Swim the River Read online

  Swim the River

  by Stephy Smith

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  SWIM THE RIVER

  Copyright © 2012 STEPHY SMITH

  ISBN 978-1-62135-013-2

  Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee

  Edited by Niko Silvester

  1889

  Chapter One

  Amelia stomped across the wooden porch. She clenched the folds of her ankle-length skirt in one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other. “What’s the meaning of this?” She thrust the letter into Jerome’s chest.

  “Ma, Pa, she’s been in my stuff again.” Jerome caught the letter before it hit the ground.

  She glanced at her parents, Emma and Kale Tucker, and her temper flared even more at their unreadable expressions. Tears filled her eyes.

  “You can’t let him leave. You just can’t!” Amelia ran to where her grandmother rocked in her chair. She dropped to her knees before Woman With Small Voice.

  “Grandmother, tell them he’s just a boy. He can’t leave us.” Amelia’s tears flowed down her cheeks to dampen her grandmother’s doeskin dress.

  Woman With Small Voice stroked Amelia’s hair. Overpowering loneliness settled in the pit of Amelia’s belly. Sobs racked her body, like a quake shaking the mountain.

  “Ma’ enetse is no boy. He is a man.”

  The soft flowing words of her grandmother’s betrayal stung Amelia’s chest. She jerked her head up and glared at the wrinkled face.

  “Yes, he is, Grandmother. I mean no disrespect, but he isn’t old enough to venture to Washington, D.C., alone.” Amelia stood up to leave but paused for a few moments.

  “You are just a girl. What do you know?”

  The weathered look on her face and penetrating stare of the Cheyenne woman added to the anger boiling in Amelia’s veins. Her hope to keep her brother from making a big mistake with his life didn’t seem to matter to anyone but her. She clenched her fist.

  “I am not just a girl. I’m a woman.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Anovaoo ‘o, your brother was born first. If he is just a boy, then you are just a girl. You’re younger than he is by a few minutes.” The old woman raised one brow.

  Amelia whirled around, gathered her skirt, and stomped into the log cabin. Glancing up, she raised her foot and climbed the ladder to the loft bedroom she shared with her brother. With a furious tug, she pulled the buffalo skin shut between the two beds, refusing to look at his side of the room.

  Too many memories filled the small loft. Not a day had gone by that they hadn’t shared a laugh, worried together, or comforted each other in some way. She paced the length of her bed trying to make sense of the reason her family thought it was so all-fired important for Jerome to go on this mission. Memories flashed through her mind as if they were a lightning storm with thin bolts spreading across the sky.

  How could her parents let him travel so far away from home? She fell across the bed, sobs quivering through her body. All alone, he would cross dangerous territory. He could be killed, robbed, or kidnapped— like her mother had been when she first came to Colorado. Didn’t her parents care what happened to him? As a family, they had faced tragedy before, but this time it was different.

  What if Jerome liked the east coast? He might never come back. What if he got hurt? How long would he lie on the mountain or prairie before someone found him? Why was she the only one who could see how disastrous this could turn out? She shook her head. No! She couldn’t allow herself to think the worst.

  The echo of booted feet clattered on the ladder. Tilting her head, she waited for someone to appear, although she knew it was her brother by the thud of his steps. Years of listening to him climb to the loft, letting his feet fall hard upon the rungs had irritated her, but also had warned her in advance in case she was changing clothes.

  “Amelia? Can I come in?”

  “Go away, Jerome.” Amelia grabbed the quilt and covered her face. The noise of his voice grated on her nerves. How could he talk to her as if nothing was happening, when in a matter of days he would leave? Leave the home they shared and start a life of his own. Never in all her life had she thought this day would come. Her own dreams were nothing more than just that—dreams.

  Why would he want to leave his family? Since birth, they’d constantly been together except when she helped her mother. She remembered the times she’d traveled to the mountain with her mother and grandmother to gather herbs. Her body shuddered as she recalled the stories she’d been told. Horrible, wicked stories of how soldiers had attacked the Cheyenne people at Sand Creek.

  The Indians were camped under the truce flag when the soldiers attacked the village. Her mother revealed accounts she had read in the old newspapers of the blatant callousness and humiliation of displaying scalps and other body parts on the bayonets, saddle horns and dangling from the manes of the horses, and then paraded through Denver with the citizens cheering them on.

  In her mind, Jerome was setting himself up to be the next victim of the cruelty existing in the outside world. An existence, neither she nor he had experienced with their carefully-guarded childhoods. They were raised on the mountain, away from the fort. Their mother or father always escorted them when they had the opportunity to enter their grandfather’s trading post.

  Had Father and Grandfather told Jerome the same stories? Even though Morgan was no longer around, that didn’t mean there wasn’t another evil man lurking in the area. She recalled the story of the trapper who had shot her mother then rolled her almost lifeless body into the frigid water of the river. Her mother had made the journey west to teach school at Fort Collins. The commander’s brother, Harvey Morgan, had kidnapped Emma while she was writing a letter. He hauled her up the mountain and chained her to the wall of his cabin. When she escaped, Morgan’s temper flared, and he shot her in the chest.

