Dakota Dream (50 page)

Dominique took a step back and lowered her head. "Please forgive me. I had no right to take my anger out on you. I realize you had no control over my uncle or his men."

"That's all right, Miss DuBois. I'm damn near as upset as you are by all this. I got to know several of those boys, especially the members of your family over the last few weeks. I can't tell you how it grieves me to learn of their fate."

Marsh stared at her, pulling on his fingers as if he were stretching taffy, then began to make his way toward the door. "If you think you'll be all right now, I should get back to my crew. We have a lot of preparations to make before we can transport the wounded."

"Wounded?
I thought you said they were all dead. Which is it, Captain?"

"In your uncle's group, there are no survivors," he reiterated. "But he divided his command three ways. I've been told to expect some wounded from Major Reno and Captain Benteen."

"Oh," she said softly.

"If that's all?"

"Yes, I suppose that's all. Thank you for coming to me as soon as you heard. If you receive any further word, please let me know about it."

"You will be the first to receive any news, I promise you."

"Thank you, Captain." Barely aware of Marsh's reply or of the sound of her door closing, Dominique moved over to the porthole.
Jacob.
Where had Jacob been through all this? Riding with the Seventh Cavalry? Or attacking it with his Lakota family? Was he still alive or gone with the rest?

"No," she sobbed against the glass, refusing to think of him in any way
except
filled with vitality. "You can't be dead, my love. Jacob, please, let me know you're alive. Are you out there somewhere looking for me?"

South of the Little Bighorn, Jacob struggled to clear his bruised and battered mind. He felt as if he were clawing at something, swimming against the frigid current of some raging river. Was it real? The muddy waters were dark and icy, thick with the ashes of those who'd died at the Little Bighorn. He was exhausted.

He tried to move his arms and legs, but his brain couldn't make the connection. He felt himself being dragged downstream again, swirling away into a starless abyss, to the murky depths of hell. It was then that Jacob realized he languished in a hell born of his shattered logic, swam in a river of his own pain. He knew that now. He also knew he was dying. Jacob renewed his battle against the current, knowing he would have to fight his way out of this imaginary river if he was to survive. His reward was a distant light, a tiny beacon of encouragement. He put forth his mightiest effort, and the light grew stronger.

"Dominique," he cried out, sure the light was the halo of her golden-red hair. With superhuman strength he navigated the powerful waters using determination as his only compass. When at last the colors of life, of springtime and renewal beckoned, Jacob managed to move his arms. He thrust his way out of hell for a moment and clung to the banks of consciousness. He fought and struggled, desperate to pull himself onto the grassy plains of sanity, to lie in the rays of a nurturing sun.
To feel warm again.
To live.

"Dominique," he called out again, but this time her name was a distant gurgle in his throat.

Jacob's strength failed him. His arms grew numb. He slid back into the frigid river of his mind, too weak to cling to safety, too far gone to care. Fingers of ice pulled him down into the cold dark waters and guided him back to its frozen lair.

The following morning, Dominique leaned over the railing of the
Far West
and watched as the last of the wounded arrived. Some of the men walked, but many more were carried on stretchers or in the arms of the survivors. Numb in body and mind, Dominique observed the proceedings with weary eyes. Suddenly a soldier, limping slightly, caught her attention. She blinked, trying to awaken her senses, and pressed harder against the rail. The soldier's head was swathed in bandages, but his features were easily recognizable even in the vague light of dawn—
Barney Woodhouse.
But how was that possible?
her
incredulous mind asked. He'd always been a part of the general's command, directly attached to Custer's own company.

She stared harder, making certain of the identification,
then
allowed herself to hope. If Barney had survived, then maybe the captain had been wrong about the others. Maybe, she thought, her senses reeling, just maybe he'd been wrong about many of the stories he'd told her.

A surge of hope propelling her, Dominique twirled and ran along the railing to the gangplank. She hesitated a moment, suddenly overcome by the suffering, the terrible wounds of the surviving soldiers, then she plunged headlong through the able-bodied men until she found the one she sought.

"Lieutenant Woodhouse. Oh, Lieutenant?" she called out, running across the muddy grass.

Barney looked up, surprised to hear a woman calling his name,
then
nearly fell over as Dominique threw herself into his arms. "Miss DuBois?" he gasped. "God almighty, you're alive."

"Yes, yes, and so are you." She pulled back from him, and stared into his haggard features. "What about Jacob? Have you seen him? Is he all right? Was he with my uncle? Please, Barney, is Jacob all right?"

Unable to look into her hopeful brown eyes, Barney turned his aching head as he took her by the arm. "Come on over here out of the sun and away from the others," he said in a whisper as he started for the cottonwood trees.

