A multitude of starry diamonds sparkled in the vault of sky.
Winona King lay on her back with her fingers laced behind her head, enthralled by the celestial spectacle. Even as a girl the night sky had fascinated her. Her grandmother had told her the stars were spirits, and Winona would stare up at the stars and wonder if she would become a star one day.
Now she knew better.
Nate said the stars were suns. He’d explained all that the whites knew of the universe. It made sense to her, but Winona couldn’t get over how many there were, like the grains of sand on the shore of the ocean.
Nate also related the Bible account of a certain star that led the wise men to the babe of Bethlehem. That interested her because the Shoshones believed that once, long ago, a star led a great medicine man to the land of the spirit animals. At the time the Shoshones were in dire straits. Brutal people had come into their land, fierce men and women who lived in caves and slew many Shoshones. The medicine man went off to pray for guidance in how to deal with these invaders. The star appeared and he followed it.
The medicine man came to where the spirits of mountain lions, wolves, bobcats, coyotes and foxes lived. Their chief, a mountain lion spirit, told the medicine man that they would help the Shoshones if the Shoshones pledged from that moment on never to kill mountain lions, wolves, bobcats, coyotes or foxes.
The medicine man agreed and returned to the Shoshones to give them the good news. But many scoffed, saying he had never talked with the animal spirits. To prove he had, the medicine man touched a stone and it melted.
Later, the animal spirits caused the mountain in which the brutal people lived to melt as the rock had melted, and the invaders were wiped out.
Winona always liked to hear her grandmother tell that story and many others. When her own children were small, she told them as best she remembered them, and hoped that one day they in turn would pass on the tales to their children. It was how the old ways were remembered and honored. Among her people, anyway. With the whites it was different; they had books.
Of all her accomplishments in life, Winona was most proud of learning to read. Speaking a new tongue was one thing. It came easily to her. But the marks on paper had tested her mental powers as nothing ever had. She’d wrestled with them for many months, until suddenly, like a shaft of sunlight piercing the sky on a cloudy day, the light of understanding pierced her, and she could read.
In one of Nate’s books Winona read about the stars, and about the moon, which did not die each month to be reborn, as her people believed, but swung around the world in what the whites called an orbit.
It never ceased to mystify Winona that for a people who knew so much, many whites were a lot like those brutal people who invaded Shoshone country long ago in that they saw everyone who was not white as different or inferior, to be used or killed as the whites saw fit. Nate had said that east of the Mississippi River, many tribes had been wiped out or forced onto reservations. He worried that one day his people might do the same to the tribes west of the Mississippi, but Winona laughed at the idea. There were too many Indians west of the Mississippi, powerful tribes like the Blackfeet and the Co- manches and others.
Beside her now, Nate coughed and rolled over onto his back and let out a long sigh. He did as his wife was doing and placed his hand behind his head.
“Are you having trouble sleeping, husband?” Winona asked.
“More than usual,” Nate allowed. He couldn’t shake the old woman from his mind.
“We had a long day.”
“A trying day.”
Winona looked at him. “You must shut her out. You did what you had to.”
“It’s not just her. It’s that bear. And the buffalo. We could have been killed.” Nate bit his lower lip. “It could have been us the hostiles ambushed and skinned alive.”
“It was not.”
“But it could have been.”
“So? We all die. The only question is when and how. Fretting over it is useless. What will be, will be.”
“Where’s the sense in it?”
“In what?”
“Dying? Why are we born only to die? Why are we put on this world if our only purpose is to have our lives snuffed out like so many candles?”
Winona sensed how deeply he was troubled and tried to soothe him by saying, “You ask questions only the Great Mystery can answer.”
“You saw that old woman. You saw how much she suffered. She didn’t deserve to die like that. No one deserves to die like that. But it happens all the time. Suffering. Death. It’s almost enough to make a person think there’s no rhyme or reason to anything. That this world is a living horror, and its maker must be a lunatic.”
Shifting toward him, Winona placed her hand on his shoulder. “There are many more sunny days than cloudy ones.”
“We weren’t talking about the weather.”
“You look at the bad in the world and you forget all the good. For every woman who dies like that old woman did, thousands die peacefully in their sleep. For all the horrors, there are many more joys. The joy of being in love. The joy of having a family. The joy of raising children and seeing them raise their children. The joy of simply being alive to enjoy all the other joys. Think of them and not the horror and you will be able to sleep.”
Nate twisted toward her and smiled. “You always did have a knack for not letting your emotions get the better of you.”
“That is how I was brought up,” Winona reminded him. Among her people emotions were always held in check for the good of all. Village harmony came before all else.
“I still wish things were different, though. I wish no one ever had to endure what that old woman endured. I wish no one ever had to die.”
Winona chose her next words with care. She had never heard him talk this way and it upset her. “You have a kind heart. It is one of the things I have always most loved about you. But life is not always kind. It can be cruel. That is why we must be like turtles.”
“Turtles?” Nate repeated, and chuckled despite himself. “We should be as slow as molasses?”
“We must have a hard shell to protect our kind hearts so the cruelty in this world does not wear us down and break us.”
“Keep our kindness locked away and only let it out when it’s called for?” Nate said.
“No. We should always be kind. We only put on our hard shell when we need to.”
“I never heard of a turtle taking its shell on and off.”
Winona laughed. “At least you are smiling.”
Nate drew her to him so her cheek rested on his shoulder. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”
“Not since this morning.” Winona rose onto an elbow and kissed him on the chin. “There is something I would say to you. Something you should be proud of.”
“That you speak English better than me?”
