you in the wagon. I’ll tell Doc Moody and pick up some supplies.” She stood up, unable to get enough air into her lungs, though she tried. Leonard took back the cup and drank the thickly creamed coffee.
After a moment, Jordis said, “I’m going to take the train. The morning freight is due here in a few minutes. Willie will find a place for Moon and me in a boxcar.” They embraced fiercely. Then Jordis was gone.
Gustie poured more coffee and again loaded it with cream for Little Bull’s oldest son, the joy of the chief’s heart, the future chief of the Red Sand Dakotah, if they had a future. She fried him some eggs and put a loaf of bread on the table along with bowls of butter and jam.
“Leonard, you eat. I’ll take care of Swallow.”
Gustie led the exhausted stallion inside the barn, toweled him down and covered him with a blanket. Then she hitched Biddie to her wagon.
When she went back inside, only the heel of the bread remained. “I’m going into town and then I’m going to head out to the Red Sand. I want you to get in bed and sleep. When you wake up you can go out and fix some hot bran and molasses for Swallow. You’ll find what you need in the bin against the wall in the barn. There’s plenty of food here for you for at least a week. Make yourself at home. Don’t come back to the reservation until you are rested. Promise?”
The boy nodded.
“I have a friend who will look in on you. Her name is Mary. You’ll like her.”
Gustie had never seen the smallpox, but she had seen its ravages on the survivors—the deep scars that pitted the faces of rich and poor alike. She kept Biddie at a steady pace and tried to keep her own fears and dread from rising any higher. She felt ready to suffocate, even as the cool October wind hit her squarely in the face. She pulled her conductor’s cap down and lifted the collar of her coat.
Just this morning, the dawn had warned her of fire, but she hadn’t recognized the omen. Even if she had, she couldn’t have predicted this. The invisible fire ...so named by those who’d seen it, because the victim’s skin bubbled and burned as if on fire from within. The Indian name, rotting face, was more apt, more descriptive of the raw agonies that lasted for days, even weeks, before the sufferer was released unto merciful death. Gustie did not believe she was ready to confront such a horror.
She had kept the fear at bay while propelled by her sense of urgency and purpose. First she had gone to Doc Moody’s thinking she would be rousing him from his bed. But he was up, packing his last bag and on his way to Gethsemane Church. Mrs. Moody was already there, he said, setting up a temporary surgery. He had received a telegram late yesterday from Dr. Llewellyn. As soon as the young Welshman had diagnosed smallpox, he had telegraphed the surrounding towns as a warning and a cry for help. The sheriff, his deputy and members of the town council were already knocking on doors and posting signs all over town. Every person, without exception, was to come to Gethsemane to be checked and vaccinated if they weren’t already.
Doc Moody had nothing to give Gustie. He said he didn’t know if he would have enough vaccine to handle all the unvaccinated in town until the train came in later in the day. He hoped the vaccine he’d sent for from St. Paul would be on it. Dr. Llewellyn’s supply would be on the same train. It would be unloaded in Wheat Lake. As soon as the population of Charity was vaccinated, he would come out to the reservation to help. Before she could leave, he made Gustie roll up her sleeve and show him her own scar.
Next, Gustie went to Mary Kaiser’s. When Mary opened the door, she looked surprised to see Gustie; she had already been visited by Sheriff Sully. She was dressed and ready to go to Gethsemane. She had been vaccinated. She was going early to see if she could help Mrs. Moody.
Gustie said, “Mary, I need you to check on Leonard, Chief Little
After a moment, Jordis said, “I’m going to take the train. The morning freight is due here in a few minutes. Willie will find a place for Moon and me in a boxcar.” They embraced fiercely. Then Jordis was gone.
Gustie poured more coffee and again loaded it with cream for Little Bull’s oldest son, the joy of the chief’s heart, the future chief of the Red Sand Dakotah, if they had a future. She fried him some eggs and put a loaf of bread on the table along with bowls of butter and jam.
“Leonard, you eat. I’ll take care of Swallow.”
Gustie led the exhausted stallion inside the barn, toweled him down and covered him with a blanket. Then she hitched Biddie to her wagon.
When she went back inside, only the heel of the bread remained. “I’m going into town and then I’m going to head out to the Red Sand. I want you to get in bed and sleep. When you wake up you can go out and fix some hot bran and molasses for Swallow. You’ll find what you need in the bin against the wall in the barn. There’s plenty of food here for you for at least a week. Make yourself at home. Don’t come back to the reservation until you are rested. Promise?”
The boy nodded.
“I have a friend who will look in on you. Her name is Mary. You’ll like her.”
Gustie had never seen the smallpox, but she had seen its ravages on the survivors—the deep scars that pitted the faces of rich and poor alike. She kept Biddie at a steady pace and tried to keep her own fears and dread from rising any higher. She felt ready to suffocate, even as the cool October wind hit her squarely in the face. She pulled her conductor’s cap down and lifted the collar of her coat.
Just this morning, the dawn had warned her of fire, but she hadn’t recognized the omen. Even if she had, she couldn’t have predicted this. The invisible fire ...so named by those who’d seen it, because the victim’s skin bubbled and burned as if on fire from within. The Indian name, rotting face, was more apt, more descriptive of the raw agonies that lasted for days, even weeks, before the sufferer was released unto merciful death. Gustie did not believe she was ready to confront such a horror.
She had kept the fear at bay while propelled by her sense of urgency and purpose. First she had gone to Doc Moody’s thinking she would be rousing him from his bed. But he was up, packing his last bag and on his way to Gethsemane Church. Mrs. Moody was already there, he said, setting up a temporary surgery. He had received a telegram late yesterday from Dr. Llewellyn. As soon as the young Welshman had diagnosed smallpox, he had telegraphed the surrounding towns as a warning and a cry for help. The sheriff, his deputy and members of the town council were already knocking on doors and posting signs all over town. Every person, without exception, was to come to Gethsemane to be checked and vaccinated if they weren’t already.
Doc Moody had nothing to give Gustie. He said he didn’t know if he would have enough vaccine to handle all the unvaccinated in town until the train came in later in the day. He hoped the vaccine he’d sent for from St. Paul would be on it. Dr. Llewellyn’s supply would be on the same train. It would be unloaded in Wheat Lake. As soon as the population of Charity was vaccinated, he would come out to the reservation to help. Before she could leave, he made Gustie roll up her sleeve and show him her own scar.
Next, Gustie went to Mary Kaiser’s. When Mary opened the door, she looked surprised to see Gustie; she had already been visited by Sheriff Sully. She was dressed and ready to go to Gethsemane. She had been vaccinated. She was going early to see if she could help Mrs. Moody.
Gustie said, “Mary, I need you to check on Leonard, Chief Little
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