  A shiver worked its way down Amelia’s body. Even though her father had rescued her mother from the river, the thought of the evil scared her. It didn’t mean there was a happy ending for all the victims subjected to the wickedness of the world she knew little of. Moisture stung her eyes. She wasn’t willing or ready to let her brother go, no matter what the rest of the family felt or said.

  “I’m coming in,” Jerome called. The buffalo robe slid open. His dark, green-eyed gaze softened.

  “I don’t understand you. After all our family has been through, how can you desert us? Why would you risk your life to travel so far from home?” The words flowed from her mouth cold and harsh. She regretted being so hard on him, but couldn’t keep her anger contained as she glared into his eyes.

  “I’ve talked with Ma and Pa about Washington, D.C. They think it’s a good idea. So do Grandmother and Grandfather.” His brows furrowed, and he reached for Amelia’s hand.

  “It’s not fair. If something happens to you—”

  “Nothing will happen to me. Why would you entertain a notion like that?” Jerome shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Ma and Pa took it hard when Beth was born dead, then Andrew died of pneumonia. Grace, Katie and George, caught the fever and are no longer with us. Now you want to traipse into dangerous territory and get yourself k
illed too. What do you think would happen to them if they lost you?” She yanked her hand free of his.

  “I don’t want to leave any more than you want me to. I have to go. The elders of the tribe think I can help keep the Cheyenne people from extinction. Look at what the whites did to them at Sand Creek, Amelia. The government hands out rotten rations to our people. Skinny and half-starved, they are banned from hunting to feed the children.”

  “I have been thinking about Sand Creek and what happened to Ma. What about the trading post? Who will help Grandfather after you leave?” She bit her lip to stop the quiver. The question was invalid, and she knew it. Long before her mother arrived in the area, her grandfather ran the trading post almost singlehandedly.

  “Grandmother has always been there, and Ma said she’ll help them when she doesn’t go with Pa to retrieve his furs. This is a big opportunity for many southern tribes. I wish you could understand I’m not doing this for me.” His white teeth flashed through his upturned lips. “Besides, nothing can happen to me, as I doubt you and Rising Wolf could carry my body to the cemetery.” Deep dimples creased his cheeks.

  Amelia focused on the vision of Rising Wolf dancing in her brain. Excitement coursed through her veins setting her insides to tingle. The figure of the broad-shouldered, half-Cheyenne, half-Sioux warrior with black eyes, long straight nose and high cheekbones framed by black braids invaded her mind. She shook her head to clear the image.

  Rising Wolf’s constant gaze would follow her around the village when they would visit. Several times in the past he had approached her then turned away without saying a word. At times his eyes softened, and she thought she had seen a smile on his face. Her heart had skipped a beat just like it had now.

  There was never a doubt concerning the attraction she had for the man. Jerome knew how to manipulate her mood and twist it into the one he wanted to deal with. She refused to let him turn things around this time. This had nothing to do with Rising Wolf, and it was underhanded of him to try to divert her attention to the man.

  “What does he have to do with all this? He won’t help carry you.” A flutter in her chest choked off her breath. “What about Little Snowbird? Have you told her?”

  Without a word, Jerome jumped from the bed and scurried down the ladder. Hot on his heels, Amelia followed.

  “By the time I return, you will have conquered Rising Wolf and have several children of your own,” Jerome called over his shoulder as his feet hit the floor below.

  “Rising Wolf! I wish you wouldn’t mention his name. And you never answered me.” She hurried to keep up with him. Her thoughts raced to Pine Ridge, South Dakota, and Rising Wolf’s family living there. Another image of him formed in her mind, and heat rushed to her cheeks.

  Rising Wolf’s wild nature sent shivers of pleasure to her soul. She often wondered what kind of effect it would have on her if she ran her hands over his tight muscles. The way they flexed as she watched when he played his warrior games came to her mind. A tingle worked its way to the surface of her skin.

  She recalled a few instances when they were younger. More than once, he had followed her to the river to collect water. On those occasions he stood close enough she could breathe in the freshness of the mountain and horse sweat. Trembling, she had stood on her toes and brushed her lips across his. When the heat rushed up her face, she quickly turned and walked away. She could feel his gaze follow her back to the camp. She laughed at her boldness and innocence of those days a few years back.

  The confusion and questions in his eyes frightened her at the time. Did he like the kiss or was it repulsive to him? She couldn’t tell. Now she dreamed of more than stolen kisses by the river. Dreams she should dismiss as a juvenile crush, for she knew she could never have him to share her love. Still, her heart pounded and her knees grew weak when he glanced her way.

  Besides, there were too many women in his village to compete with. He wouldn’t look twice at a half-white squaw. The men at the fort sure didn’t. Although she’d made a few visits to his village, she didn’t know much about a woman’s role within his tribe. The one thing she was sure of, Rising Wolf would pick a wife to give him favor among the warriors.

