paid attention when Walt brought her here? Could she find her way back across all those miles her parents? Was Walt really dead? What about her baby? Overwhelmed by everything, she buried her face in her hands, her body trembling.
Lone Eagle was right. She’d never survive alone, and had the baby to think about, not just herself. In a desperate moment, she replayed the crossing of the prairie over and over in her head, trying to imagine in which direction the sun rose. She tried to remember a landmark, any landmark, which might guide her home to her parents. Asking Lone Eagle to take her back to Silver City was absurd. She didn’t even know if it lay to the east, north, south, or west, besides, an Indian wouldn’t be a welcome sight in any town—especially since local newspapers carried news of an uprising somewhere in Montana called the Bozeman Trail. She couldn’t recall all the details, but did remember that the articles said awful things about red-skinned people. Strangely, so far she hadn’t seen bad behavior by Lone Eagle, and in the presence of a lone woman, he’d certainly had a chance to display the heathenness the news depicted.
Grasping at straws, she thought perhaps she could find Castroville, but even Walt, with all his experience in crossing the prairie, had not successfully made that journey.
Thoughts tumbled through her mind, and she weighed the consequences of staying against going with Lone Eagle, and in the end she agreed with him. Even if she managed to survive the winter at home, she couldn’t birth a child alone. She had to accompany him. Going was her only option. The final realization that her life with Walt was over was a bitter pill to swallow, but she nodded at Lone Eagle and forced a smile.
The remaining days of the week, she spent preparing for the trip—packing the little remaining food, gathering warm clothing and blankets, and deciding what to take along on horseback. Sitting on the floor, she packed her valise with personal items, thanking God Walt had invested in the extra mares. Lone Eagles’ horse was long gone and probably wouldn’t have borne two people and all the supplies for very long.
She set Bossie and the other animals free to fend for themselves. Cecile struggled to block the image of Walt’s prideful smile when they brought the menagerie home. She longed to take the cow but Lone Eagle insisted they’d travel easier without her.
Glancing around the scant room, she thought it ironic to feel so sad at leaving a home she'd hated at first sight. What was to become of her now? Would she ever see her mother and father again? How could she let them know what had happened to her? They must have received her letter, if Walt had mailed it—that missive that colored such a rosy future. Fighting to accept her new destiny, she curled up with Walt’s pillow and after fighting most of the night with fearful images and expectations, fell into a troubled sleep.
The sun was barely creeping over the horizon when Lone Eagle woke her. While she brought everything they were taking except her valise onto the porch, he led the horses out of the barn and tied the supplies to their backs. He moved swiftly and without a sound. The rooster crowed, breaking the stillness of the morning. Despite finding the sound annoying in the past, Cecile would miss it. Walt had so loved that stupid bird. Tears welled again. Her every image conjured up visions of Walt, even with her acceptance of his demise.
She opened the chicken pen for the last time and scattered feed on the ground, all the while keeping an eye on the feathered menace’s whereabouts. She didn’t bother to close the door. Afterwards, she tugged at the pigsty’s stubborn gateway to allow the mud-covered animal to wander into the yard. In the barn, she opened Bossie’s confining stall. The patchwork repairs she'd helped Walt complete stood out from the weathered wood and reminded her how happy he’d been when the
Lone Eagle was right. She’d never survive alone, and had the baby to think about, not just herself. In a desperate moment, she replayed the crossing of the prairie over and over in her head, trying to imagine in which direction the sun rose. She tried to remember a landmark, any landmark, which might guide her home to her parents. Asking Lone Eagle to take her back to Silver City was absurd. She didn’t even know if it lay to the east, north, south, or west, besides, an Indian wouldn’t be a welcome sight in any town—especially since local newspapers carried news of an uprising somewhere in Montana called the Bozeman Trail. She couldn’t recall all the details, but did remember that the articles said awful things about red-skinned people. Strangely, so far she hadn’t seen bad behavior by Lone Eagle, and in the presence of a lone woman, he’d certainly had a chance to display the heathenness the news depicted.
Grasping at straws, she thought perhaps she could find Castroville, but even Walt, with all his experience in crossing the prairie, had not successfully made that journey.
Thoughts tumbled through her mind, and she weighed the consequences of staying against going with Lone Eagle, and in the end she agreed with him. Even if she managed to survive the winter at home, she couldn’t birth a child alone. She had to accompany him. Going was her only option. The final realization that her life with Walt was over was a bitter pill to swallow, but she nodded at Lone Eagle and forced a smile.
The remaining days of the week, she spent preparing for the trip—packing the little remaining food, gathering warm clothing and blankets, and deciding what to take along on horseback. Sitting on the floor, she packed her valise with personal items, thanking God Walt had invested in the extra mares. Lone Eagles’ horse was long gone and probably wouldn’t have borne two people and all the supplies for very long.
She set Bossie and the other animals free to fend for themselves. Cecile struggled to block the image of Walt’s prideful smile when they brought the menagerie home. She longed to take the cow but Lone Eagle insisted they’d travel easier without her.
Glancing around the scant room, she thought it ironic to feel so sad at leaving a home she'd hated at first sight. What was to become of her now? Would she ever see her mother and father again? How could she let them know what had happened to her? They must have received her letter, if Walt had mailed it—that missive that colored such a rosy future. Fighting to accept her new destiny, she curled up with Walt’s pillow and after fighting most of the night with fearful images and expectations, fell into a troubled sleep.
The sun was barely creeping over the horizon when Lone Eagle woke her. While she brought everything they were taking except her valise onto the porch, he led the horses out of the barn and tied the supplies to their backs. He moved swiftly and without a sound. The rooster crowed, breaking the stillness of the morning. Despite finding the sound annoying in the past, Cecile would miss it. Walt had so loved that stupid bird. Tears welled again. Her every image conjured up visions of Walt, even with her acceptance of his demise.
She opened the chicken pen for the last time and scattered feed on the ground, all the while keeping an eye on the feathered menace’s whereabouts. She didn’t bother to close the door. Afterwards, she tugged at the pigsty’s stubborn gateway to allow the mud-covered animal to wander into the yard. In the barn, she opened Bossie’s confining stall. The patchwork repairs she'd helped Walt complete stood out from the weathered wood and reminded her how happy he’d been when the
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