Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (8 page)

Flynn holstered his pistol.  “I was a prisoner for a
couple of years, Sees Far.”  He turned back to the scaffold.  “When did he die?”

“At the dark of the moon, a few days ago.”  Sees Far
laid a hand on his shoulder.  “It is good to see you again.”

Flynn turned to his brother.  “Who is chief?”

Sees Far smiled sadly.  “I am.”

Flynn’s mouth crooked into a grin.  “They must have
been desperate.”

“Well, you weren’t available...”  Sees Far sobered. 
“I missed you.”

“And I you.  I—I’d like to come home.  At least for
a visit.”

Sees Far shook his head.  “Not yet.  I have a lot of
work to do before our people will accept you.”

Disappointment, as sharp as any bayonet, stabbed
him.  Flynn shut his eyes.  He had dreamed of coming back to the plains, to his
tiyospaye
, when he lay on the ground, shivering, in Elmira.  He turned
to go.

Sees Far grasped his arm.  “Every spring, I will
wait for you at the sacred waterfall.”

“Why?”  Anger edged Flynn’s voice.

Sees Far was silent a long time.  “I think you will
be a bridge between the two peoples.  Because you can’t belong to either one.”

Flynn’s breath caught.  Slowly, he nodded.  He put
on his hat and started toward his horse.

“What will you do, Eagle Heart?”

Flynn turned back to his brother.  “I will scout for
a wagon train.”

Anger darkened Sees Far’s face.  “They are
destroying our way of life.”

Flynn nodded.  “I know.  But Sam is a good man, and
I think I can help.  I can keep the travelers from killing for sport.  I can
keep them from taking more than they need from the land.”

Sees Far shut his eyes and drew several deep
breaths.  When he opened his eyes again, his face was calm.  He nodded.  “Yes,
I think you will be a bridge between the two peoples.”

Flynn regarded his stepbrother solemnly.  “And I
think you will be a better chief than our father.  You do not act in anger.”

Sees Far nodded back.  “Thank you.”  He took Flynn’s
hand in the way of the Lakota.  “Be well, my brother.”  He swung up onto his
pony’s back and rode away.

Flynn watched him for a long time.  Then, he mounted
Scout and turned away from his father’s body.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Three weeks later, he rode into St. Jo.  The town
had grown since the last time he was there.  There was a fancy hotel and three
churches.  He stopped in front of Mrs. Hamilton’s boarding house.  It was a
large white-washed house with gingerbread trim along the gables and a
porch that wrapped around the house.  He climbed the steps to the porch and
rang the bell.

A tall, slender woman opened the door.  Her hair was
as gray as Sam’s, and there were deep smile lines around her generous mouth. 
She smiled at him.  “You must be Flynn!  Sam told to me to save a room for a
red-headed Irishman who looks like he hasn’t eaten in a month.  Come in! 
Come in!  I’m Mrs. Hamilton.”  She stepped back from the door.

“I remember you.  My father brought us here, years
ago.”  Flynn took off his hat and entered the house.  He looked at her more
closely.  “
You’re
the one!”

Mrs. Hamilton blinked.  “The one what?”

“The picture in the locket.  The one Sam carries.”

Mrs. Hamilton’s hand went self-consciously to
her neck, and she blushed.

Flynn ducked his head.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I
shouldn’t have said anything.”

Mrs. Hamilton smiled and patted his arm.  “Oh, don’t
ma’am me.  I’m much too young.”  She winked at him.  She turned and started
toward the stairs that ran up the left side of the hallway.  “I put you in the
room next to Sam.  It has a good view of the street, and it gets the morning
sun.  Breakfast is at five.  Lunch is at noon, and dinner is at seven.  There’s
a jar of cookies in the kitchen if you get hungry in between, but don’t go
telling everyone.  Frank Lennox will eat all of them in one sitting.  There’s a
bowl of fruit in the parlor, too.  Sam is down at the corral, trying to whip
the greenhorns into shape.  He’ll be very glad to see you.”