Barney glanced at her as they walked, wondering how he could tell her, how to explain the miracle of his rebirth. "Have you been told? Do you know what happened out there?"

"To the Seventh?
Yes." She nodded, swallowing hard. "Captain Marsh said everyone was killed, but here you are. I thought he might be wrong, that maybe Jacob and the rest of my family were all right."

"Don't," he said softly. "Please don't. The general and his men were wiped out two days ago. There's no doubt about that."

"But you're here," she pointed out. "And you haven't said a word about Jacob. Please, Barney, if you know, tell me. Where's Jacob?"

He hung his head and slowly shook it. Then he told a half-truth. "I'm sorry, Miss DuBois, but the last time I seen Jacob,
he
was riding out after the general."

"But I don't understand," she said, gripped with panic. "How come you're here if everyone in the Seventh is supposed to be dead?"

He took her trembling shoulders in his hands and told the story he'd settled on. The one he would tell for the rest of a life that had been miraculously returned to him. "Just before the Seventh pulled out, your uncle assigned me to guard a prisoner. I got stuck on guard duty watching some guy I never seen before. The general didn't even bother to tell me what the prisoner had done wrong, just told me to watch him till he got back.''

"But," she said, eyeing the bloody bandage wrapped loosely around Barney's skull, "you're wounded. If you didn't go with them, how were you hurt?"

"I didn't say I was too good a guard. The prisoner got loose somehow,
then
split my scalp open when he made his escape. I got a lump the size of my fist on the back of my head."

But Dominique wasn't listening to his woes. She was frantic with worry, desperate to learn where Jacob had been during the battle. Had he been fighting against his own people, the Lakota, alongside her uncle Armstrong?

Or had he ridden into battle as a soldier, only to turn on the cavalry once the battle erupted? Or had he lurked on the fringes of the battleground, unable to do either? Dominique swayed against Barney's chest.

"Let me help you back to the ship, Miss DuBois," he offered as he noticed the glazed look in her eyes.

"What's happened to Jacob?" she said in more of a wail than anything. "Where do you think Jacob is now?"

"Honey," he said solemnly, "I think you'd better forget about him. I think he went the way of your family."

At his words, Dominique's tears finally fell. Jacob
was
her family, as much a part of her as the Custer blood chilling her suddenly frozen veins. A painful flood burst from her, splattering the front of Barney's shirt, soaking her own. She allowed the tears to fall for several minutes, gave in to the feelings of hopelessness and anguish. But then, as she thought of Jacob, of his strength, and of the love they'd shared, her tears ebbed as quickly as they'd begun.

Dominique stood erect, her shoulders square and proud. She glanced back toward the ship, heard the moans of the dying men, and wiped the final tear off her cheek.

"If you can manage that bump on your head by yourself, Barney," she said, her voice curiously distant, "I'd better go see what I can do to help the wounded." Then, without waiting for his reply, she turned and marched back to the gangplank.

"Well, I'll be damned," Barney muttered, thoughtfully stroking his straggly mustache. "If she
don't
beat all."

Then, as he'd done almost continuously since Jacob cracked his skull, Barney continued talking to himself, "Either that gal is a bigger chip off the ole Custer block than I thought or she's gone totally insane from living with those danged Sioux."

Although every available inch of space was occupied by over fifty wounded men, the
Far West
was assigned the unenviable task of speeding up the Yellowstone River, then on to the Missouri River to deliver the terrible message to Fort Lincoln and the world. In record-setting time, the steamship plowed through over seven hundred miles of water in only fifty-four hours. It was nearly midnight on July 5 when the overworked engines of the
Far West
finally shut down.

Sequestered in her cabin for some deserved rest after tending to the injured men for yet another full day, Dominique sat bolt upright on the bunk. The silent engines, producing more noise than her troubled mind could bear, coaxed her to place her aching feet on the floor. She stood, wobbly and dizzy, and staggered over to the porthole. The streets of Bismarck swarmed with men from the ship and townsfolk roused by their excited voices.

By the light of dawn, she would be transported to the fort. Too soon she would have to face her aunt, find a way to ease
Libbie's
grief and endure her own.

Dominique took a breath of the stale night air. She'd grown strong over the past few weeks, she thought, wondering how she would handle this latest test. Finding a way to assuage Libbie's loss and control her own feelings about losing the general and the others would be difficult but not impossible. What would she do with the part of her she would have to hide? Who would help her bear the loss of her own husband? Who was there to care?

Dominique rested her forehead against the glass as a new wave of panic swelled up in her throat. Still she thought of Jacob. Still she dared to dream he was alive.

"Jacob?" she said in a smothered whisper. "Jacob, please hear me. Please remember that I love you."