Holding on to Heaven (23 page)

His mind drifted to the days of his youth. His ma would pick the corn late in the afternoon, set it to boil in a large kettle, and serve it with butter and salt. What had happened to those carefree days?

He smelled the fire several miles back, its acrid scent so familiar, memories from the battlefield flooded his mind. The oppressive air lacked the slightest breeze and coupled with the hot glare of the sun, sweat ran in streams from the bandana around his head. The source of the fire came into view. The house lay in blackened ruins and pieces of charred lumber scorched the earth where the foundation once stood. The barn, outhouse, chicken coop, and even the lean-to smoldered.

A heavy feeling in his chest knocked the sparse air from his lungs. Not one member of his family appeared to greet him. Martha's ominous words rang in his ears, '
Ma promised, Creed, she promised.'

At the edge of the cornfield, he spied the body of a small child. With his heart in his throat, he dismounted and walked toward the lifeless being. He fell to his knees when he saw Minnie's face. A tomahawk had split her head open. Sobs erupted from his throat as he picked up her broken body and cradled her in his arms.

He looked skyward, grief and rage choking his words. "You take another of ours! She was only three years old!"

He carried her body to the line of trees, gently lowered her to the ground, and returned to the cornfield. It didn't take long to find the trampled stalks. He scanned the ground, certain he’d find his parents soon. His father lay across several spires. Four feet away, Ethan's bloodless face stared at the clouds. Shot in the head, feathered arrows pierced their abdomens and groins. A stream of shaky breaths left his lips. "Jesus." Dizziness swept over him, forcing him to his knees. He inhaled, and blew air out his lips.

Grabbing his father under the arms, he dragged his body from the field and returned for Ethan. He’d bury them near the trees when he returned, but first he had to find the others who met their fate in the cornfield.

He followed the crushed stalks to three more bodies¯Ansonia Garrett and her sons. Tomahawks had caved their heads in. He carried their bodies out one at a time and placed them alongside his father, sister, and Ethan.

Sweat streamed from the bandana around his head, drenching his cotton shirt. He paused for a moment and glanced at the sweltering sun. How ironic. His life was in ruins, yet the goddamn sun just kept shining, oblivious to the carnage.

He returned to where he found Mrs. Garrett and her sons and searched the ground for his mother. Bracing for the worst, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. Large droplets of blood stained the wheat-colored stalks and seeped into the ground. What did it mean?

Rage erupted from his lungs. He ran through the field screaming, "Ma! Ma!"

Using the butt of his rifle, he demolished the stalks in his path. His dry throat burned as he called out his mother’s name. He didn’t fear nearby Indians. Let them come. Right now, he hoped a hundred would try to kill him.

Reeling from the hot sun and the stench of death, he left the field and searched the nearby woods.
Where are you? Please answer me.
If she’d been seriously wounded, the Indians wouldn't have taken her captive, would have killed her outright. After an hour of searching, he looked at the sky above. Night would close in soon, and he hadn’t buried the bodies yet. He grabbed a spade leaning against a nearby tree and dug seven graves. Minnie was the last one he buried. Before lowering her into the ground, he clutched her to his chest and kissed her cheek. Rough crosses marked their eternal resting places, pounded into the ground with the same shovel that put them there. For now, it would have to suffice. When this nightmare ended, he’d return and give his family a proper burial, if he lived to see the sunrise.

He didn't want to think about what he'd find at Full Circle. With a hard swallow, he mounted the gray and headed in that direction. He closed the five-mile distance in less than fifteen minutes and within a mile of the ranch, the acrid smoke choked him. He didn't know if it had followed him or came from up ahead. Vomit rose in his chest and spewed from his mouth. He dismounted in the woods again, secured the horse to the branch of a poplar, and inched his way toward the ranch.

The house and the barn still stood, but the outbuildings smoldered, evidence the enemy had already been here. He unsheathed the six-inch knife from his boot, slid it between his shirt and belly, and checked his rifle and pistol for load.

God, what if she
's
dead?

By the time he reached the porch, the grayish tint had left the sky and a balmy north wind replaced the sticky humidity. The steps creaked and groaned beneath his weight, competing with a thousand night crickets in Estelle's nearby dogwoods. When he searched the expanse of white planks, a dark red stain rose up to meet him, leaving a visible trail to the barn. First he had to search the house, but what if they were all dead too?