Flynn followed her up the stairs.  Mrs. Hamilton
opened the door to a small room.  The walls were covered in wallpaper.  Lace
curtains framed large windows that looked out on the street.  There was a
dresser with a pitcher and washbasin on it.  Flynn smiled at her.  “This is a
nice room, Mrs. Hamilton, but I don’t have any money.”

“Sam paid for it in advance.  Besides, you’re only
going to be here a month.”  She patted his arm.  “Now you go downstairs and get
your gear.  At least unpack before you tell Sam that you don’t take charity,
and he tells you that it isn’t.”

Flynn laughed.  “Do you read minds, Mrs. Hamilton?”

“No, but I’ve run a boarding house for a long time
now, so I know how to read people pretty well.”  She turned and left him alone
in the small, clean room.

Flynn went over to the window and looked out.  There
was a general store across the street from the boarding house, and vendors with
pushcarts called out their merchandise.  The normalcy of it all seemed jarring
after Sumter and Elmira.  He turned away from the window and sat on the bed. 
The mattress was soft, and the coverlet was clean, if a little frilly for his
taste.  He stood up and went down the stairs again.  He mounted Scout and rode
toward the corrals near the river.

Sam sat on the top rail of the fence.  “No!  No! 
No!  Jamison, you circle left, and Hargrove, you circle right!”

Flynn grinned at the sight of two city slickers
trying to manage their teams.  He dismounted and climbed the fence.  “Need some
help, Major?”

“Flynn!”  Sam grinned back.  “It’s good to see you,
son!  Did you meet Mrs. Hamilton?”

Flynn nodded.  “Major, I can’t take—“

“Charity.  Son, I knew you’d say that.”  He smiled
at Flynn.  “I’ll tell you what.  Let’s consider it a loan.  Fifty dollars for
the horse, two dollars for the room and two dollars spending money.  I’m going
to pay you two hundred dollars at the end of the trail.  So I’ll just deduct
the loan from your pay.”

Flynn looked away, embarrassed by Sam’s generosity. 
“Thank you.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder.  He cleared his throat noisily. 
“Now, you’d better start earning that pay.  Get your horse settled, and then
come back and teach these idiots how to drive a team.”

“And their left from their right?”  Flynn looked
back at Sam and grinned.

Sam grinned back and nodded.

*  *  *

That night, Flynn climbed the stairs wearily.  He
found hot water waiting for him in the pitcher on the washstand.  A clean shirt
and a pair of neatly mended Levi's lay on the bed.  He shook his head, but he
took off his buckskins and washed up before putting on the clean clothes.  He
looked in the mirror over the dresser.

His face was still thin, but he didn’t look like a
walking skeleton anymore.

Frank Lennox and Ben Brewster sat on one side of the
table, and Sam sat opposite them.  Mrs. Hamilton came in from the kitchen and
sat next to Sam.  “Everything is ready.”  She took Sam’s hand.

One by one, the people around the table joined
hands.

“Sam, will you say the blessing?”  Mrs. Hamilton’s
voice was very soft.

Sam nodded.  He bowed his head and closed his eyes. 
“Lord, thank you for bringing us together again.  Bless us in our endeavors and
bless this wonderful food.  Amen.”

Flynn found himself smiling.  The food did indeed
smell wonderful.  The rolls were so light, he wondered what kept them on the
table.  The meat was good, and there was plenty of it, with pies and cakes for
dessert.  When he was finished, he pushed his chair back from the table and
sighed happily.  “Mrs. Hamilton, that’s the best food I’ve eaten since I was a
boy.”

Mrs. Hamilton beamed.  “Thank you, Flynn.”  She
stood up and helped the serving girl clear the table.

Flynn stood up when she did.  So did Sam.  Ben
punched Frank in the arm, and they stood up too, although a little belatedly. 
Mrs. Hamilton had already disappeared into the kitchen.

