Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,39
forehead with a soiled kerchief, Jeb stepped away from his team. He tried to appear relaxed as he quickly stepped from row to row of the newly plowed field toward the house. He whistled sharply, relieved when Marjorie appeared in the doorway of the house, his rifle tucked under her arm.
When the rider came closer and Jeb recognized Daniel Two Stars, he relaxed momentarily. But then he realized the “blanket” draped in front of the scout was a dead Indian. “You all right?” Jeb asked abruptly.
Daniel nodded. “I wanted—” He choked up and sat staring down at the body. He sat for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath he laid his hand on Otter’s back and said, “This man was my friend. If I take him back to the fort, they will—”
“They’ll likely scalp him like they did Little Crow,” Jeb said quickly.
Daniel swallowed hard. He looked away as he said, “You said your family never hated Indians. I wondered—”
“Of course you can bury your friend here,” Marjorie said abruptly. She looked at her husband. “Can’t he, Jeb?”
Jeb looked surprised, but he hesitated only a moment before nodding toward the barn. “There’s a big oak tree just up the rise there. Shades a big flat rock. There’s a spring—”
“I know the place,” Daniel said. He slid off the stallion and stood leaning against the animal’s side for a moment.
Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll—I’ll have supper waiting when you—when you come back down the hill,” she said softly and disappeared back inside the house.
“There’s a shovel just inside the barn door,” Jeb said, nodding up the hill. “I’ll be along directly.”
Daniel led the stallion to the barn door. Reaching inside, he retrieved the shovel and headed up the hill. Tears nearly blinded him as he began to dig. He had barely marred the earth when Jeb Grant led his team into the barn. It wasn’t long before Jeb climbed the hill, another shovel in hand, and took his place alongside Daniel.
Pointing at a small white cross a few feet away, Jeb said abruptly, “Our baby.” He stabbed the earth and turned another shovel full before adding, “It was a boy. He lived half a day.” He inhaled sharply and blinked back tears.
Before Daniel could say anything Marjorie appeared around the corner of the barn, a tattered quilt folded over her arm. “I don’t know what the right customs are,” she said shyly. “But if you wanted to wrap him—” She held out the quilt.
Jeb stood his shovel up in the mound of earth beside the open grave. Putting his arm around his wife, he said to Daniel, “You come have supper when you’re done. We’ll wait.” They walked down the hill and disappeared inside the cabin.
When Daniel had shoveled the last bit of earth over his friend’s body, he knelt beside the grave. He held his hands open and sat quietly for a few minutes before getting up and walking down the hill.
He found Jeb inside the barn, forking fresh hay into a stall where the stallion stood, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I thought if anybody came looking for you,” Jeb explained, “they maybe oughtn’t to see your friend’s horse. At least not until you know what you’re going to do.”
“I sent the soldier who was with me back to the fort to get Big Amos and Richard Lawrence,” Daniel said woodenly. The stallion stepped close, nuzzling at one of Daniel’s hands. Daniel stroked the white velvet muzzle and the horse pressed its forehead against his chest, demanding to have his ears rubbed.
“The soldier killed your friend?”
Daniel nodded. “Otter knocked him off his horse. Counted coup and came after me. Then he recognized me. We were just talking when Jensen shot him.”
“This Jensen sounds like a fine example of manhood,” Jeb said sarcastically.
Daniel shrugged. “He hates Indians.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Otter shouldn’t have been in this part of the country.”
Together the men went to the house. Jeb sat down at the head of the table. Marjorie ladled up stew and then handed Jeb a Bible. Jeb took her hand and read,
Lord, make me to know mine end,
and the measure of my days, what it is;
that I may know how frail I am.
Behold, thou hast make my days as a hand breadth;
and mine age is as nothing before thee:
verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity.