Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,57

assembly. It was a short sermon, for which Leighton was grateful. After the man spoke, several individuals in the congregation stood up. It did not take Elliot long to realize he was witnessing some kind of personal testimonial service. Singing followed for nearly an hour before the assembly broke up and people trudged home.

After sundown, Elliot joined Simon and fellow missionary John Masters, impressed by the latter’s obvious level of education coupled with a passion for his ministry among the Dakota. Masters said, “I wish we had gotten decent housing in time for the Misses Williams and Huggins to join us. The people are fairly clamoring for instruction, both in God’s Word and in the basic skills.”

“Surely you wouldn’t bring women here,” Leighton said brusquely. He looked around at the crude buildings inside the stockade.

“Their presence would be a great comfort,” Masters said quietly. “Miss Williams was a particular favorite at Hazelwood station. She’s a gifted teacher. Once winter arrives in full force, there will be hours and hours of idle time. It would be an excellent opportunity to reach some of the adults.”

“What about the children?” Leighton asked.

Masters stared at him for a moment before saying carefully, “There aren’t many left.”

Leighton swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I—” He looked at Simon. “I guess you did write that. I just didn’t think—”

“You thought I was exaggerating,” Simon said. “Most people do.” He sat back. “That’s why this abominable situation is allowed to continue.” He made a fist and pounded the table gently. “We need someone in the East making the citizens aware of things here. Someone trustworthy who has a heart for the Indian.” He willed his voice to sound calmer. “I cannot but think that if people knew the extent of the suffering here, something would change.” He sighed. “But in the immediate, there’s nothing we can do but hunker down and face the winter.” His face brightened. “We must pray that the hunting expedition is successful.”

Leighton had thought Simon was speaking in a metaphorical sense. To his surprise, both missionaries immediately bowed their heads and without hesitation prayed aloud, asking God to send game their way.

In the morning, Elliot woke and staggered, half asleep, out of the tent he and Simon inhabited. Simon was nowhere to be seen. Presently, a group of natives gathered on a hillside just beyond the cluster of lodges where Mother Friend lived. Leighton pulled on his dark blue coat and, turning the collar up against his neck, climbed the hill to find Simon down in a hole, shovel in hand. Beside the hole lay what was obviously a dead body wrapped in a threadbare blanket.

Mother Friend came to Leighton’s side. “Buffalo Moon,” she said tersely.

Leighton thought for a moment. “I’m sorry. I wish Simon and I had arrived sooner.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Mother Friend said. “She had lost the will to live. Her husband is in prison. When her son died last week, she had nothing left to keep her spirit on the earth.”

The mourners gathered around the open grave listening as Simon read from the Dakota Bible. A cold wind picked up as they listened, lifting hair off shoulders, sending a collective shiver through the crowd wrapped in moth-eaten buffalo robes and worn blankets.

Sixteen

For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the scriptures might have hope.

—Romans 15:4

He rode toward the setting sun through familiar territory. Every year until he had lived at least a dozen winters, Daniel had been part of the mile-long trail of women and children following mounted warriors west on the fall buffalo hunt. Glancing behind him at the white stallion, he imagined the joyous shouts of his friends as they chased down a thundering herd. Astride such a magnificent animal, he would have been the envy of every one of his friends. Now, it was so still he could hear the dry grass crackle with the bay gelding’s every stride.

He wondered if any of his childhood friends were out there at Crow Creek. The scouts had heard rumors about it from the few wanderers they had brought in to Fort Ridgely over the past few months. It was hard to believe things could be as bad as the wanderers said. But then a unit of soldiers returned from what they called the “Moscow Expedition.” What they said about Crow Creek made the men shudder.

Thank God I didn’t have to go there.

Daniel remembered Robert’s challenge, “Can you think of nothing