Pushing the front door open with his boot, memories from days gone by nearly brought him to his knees¯a barbecue, horse race, and barn dance, but most of all, the visions of a dark-eyed woman, her warm flesh against his, her voice calling out his name in the throes of passion. The scenes roared through his mind until he nearly sobbed aloud. What if they had crushed her lovely face? Christ, what would he do?

It had finally come to that¾the realization that if she had died, his life was over. The simple thought she no longer walked the earth robbed him of any remaining sanity. If she was gone, he’d finally come face-to-face with the darkness of his spirit. He’d wander the earth in an endless search of revenge. For a moment, he pictured himself years from now, a stooped and bent old man. Sitting in a rocking chair on a porch, her lovely face floated before him, calling him forth from the other side.

Oh, God! Please don't let her be dead!

He came to an abrupt halt, his body tense and taut, when a voice called out from behind. Biddle ducked when Creed spun around faster than lightning. "Oh, Lawdy, Master Creed, is that ya? Thank the Almighty ya done come!"

In the ebb of daylight, Creed saw nothing but the stark white of the servant's eyes. "Biddle, where's Estelle and Mason?" He couldn't bring himself to ask about her.

"The redskins come, Master Creed. I was fishin' down by the stream when I heard shots. I done run as fast as my ol' bones could carry me. Master Mason, he lyin' dead on the porch. I puts 'em in the back of the barn, too scared to bury 'em. Miss Estelle, she in a bad way. They done shot her in the shoulder. She layin' in the loft, comin' in an' out all night. I reckon we need to find a doctah."

He waited patiently for Biddle to finish. "And where are the rest, Biddle?" There, he asked. He held his breath while the words spilled from the servant's mouth, coming so fast, Creed could barely keep up.

"Justus, he lyin' out yonder past the corral. He was tryin' to git to the woods. They kilt 'em with a hatchet an' then raised his scalp while he still alive." Biddle turned and scanned the property. "They is out there still and I is scared a dead folks, Master Creed. They done shot Hank while he done run from the barn. He try to shoot 'em down, but it was no use."

Christ, was he ever going to tell him what happened to her?

"I know you're scared Biddle, but tell me what happened to the rest... Nelly and Lauren."

"Oh, Sweet Mother of Jesus! Miss Lauren, they done took her. The scariest lookin' red devil I ever did see. He done hit her 'long side the head with a rifle, pulled her by the hair an' plopped her on that old paint. She was knocked out I reckon. I hid behind the barn an' watched. She fought 'em, Master Creed. They was shootin' the horses, an' you know how she love them horses. They done shot her Adobe, and she flew at 'em like a rabid hound, spittin' an' kickin' till they stopped shootin'.

The other red devil ridin' a big black horse, he brung his rifle down on her head with a fury." Tears fell from Biddle's eyes. "She don’t fight no mo' after that. She jess lay on the ground in a big ole heap. My heart likely to break when I see what they done to her."

"Jesus."

"I jess couldn't help her, Master Creed. They was too many of 'em."

Creed’s insides twistedl into knots. "Which way did they go, Biddle? How long ago?"

"I lose track a time. I reckon it were a half-day ago. They ain't been snoopin' 'round here no mo'. I s'pect they is long gone with her now."

Creed looked toward the barn. "Where's Nelly?"

"She in the barn settin' by Miss Estelle. She take the baby an' run into the woods while the devils a whoopin' an' a hollerin' something fierce in front of the house. Then the savages¾"

"Baby... what baby?"

Biddle's face broke into a wide smile. "Why Master Brand's an' Miss Lauren's child. He a fine boy, Master Creed. Po' little thing seems lost without his mammy."

Creed's heart shattered. "Brand and Lauren are married?"

"Yassuh, Master Creed. They got wedded a while back. Done have a fine celebration at Full Circle."

Misery clung to him like chain mail.
Son of a bitch! She married my brother?
"Brand is dead, Biddle, got caught in a crossfire between the Indians and New Ulm. The army is out on burying detail now looking for bodies. I asked them to bring Brand back once they find him. He'll be buried with Pa and Minnie."