Flynn started to follow them into the parlor, but
there were too many people.  He went upstairs to his room.  He undressed and
lay down on the bed.  Despite his exhaustion, when he closed his eyes, he saw
the battlefield at Manassas, littered with bodies.  He sighed and got up.  He
walked to the livery stable.  Scout whickered softly when he smelled Flynn. 
Flynn smiled.  He scratched Scout between the ears.  Then, he took Scout’s
brush from his saddlebag.  He began to brush the stallion in long, slow strokes. 
The motion soothed him a little, and by the time he was finished, he was
yawning.  He walked back to the boarding house and went to bed.

He dreamed of the Hole.  Rain dripped down his back,
and he was cold, so cold.  Then, the guards came and started to beat him.

“Wake up, son.”

Flynn sat up and blinked.  Slowly, the room came
into focus.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed.  “You were having a
nightmare.”

Flynn looked away.  “I’m sorry I bothered you,
Major.”

“It’s no bother, son.  I used to have the same dreams.”

Flynn stared at him.  For the first time, he noticed
the pain in Sam’s eyes.  He drew a deep, shuddering breath.  “What happened?”

Sam shrugged.  “I healed.”

Tears burned Flynn’s eyes.  “I don’t know if I can.”

Sam sighed.  “Son, you are the strongest, most
stubborn man I ever met.  If anyone can beat those demons, it’s you.  Now get
some sleep.  I expect you at the corral come sunup.”  He grinned to take the
edge off his words.

Slowly, tentatively, Flynn smiled back.  “Yes sir.”

Sam patted Flynn’s shoulder.  Then, he turned and
left the room.

When he was gone, Flynn rolled over onto his back
with his arms folded behind his head and thought about what Sam had said.  He
realized that he had begun to heal the day he stepped into the light of Sam’s
fire on Christmas Eve.  At least a little.

He shut his eyes and slept, and this time, he did
not dream.

Flynn woke before dawn.  He dressed quickly.  He
rummaged in his saddlebag and took out the notebook with the names of the
dead.  He put it into his shirt pocket and walked to the corral.

Sam sat on the top rail of the fence, bellowing at a
man who had his reins tangled up like a woman’s knitting yarn.

Flynn grinned, knowing that Sam’s bark was far worse
than his bite.  He vaulted over the fence and took the reins from the man’s
shaking hands.  “Here, let me show you.”

Swiftly, deftly, he untangled the mess.

The older man looked at Flynn with admiration.  “I’ll
never get it right.”

“Maybe not the first time, but with practice, you’ll
be able to hitch up a team faster than it takes your pretty wife to dress for
dinner.”  Flynn smiled at the woman who sat beside her husband.

She smiled back shyly.

The older man held out his hand.  “My name is Tom,
Tom Lessing.  This is my wife, Amy.”

Flynn touched his hat.  “Pleased to meet you.  My
name is Flynn.  Now, here’s how you hold the reins...”

That afternoon, Flynn set up targets outside the
city limits and held target practice in the afternoons while the horses were
resting.  Tom Lessing missed every time.  Flynn waited until the session was
over, and then he went over to him.

Tom Lessing could not meet Flynn’s eyes.  “I know. 
I couldn’t hit the target.”

Flynn raised one eyebrow.  “You know?”

Lessing nodded.  He looked away.  “I fought in the
war.  I—I still have nightmares, Mr. Flynn.”  He turned back to Flynn.  “I see
the faces of the men I killed.”

Flynn drew a deep breath.  “So do I.”

Lessing blinked.  “But you’re a crack shot.”

Flynn nodded.  “I know.  That’s not how it affects
me.  I have a lot of trouble sleeping.”

Lessing nodded slowly.  “What do you do about it?”

Flynn grinned.  “Work hard with thick-headed
city slickers who can’t shoot straight.”

Lessing laughed shortly.  “Thanks, Flynn.  It helps
to laugh about it.”

