it.” Kindle knocked on my door.
“Wait,” Soule said. “How much?”
“You give us the reward for the killers we brought in and I’ll write it over to you. It’ll cost you nothing, in the end.”
“How much?”
“Hundred twenty-five.”
“Dollars?”
“Twenty-five each for the woman, German, and Bell, and fifty for the Mexican.”
“I don’t have that much money.”
“Then you won’t get our photo.”
“Thirty is the best I can do.”
“I see you’ve got a line of at least twenty-five men out there, at a dollar a pop? Not including all the buffalo robes you got yesterday from the Cheyenne. And, you were at Sill before this, weren’t you?”
“Fifty.”
“A hundred.”
“Seventy-five.”
“Seventy-five and three buffalo robes.”
“Done.” After a moment, which most like included a handshake, Soule said, “Gather up the Indian and come to my wagon.”
His footsteps echoed through the hall walls and he was gone.
“You disappeared last night,” Pope said.
“We’d seen enough,” Kindle said.
“You missed the best part. Your Indian girl was not pleased to see her husband. Turns out, he lost her in a bet with a Kiowa.”
Behind the door, I grunted in disgust.
“The warrior and his friends are part of the Hima … Hima … Oh, I can’t say it. A soldier band.”
“The Dog Soldiers?” Kindle promoted.
“No, Wolf or Bow and Arrow or something.”
“The Bowstring Men.”
“That’s it. They were out hunting for buffalo and raiding with the Kiowa and Comanche. Tall Buffalo sent them away, downriver to their permanent camp. He’s afraid Old Man Darlington will get wind of the blond pigtail they were brandishing and refuse to disburse, as well as send the Army after them.”
“Tall Buffalo told you all of this?” Kindle asked.
“No, Bob Johnson. What the hell kind of name is that for an Indian?”
“His father was a white man,” Kindle said.
“Even so. Sounds like a clerk’s name. Well, I’ll leave you two to … whatever it is you do.”
Kindle opened the door and I stepped back. He paused when he saw I wasn’t in the bed. I pushed the door closed.
“You were masterful,” I said.
Kindle’s expression turned smug. “Thank you.”
“The reward for the lot of them was only fifty dollars.”
“Soule doesn’t know that.”
I stepped forward and put my arms around Kindle’s neck. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
He stared up at the ceiling as if considering and back at me. “I don’t think so.”
“I do. Very much.”
He placed his hand on my hips and pulled me gently forward. “You like it when I drive a hard bargain?” His mouth quirked up into a half smile.
I rolled my eyes. “You are an inveterate flirt.” His hands moved to my face, gently caressing it, while his lips almost touched mine. “Kiss me like you did on the road to Jacksboro,” I whispered.
I lifted my lips but he moved his mouth away, skimming his lips across my cheek. My mouth followed his but he kept his lips out of reach.
“Why are you teasing me?”
“I want you to work for it,” he whispered, his lips almost touching mine, but pulling away when I tried to capture his mouth. I gave up and kissed his neck below his beard. He lifted his chin and I kissed his Adam’s apple and moved down to the hollow of his throat.
I pulled his head down and kissed his ear. “How do you know I’ll keep trying?” I whispered.
Kindle stilled, and I realized his hands had been roaming over my body. I had leaned into him, and for the first time since the Canadian, I felt a pull of desire for him, deep in my stomach.
“Because you love me.”
I took off his ridiculous eye patch and threw it on the floor. “I do.”
I pulled him to me and kissed him, softly at first, remembering his lips the first time we kissed, how days later I would lightly pull down my bottom lip to try to mimic how he’d gently bit it, tugged on it. Now, he let me take my time. His body tensed in the effort to hold back. My fingers raked down his bearded cheeks and I deepened the kiss. Kindle pressed me against him as if wanting to fuse us together. His erection was hard against me. I expected him to take charge of the kiss and where it would lead. Instead, he broke away and put his forehead against mine.
His voice was husky when he said my name. “Soule is waiting.”
“Let him wait.” I lifted my mouth to kiss him but he pushed me gently away. “What is it? I thought you wanted …”
Kindle shook his head, and wouldn’t look at me. “I know it wasn’t comfortable for you yesterday.”
“It might be better this time.”
“I’ll not lay with you again until you’ll enjoy it. Until it’ll be only you and me in the bed.”
I stepped back and hugged myself. “I don’t know when that’ll be.”
I choked back a sob.
Kindle stepped forward and lifted my chin so I had to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
“Laura.” He kissed my forehead and enveloped me in his arms. “I’m not with you out of any sense of obligation or honor. I hope you agree there’s more to us than making love.”
I nodded.
“Though I’ll not lie and say I don’t want what we had at Richardson. I do.”
“So do I.”
“But, I don’t want you to flinch every time I touch you. I can hold you, and kiss you, without it leading anywhere you don’t want. It’ll be a trial, but I can do it.” He moved away. “Now, we need to stop talking about it or I won’t be fit to go outside for a while.” He sat on the bed and pulled the blankets over his lap. “Go on and get dressed so we can get our reward.”
I sniffed and wiped my cheeks and pulled the men’s clothes out of the chest. “No need to dress like a man,” Kindle said. “Unless you want to.”
I paused, and despite my best efforts, my vanity was bruised. “Because I look so little like Catherine Bennett?”
“No. Because I have no intention of letting Soule’s glass negative make it back East in one piece.”
Soule moved his rolling photography studio from near the Indian camp to the edge of town where the allotment would be distributed. A line of cowboys and soldiers waited patiently for their turns: hair slicked down, collars buttoned, wiping the dust off their boots on the backs of the opposite leg, pushing and teasing their friends about deficiencies, nervously petting their mustaches, practicing their quick draws, twirling their guns and shoving them back in their holsters. Noticeably absent from the line were the Cheyenne and Arapaho and the women. Which made Aénhé’ke and I stand out like sore thumbs.