  It wouldn’t be her. He would find a woman with strong medicine to boost his morale competency on the battlefield and on hunts. Someone he could trust with his life. Her white blood stopped her hopes. She fought to shake free of the fascination Rising Wolf instilled in her. She didn’t have time to daydream of him. Thoughts of him clouded the problem at hand. Only one thing mattered, and that was to convince Jerome he couldn’t leave.

  “I have to talk to Ma and Pa.” Jerome ran out the door toward the garden. Amelia gave chase, stopping close to where their grandmother sat.

  The pure smell of fresh moisture from winter snows floated on a slight breeze. Sun rays glistened through treetops to cast shadows dancing on the earth. Spring was crisp and beautiful on the mountain. A steady visit of newborn fawns wobbling close to their mothers filtered in and out of the clear patch of ground near the riverbank. Young eagles soared through the air, screeching their calls as if to say look at me. Squirrels scampered through the branches of trees. Tiny rabbits twitched their noses and jumped in the air, twisting and turning as if they were playing a game of tag.

  “I need horses,” Jerome said on a rush of breath, sweat dripping from beneath the brim of his hat. He pushed it back and swiped his arm across his forehead.

  A faint giggle erupted from Woman With Small Voice, who had moved to the shade of the barn. “Cheater, you can’t buy horses. You have to go catch them. Show Little Snowbird Seheso what kind of man you are. Little Snowbird wants you to prove you are worthy of her love.”

  Jerome pivoted on his heel to face his grandmother. “How do you know I need horses for her? I may want to take them east with me.” Dimples creased his cheeks, a blush sweeping his face.

  “I am old, not blind.” She wagged a crooked finger of warning at Jerome.

  Amelia’s mood lightened at the fun-loving banter between the two. Long strides carried Jerome to her side. He bent and kissed his grandmother’s cheek.

  Amelia tried to hold on to the hurt, to stay mad at her twin brother, but it was useless. He meant the world to her, and he was set on traveling to Washington, D.C., even though the thought threatened to rip her world apart.

  If he could understand her dilemma, maybe he would stay. He was her best friend and confidant. She already stung with loneliness pummeling her insides. Her head lowered shamefully to her chest. She didn’t want to be an only child.

  “How can I be so selfish? Jerome has the same right to happiness as I do,” she whispered into the wind. Tears formed in her eyes as she took one last glance at her brother, then headed into the barn.

  A bay gelding popped his head over the stall gate. She held the bridle in her hand, placed it on the horse's head, and secured the clasp under his neck. With a snap of her wrist, she opened the gate and set the saddle on his back. If Jerome wanted horses, she would help him get them. Determined, she led the horse from the barn and handed Jerome the reins.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, taking the leather straps she offered.

  “You’re on your way to find horses. You’ll need help catching them. Or are you going to the fort to buy them?” Whirling around, she strolled over to her grandmother.

  Jerome followed. “How many will I need, Grandmother?”

  “Thirty, fifty.” Eyes twinkling, she waved a hand in front of her face. “I don’t remember, but your grandfather gave eighty horses for me. I’ve made sure he’s been a happy man for many years.” The old woman slapped a flat palm against her chest and straightened her hunched shoulders.

  Amelia smiled at the old woman’s happy expression.

  “How did he catch them?” Jerome furrowed his brow. He kicked a rock on the ground. His love for Little Snowbird etched on his face.

  Not a day passed that he failed to mention how he would win his love’s affection.
If Rising Wolf showed half the interest in Amelia as Jerome did Little Snowbird, she would be happy. Woman With Small Voice snapped her from her daydream when she spoke.

  “He rode high upon the mountain, by a beautiful waterfall set in a meadow with green grass all around. Horses grazed peacefully on the grass, but his white blood made him greedy. All the horses ran away.” Woman With Small Voice paused, a distant look in her eyes.

  Jerome’s eyes brightened. “Are they still there?”

  Amelia stood with her head lowered, listening. She lifted her eyes as Jerome mounted the gelding and urged it toward the mountain path.

  “How long do you think it will take him to realize you fabricated that story, Grandmother?”

  “He's a smart man. We will see.” A chuckle escaped her to float on the air.

  Amelia patted her grandmother’s shoulder. “You are a sneaky woman.” She covered her own giggle with her hand.

  “Don’t you have chores to do? Go think on you and Rising Wolf. Leave me alone to sleep.” A smile played softly on her grandmother’s mouth, giving her an almost youthful appearance.

  It was too early in the day to think of Rising Wolf, how his chest rippled with movement as he held her heart captive. Or how his golden-hued skin danced in the sunlight as he cleared a path past the women in his village. She remembered watching how each maiden would stop her chores to gawk at him. The memories still brought about a tinge of jealousy. In a dream state, Amelia moved toward the nearby stream. She recalled the rumor of him being in search of a wife.

  Her body shook with delight until his image faded, and with the realization that she would never be his, her heart sank. What was on everyone’s mind, bringing Rising Wolf into her thoughts all morning? Were they privy to some secret she wasn’t allowed to know? With a forearm, she wiped perspiration from her brow and started scrubbing the laundry.

  ****