Flynn nodded back.  He sobered.  “All right, imagine
that’s an outlaw who is intent on hurting your wife.”

Lessing’s expression hardened, and his hand
tightened on his rifle.

Flynn tacked up the target once more.  He walked
back to Lessing and nodded.  Lessing raised his rifle.  He fired until his rifle
was empty.  Flynn checked the target.  He still missed every time.

“How did I do?”  Tom walked toward him.

Flynn crumpled up the paper target.  “Better.  Just
keep practicing.”

Lessing nodded.

*  *  *

April came.  The air grew warmer, and the greenhorns
began to look more like muleskinners and less like schoolmarms.  One morning,
just after sunrise, Flynn leaned on the top rail of the fence and watched as
Tom Lessing hitched up his team in record time.  He grinned.  “You beat your
best time by ten minutes.”

Tom Lessing grinned back.

“All right.  It’s time to load the barges.”  Sam
scowled at Lessing, but Tom was onto him.

“Yes sir, Major, sir.”  Tom touched his hat.

Sam growled, but a grin tugged at the corners of his
mouth, and amusement glinted in his gray eyes.

The wagons rolled out of St. Jo and headed for the
barges that would take them on the first stage of their journey.  Some of the
horses balked at climbing from the docks to the barges, but Tom’s team stepped
smartly onto the deck.

Flynn felt proud of the little man from Toledo.

The first few weeks were uneventful.  When they
neared Lancaster, Frank asked for a halt so that he and the settlers could go
into town for supplies.

Sam agreed.  He turned to Flynn.  “You’re free to go
into town, too.  Just be back day after tomorrow.”

Flynn hesitated.  “I think I’ll scout ahead, Sam. 
If that’s all right with you.”

Sam nodded.  “Sure.  If that’s what you want to do.”

Flynn looked away.  “Yes.”

“All right.”  Sam turned his horse toward the town.

Flynn packed a little food and followed the trail
westward.  He passed a farmhouse with a windmill and climbed Windlass Hill.  On
the other side, the trail narrowed, and trees lined the way.  He turned his
horse northward, toward the sound of rushing water.  When he reached the
waterfall, he waited.

“Hello, little brother.”

Flynn turned.  “Hello, Sees Far.”

Sees Far grinned.  “You’re late.”

Flynn shrugged.  “The greenhorns were harder to
train than I expected.  How are you?”

“Well.  And you?”

“Better.”  Flynn looked down at his hands.  “A
little.”  He looked back at his brother.  “At least I don’t jump at every loud
noise anymore.”

Sees Far nodded.  “I’m getting married in a month.”

Flynn grinned.  “Do I know her?  Is she blind?”

Sees Far laughed, but he sobered quickly.  “No. 
After the massacre, we had to go to other tribes to find wives.  There weren’t
enough women.  Her name is Woman Who Dreams, and she is Dakota.  Sometimes, she
sees the future.”

Flynn whistled.  Among the Lakota, people took that
very seriously.  “Then why didn’t she see you coming and run?”

Sees Far punched Flynn’s arm gently.  “I guess she
thought she could avoid having to marry you this way.”

Flynn laughed.  He grew somber.  “Seriously, how are
our people?”

Sees Far looked away.  “Surviving.”

Flynn sighed.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken this
job.”

“No.  You can make it a little better, a little
easier for our people.  And the old Colonel died.  We have a new one, a young
man who knows the difference between Apache and Lakota.”

“Good.”  Flynn sighed.  “Well, I’d better be getting
back.  Bear In A Man’s Body thinks I’m scouting.”

Sees Far raised one eyebrow.  “Is that what you call
your boss?”

Flynn nodded.  Then, he grinned.  “But not to his
face.”

Sees Far laughed, but he sobered quickly.  “The trail
is clear from here to the bluffs, little brother.  And our people will not
trouble you.”  He held out his hand.