“That you have always been a good protector. Not just a provider, a protector. You have made our home, our valley, as safe as you can, and you always keep the cruelty of the world from crushing us. I have never thanked you for that, and I would like to thank you now.”
“A man does what he has to,” Nate said.
“Not all men are as diligent. It takes someone with a big heart, a kind heart, to devote himself to his family above all else.” Winona paused. “No wonder you are so bothered over the buffalo and the bear and that poor woman. You keep thinking about what could happen to those you care for, and it tears you apart inside.”
Nate kissed her, and not on the chin. “You don’t know the half of it. For a man, there’s nothing worse than not being able to protect his loved ones when they need it most.”
Samuel Worth was wet with sweat. Not from the heat, but from the raw fear that caused his heart to pound as he quietly opened the gate to the corral. Scarcely breathing, he glanced at the farmhouse. All was quiet. The dog inside hadn’t barked. According to Chickory, it was asleep near the fireplace. Samuel prayed it stayed asleep.
The horses raised their heads and regarded him uncertainly.
“There, there,” Samuel said softly. “I ain’t here to hurt you. We just need to use some of you for a spell.”
A roan nickered and stamped a front hoof.
Again Samuel glanced at the farmhouse. Nothing happened. Maybe the dog was used to the horses making noise. Turning, Samuel raised his arms over his head and windmilled them back and forth. It was the signal for the others to hurry across the pasture and join him.
Samuel moved toward the nearest horse. The animal let him come close and lay a hand on its neck. “Good horse,” he said, patting it, and moved to the side to mount. Carefully gripping the mane, he swung up. He had only ever been on horses a few times in his life and wasn’t much of a rider, but he could get by. He’d always wanted to own one, but horses were one of the many things a slave could dream about but hardly ever possess. “When I get to the mountains I will have my own,” he vowed.
Chickory and Randa were helping Emala. She was limping worse than ever.
Samuel frowned. It was one thing after another. All he wanted was to get them safely away. All he ever wanted was to have them safe and happy and free. If asked, most every slave would say they would rather be free than a slave. But few ever shattered the invisible chains that held them to a life of servitude.
Breaking those chains was everything to Samuel. He’d harbored his secret passion for as long as he could remember. Even as a boy, he had hated being a slave. He hated having others tell him what to do. Hated being made to live where he did not want to live. Hated never having anything to call his own. Freedom would change that. A free man was master of his own life. A free man could make something of himself, and what he made was his and not anyone else’s. Just being free was worth any sacrifice a man must make. Sometimes Samuel would say the word in his head and savor the sound as he would savor the sweet taste of honey. Free. Free. Free.
His family reached the gate. Emala leaned against the rails while Randa and Chickory moved toward horses.
“Go slow,” Samuel cautioned. “We don’t want to spook them.”
Emala said, “This will never work.”
“Pick a horse and climb on. Or do you need a hand up?”
“I need more than that.” Emala slumped and put her hands to her face and said something.
“What was that?” Samuel asked.
Emala lowered her arms and stared aghast at the horses. “I’ve never been on a horse. I can’t ride.”
“There’s nothin’ to it,” Samuel assured her. “You get on and hold on tight and the horse does the rest.”
“There’s more to it than that. And if I fall, I could break a bone. I’m heavier than all of you put together.”
Samuel kneed his horse over to the roan and started to work it toward her. “I’ve got one for you. Grab hold of its mane. I’ll get down and help.”
“It’s no use, I tell you,” Emala said. “I can’t do it.”
Samuel did something he rarely did. He swore. “I never took you for a quitter, woman. You’ve always done me proud, but this is a side of you I can do without.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“We’re wasting time. See those lights off through the woods? Hounds or no hounds, they are still after us and unless you get on this horse and get on it right this minute, they will put a hemp noose around my neck and dangle me from a tree until I’m strangled. Is that what you want?”
“Now who is being mean?”
Samuel didn’t realize they had raised their voices until suddenly Randa whispered for them to be quiet and pointed at the farmhouse. A face was at the lit window. The woman who had been sleeping was awake, and she was holding her rifle. She wasn’t looking toward the corral but might spot them at any moment.
“Oh Lordy,” Emala said.
Samuel clambered down. He ran to her and looped an arm around her waist. “I will put you on and you will ride and that will be the end of it.” Hooking his other arm behind her legs, he lifted. Then, pivoting and swiveling his hips, he swung her up.
Squawking, Emala nearly went all the way over. She grabbed the mane and clung with all her might.
Samuel dashed to his horse. Randa and Chickory had mounted and were waiting for him to lead them. He was lifting his leg when Randa shouted a warning.
“The dog, Pa! The dog!”
A four-legged form hurtled out of the dark and teeth sheared into Samuel’s calf. The pain was excruciating. Samuel cried out.
“Get them, Homer! Tear them to pieces!”
The woman was running from the farmhouse. Her dog, nearly as big as a calf and covered with bristly hair, bit Samuel again and shook his leg as if trying to rip it off.
The horses whinnied and milled in fright.
Flooded with agony, Samuel punched the dog’s head, but the dog wouldn’t let go. Emala screamed. In desperation Samuel lunged at the dog’s neck, thinking to choke it into releasing him. But the dog leaped back and snapped at his fingers. He jerked them away just in time.
That was when the farm woman came flying into the corral with her rifle to her shoulder. “You leave my dog alone!”
Samuel wished the dog would leave him alone. He went to kick it.
“Don’t!” the farm woman yelled, and pointed the muzzle at Samuel’s forehead. “Or by God I will blow your brains out!”