The Bride Wore Feathers (43 page)

June 27, 1876

Dominique paced up and down in her small cabin on the steamship, the
Far West.
As she walked, she loosened the collar of the shirt she'd borrowed from an officer, and then eyed her buckskin wedding dress, which lay on the bunk. The heat was especially stifling in the confines of the cabin. But here she was, decently covered in a man's long-sleeved flannel shirt and a skirt hastily thrown together from one of the ship's fine tablecloths. Again she eyed the more comfortable buckskins, then sighed and crossed over to the porthole.

Where was Jacob? she asked herself for the thousandth time. What had become of her uncles? She stared out at the Little Bighorn River and at the calm waters and un- scarred landscape where the ship was docked. Only a few miles upriver, the battle still raged. The memories of the horrors she'd witnessed added to the perspiration on her brow. Hoping to catch a gust of fresh air, Dominique pushed the porthole open. The minute her fingertips touched glass, the crew below began shouting. She froze.

A horse burst through the bushes near the water's edge. Dominique lurched against the glass panel, her heart thundering in her ears, and strained for a better view. Then she noticed the lathered animal carried a naked Indian. Dominique watched, dry-mouthed, as the savage waved his rifle, but she slumped with relief when the crew members surrounded him in greeting.

"Sioux, Sioux, Sioux," the Indian screamed as he fell to the ground.

Dominique ran out of her room to the top deck of the steamship. Leaning outward, she shouted down at the men below. "Captain Marsh? Please, Captain Marsh. What's happened? Is there word from the Seventh?"

The ship's pilot turned and regarded the panic-stricken woman. Holding up his hand to her, he whispered to a crew member so that Dominique would not hear his words. "What's Curly trying to tell us, Baker?"

The crewman shrugged as he studied the stick figures the Indian was drawing in the dirt. "I'm not sure, Captain."

"Sioux, Sioux.
Absaroka.
Boom, boom," the savage shouted, stabbing his finger into his chest. "Boom, boom,
absaroka."

"Oh, hell, Captain. He's talking about the cavalry. I think he's trying to say we've been whipped."

Marsh glanced up at Dominique, then shook his head. "I can't tell her that on the word of a half-crazed Indian, especially after what she must have gone through in that Sioux camp. Try not to look so damned upset. Pretend he's just babbling on about nothing of any consequence."

Changing expressions as he turned back to the ship, the captain smiled up toward the railing. "It's nothing, Miss DuBois. Just one of your uncle's Crow scouts who got separated from the main group. You go back to your cabin and rest now. I'll be sure to inform you when I hear any news about your family."

But Dominique knew there was something more, some horrible news the Indian was trying to tell them about. Disheartened, she turned and slowly walked back to her cabin. Beyond tears, she stretched out on the narrow bunk, and tried to find a way to escape from the nightmare her life had become.

She slept in snatches, always alert to the slightest sound, and worked at filling her mind with hope. When the dawn broke, Dominique rose and crossed over to the porthole.

She was staring out, remembering her past, wondering what was left of her future, when again the quiet was shattered. A single frantic rider exploded through the willow thickets. This time the stranger wore the uniform of a soldier. And this time she was unable to move.

Certain she couldn't bear to hear his message, Dominique waited in her quarters. Her eyes dull, her hopes reduced to a bare flicker, she observed as the crew helped the exhausted man from his horse.

After a few moments, Captain Marsh looked up toward her window. He quickly turned away, then started up the gangplank.

Dominique swallowed hard, knowing he would soon bring her the news she'd been dreading. Holding her head high, she marched to her door and opened it, then stood there waiting to receive him.

Captain Marsh approached the cabin and uttered a gasp as he realized the door was open. "Oh, Miss DuBois, excuse me, I don't mean to intrude."

"Please come in, Captain. I've been expecting you," she said, her voice sounding as if it belonged to someone else. "I have a feeling you finally have some news for me."

Marsh removed his hat, bowing his gray head as he tried to find the right words. "Yes, I'm afraid I do. Why don't you have a seat?"

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind. Please, just tell me what you've found out. What's happened?"

"Well, it's just terrible, ma'am. I don't know how I can even tell you after the dreadful experience you've already been through as a captive—"

"Why don't you forget about what did or didn't happen to me in the Sioux camp, Captain?" she said angrily. "I have. Now please tell me. Do you have news of my uncle and the Seventh?"

Unable to look her in the eye, Captain Marsh took a deep breath and finally spit it out. "I'm afraid that, to a man, your uncle's troops were wiped out. I'm sorry I couldn't bring better news."

Dominique choked back a sob. "What do you mean, to a man? Where's my uncle Armstrong? I demand to see him at once."

"Please, Miss DuBois. Please sit down. Let me get you some water."

"I don't want water, I want my uncle."
I want Jacob.
Dominique swallowed another sob.

"Please, ma'am. If you'll just sit."

"Captain, I said I want to see my uncle."

"Yes, ma'am I know you did, but I'm afraid you didn't hear me. You uncle—uncles,
"
he corrected, "are all dead, killed by the Sioux."

Dominique sucked in a breath so painful she thought it might crack her ribs. She pressed her hand to her mouth and turned away, speaking through her fingers. "And Boston? Boston, too?"

The captain brushed his hand across his eyes as he gave her a slow, painful nod. "Both Boston and Tom. I thought I had talked Bos out of going. He told me he'd stay behind and play poker with me on the ship. I don't know what made him decide to mount up and ride off with the rest of them. I really liked that boy."

"And Cousin Autie?" she managed through a throat barely able to perform. "Was he with Uncle Armstrong's men?"

"Autie Reed? Yes, I'm afraid so. He's gone, too," he said quietly.

A sudden rage swooped over her, spun her around, and sent her flying at the captain with talons of fury. "How could you let Autie and Boston go?" she demanded through a heart-wrenching sob. "They were so young, so full of fun. They never had a chance to live. Don't you understand?
They never lived."

The captain just stood there, allowing her to pound her fists against his chest until she'd exhausted her anger. When she finished, and stood before him panting for breath, Marsh held out his arms to receive her trembling body.

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?"