Kindle and I exchanged a silent look, and tried to turn away from the staring eyes without it seeming too obvious. Aénhé’ke faced forward, as if daring the strange men to insult her or approach her.
Soule’s assistant hurried down the line to us. “Come to the front. Mr. Soule wants to shoot you before the light changes.”
“Shoot?” Aénhé’ke said.
“It’s a euphemism.”
“He means take your picture,” Kindle clarified. “He isn’t going to shoot us.”
Aénhé’ke nodded and we walked past all of the cowboys and soldiers, drawing the attention we’d tried to avoid. Kindle and I kept our heads down and turned away.
The assistant bounced on the balls of his feet while he waited for Soule to appear from beneath the camera’s black cloth. A tableau of four men, two sitting, two standing, was arranged in front of a makeshift backdrop on the other side of the wagon. Soule straightened and said, “Steady.” The four men were stock-still, knowing any movement at all would blur the picture. One man’s eyebrows were lifted to the brim of his hat. Suddenly his head jerked forward and he sneezed.
“Done.” Soule removed the wooden case holding the glass negative and gave it to his impatient assistant, who ran into the wagon.
“Take another,” the sneezer said. “I moved.”
“Why take two when one will do?”
“I apologize, sir, but I have a firm policy on one photo, especially out here where my supplies are limited. What if I ran out of glass with one group left? It wouldn’t be fair to them, would it?”
The men in front of the camera went to Soule and handed him a silver dollar each. The sneezer glared at him, but Soule was unfazed. “I will develop your picture tonight.”
“Each one of us gets a copy,” the sneezer said.
“Of course.”
Soule turned and saw us. “Finally, my bandits!”
“We aren’t bandits,” Kindle said.
“Thank you for agreeing to come.”
I bent my head in acknowledgment. Kindle held his hand out to Soule.
“Now?”
“We aren’t sitting until we have the money.”
“But, I don’t …”
Kindle grasped me gently by the arm and we turned to leave.
“Stop.” Soule went into the wagon and returned. He gave Kindle a small bag of coins, which Kindle opened. He glared at Soule and counted the money.
“Pick any three buffalo robes you want.” He motioned to a pile on a separate uncovered wagon.
“Aénhé’ke, choose three buffalo robes for yourself,” Kindle said.
The Indian furrowed her brows but did as told.
“Each of us gets a copy?” I said.
Soule’s smile was thin. “Two. One for the Indian, and one for the couple.”
“Fine,” Kindle said.
“Have you ever had your picture taken?” the photographer asked us all.
Kindle and I nodded. Aénhé’ke said, “No.”
“You speak English! Excellent! Oh, and here’s Mr. Pope!”
Henry Pope walked around the wagon with a huge smile on his face and his derby sitting crooked on his head. He caught sight of me and stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t you look lovely.” As soon as he said it, his face flushed with embarrassment. I glanced at Kindle, who was watching Pope with raised eyebrows and an amused expression.
“You have a line full of unhappy men, armed to the teeth, I might add,” Pope said, hurrying to change the subject.
Soule waved the danger away. “They won’t get their photo taken if they kill me.”
“What about your assistant?”
“He’s an apprentice.”
“Which means you’re working him to death and paying him little,” Pope said.
“Which means he hasn’t learned the camera yet. He’s developing the negatives. What is taking him so long?”
“May I go check on him?” I asked. “I would love to see the inside of your studio.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll get your husband and the Indian set. Knock first.”
“Her name is Aénhé’ke,” I said. Soule opened his mouth to speak but I interrupted him. “And, before you say whatever’s about to come out of your mouth, remember she understands you.”
I went up the wagon steps, knocked on the door, and was told to enter. The assistant blinked at the light streaming through the open door. “He sent you, didn’t he? That man.”
“May I come in?”
I closed the door and we were thrown into complete darkness. “Do not move,” he ordered.
I heard the young man moving assuredly about the small space. The smell of chemicals was overpowering. I couldn’t believe how completely dark it was. I was caught wiggling my fingers in front of my face when he turned up the wick of a lamp. He laughed. “You get used to it.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Joshua Bain.”
“Nice to meet you. This is so fascinating,” I said, motioning to the pans of chemicals. “It’s so organized.”
“You have to be in such a small space.”
“I can imagine. How in the world do you keep the glass from breaking?”
“It’s not easy,” Bain said. “After they’re developed and printed, we wrap each one in cloth and put it in here.” He pulled out a drawer and inside were dozens of cloth-wrapped squares. “Before we leave, we will fill it with sawdust, to give it extra protection. But, we lose a fair few. It’s why he takes so many. It’s also why we print copies on paper before we leave. At least we will have that. If he thinks it’s going to be a big seller, he’ll print a dozen or more.”
“Indeed?”
A knock sounded on the door. “We better get out there. He thinks your photo is going to make his business.”
Soule positioned us as I knew he would; Kindle sitting on a chair, with me and Aénhé’ke standing on either side, our hands on Kindle’s shoulders. Bain brought him the chemically treated piece of glass and the photographer slid it into place in his large camera. “Look at the camera and don’t move.” Soule ducked his head beneath the black cloth, then reappeared, glaring at me. “Why are you smiling?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
“You killed a gang of outlaws and you look like someone told you a joke.”
I repositioned my holster, which was partially hidden by Kindle’s chair. “Can you see my gun? I want to make sure everyone sees my gun.”
Soule looked horrified. “What kind of woman smiles and makes jokes about killing?”
I rearranged my expression to suit Soule’s idea of propriety. Just before he said, “Steady,” I turned my head to look at Aénhé’ke and smiled.