Biddle gasped. "Oh, no! Ya mean little Minnie an' your pa is gone? Brand too?" He crossed himself. "I never seen nothin' like those red men. They done swoop down here like a swarm of hornets, faces painted up in red an' black. Like to scare me to death! You bess come into the barn, Master Creed, see 'bout Miss Estelle."

Creed followed Biddle to the barn and climbed the stairs of the loft. Laid out on a soft pile of hay, Estelle looked weak and pale, but conscious. When he knelt beside her, she opened her puffy eyes and rose up onto an elbow.

Relief flooded her face. "You've got to find her and bring her home, Creed. I can't bear the thought of losing her too. They killed my Mason, shot him in cold blood. I didn't see them take her¾by then I was unconscious. Oh, Creed, what's going to happen to her? What will they do to her?"

Creed placed his hand on her arm. "Take it easy, Estelle; you need to rest now."

"I heard 'em say they was gonna sell her to the French traders for gold." Biddle puffed up like a rooster. "Yes sir, they say they is gonna sell her up the river an' she gonna fetch some
fine
gold coin."

"Oh, my God!" Estelle wailed.

"I'll find her, Estelle, and bring her home. If they've harmed her, they won't live to see morning."

Estelle stared into his eyes. "Creed, you're scaring me. What's happened to you, dear? Your eyes are colder than a winter sky."

The soft gurgling of a child drew Creed's attention. Nelly stepped forth from the shadows with the infant in her arms. "Master Creed, this be Miss Lauren's child. He a big boy for his age an' right smart too. Those red devils was carryin' on like wolves caught in a trap, and this little one never made a peep. He knowed he should be real still. It weren't till he got hungry in the woods that I heard from him. Lawdy, then he ballin' his fool head off. Miss Lauren, she got a lotta love for this child. I bet she nearly outta her mind wonderin' what become of him."

Creed studied the infant, his anguish peaking to unbearable heights. "Yes, he is a fine boy, Nelly. What's his name?"

"Finn, Master Creed. After your brother¯Finn Forbes Gatlin." Nelly swayed back and forth with the child on her hip, reminding Creed of a peacock sprouting feathers.

"He looks like his mother."

Nelly turned a sharp eye on him. "No, sir, he look jess like his daddy." Her eyes bored into his. "You gots to find her. I don't know what we gonna do now that Master Mason is dead. I don't know what I is gonna tell Master Drew 'bout his little girl. He like to go mad if'n you don't git her back, an' he gonna be here any day."

Creed turned to Estelle. "Drew McCain is coming here?"

Estelle had returned her head to the hay, but turned her face toward Creed. "Yes, he wrote a month ago, said he'd be here in September. He's bringing Daphne, Nelly's mother. I don't know how I can possibly tell him once he gets here¾if he gets here¾Lauren's been kidnapped by Indians." Her resolve broke, the tears flowing freely now.

"I'll head to Fort Ridgely. A scout or two from the post might ride with me."

"They is fire comin' from Fort Ridgely, Master Creed. I think the Indians been there already. By the time ya rides to the fort, Miss Lauren be long gone."

Estelle dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. "Biddle is right. I don't think there's enough time to ride to Ridgely, and," she paused and blew her nose, "most likely there's no one there to help you."

Nearly busting at the seams, Biddle turned to Creed. "I knows what ya can do, Master Creed. I hear tell of a good tracker that lives down by the reservation. I can't recollect his Indian name, but they was talkin' in town one day 'bout 'em. They say he can track like a bloodhound. He an Indian so maybe he won't help ya."

"He lives near the Winnebago reservation? Who, Biddle? Who was talking about this man?"

Estelle raised her head. "I think he lives with a white woman¾his wife, and her grandfather. Oh, what is his name...? Peter Pa or something? Mason said they live along the Blue Earth River."

"Mason knew him?"

"Not exactly." Estelle shook her head. "A pesky grizzly kept stealing our chickens and turkeys, so Mace sat up with the double-barrel several nights hoping to catch the rascal, but the grizzly was too sly. Then one night, the bear got bold enough to go into the corral, killed one of the brood mares and dragged her off into the woods. Mason couldn't find that darn old bear and said he was getting too old to be hunting grizz."

Creed smiled.

"Then he said the town folk talked about an Indian who lived along the river. Best darn tracker ever born. He planned to ride down and talk to him, before..." Estelle looked at the rafters and sniffled.