why I waited.
So I didn’t.
Nellie nickered when I entered the barn, the moon beaming streams of pale light through the cracks in the barn wall. The smell of hay comforted. “We’re going for a night ride.” Iwhispered the words. I knew the river would be fordable and I wouldn’t need to wake Kirk’s ferryman. I also didn’t want to take the new covered bridge, as Nellie’s hooves echoed in the structure. She didn’t like it either. The plodding of Nellie through the stream might wake the ferryman, but I doubted it. Even if he heard it he’d have no reason for alarm. And the moon would light my path.
I saddled Nellie, tied the quilt rolled up behind the saddle, found the stump I used to mount, slipped my leg onto the knee brace of the sidesaddle, leaned down to push the door open, rode through. I eased the door closed, though couldn’t reach to hook it shut. I hoped the wind wouldn’t blow it open or my father would see it early and notice Nellie—and then me—gone. I wanted as much lead time as I could manage.
“Whatcha doing?”
I twisted my head. “Henry Hart. What are you doing out of bed?”
“I guess I’m old enough to be up before sunrise.”
“It’s a long way ’til then. Go back to bed.”
“Heading to Andrew’s, are you? I could ride with you, keep you company.”
“Oh Henry Hart, I’d love your company, but this time, this is, well, it’s a secret, but I’ll share it with you. Promise you won’t tell Father for at least a week. Promise?”
He nodded his head. “You’re getting married.”
“How did you know that?” I hadn’t imagined Henry interfering. He pointed his chin toward the bedroll. “I didn’t figure you’d spend the night ’less you were proper married.”
“We will be soon enough. And I’ll be back. We’re going to live north of here, but a little ways, and I can see you often.”
“I’d like that.” His next words startled. “I’m lonely, ’Liza. I miss our trips, you and Father and I, to Fort Vancouver andSpokane. I miss Mama and Timothy and Matilda and Joseph and even sneaky Mr. Craig. I miss them all.” His voice broke. “And I miss you, even though you’re here.”
In that moment I knew I missed that Lapwai life too. All those people who had been so much a part of what we did, all the Nez Perce who welcomed my parents and the Jesus books, who sang the songs we loved. I missed them all despite their betrayal. And oh, how I missed our mother.
I dismounted and took my brother in my arms. “I’m not abandoning you, I’m not. I’ll be back.” I held him as a puppy clings to comfort.
“It won’t be the same, it won’t. Everything’s changed.” He’d had no part in either the massacre or the hostage stalemate that went on for four weeks and I’d thought him unscathed by the ordeal. But he’d seen my father arrive, feet bloodied, near death; he’d been there when Mr. Cranfield brought the original news of all the Whitmans’ deaths, and my own, in error; he’d been rushed upriver by the Nez Perce, then to Spokane, and then on to Fort Vancouver where they waited while the British negotiated the release of the captives, then overland to Tualatin Plains and finally to Brownsville, disrupted like an acorn bounced along by grazing hogs or cattle. He’d suffered too.
“You’re right, it won’t be the same. But we can make something new between us, new memories that aren’t hurtful and all wrapped up in Mama’s dying and Rachel coming and all that sadness . . . before.” I felt him sob against me, swallowed grief that shook his shoulders. “Shh, shh now, it will be all right.” I held him away, looked into his tear-spilled eyes. “We’ll be all right. All of us. I’ll see to that. You can come and live with us, Mr. Warren and me. Would you like that?” I hadn’t gotten Mr. Warren’s approval for the offer, but I hoped it would bring small comfort to my brother at this moment.
He thumbed his eyes. “He’s all
So I didn’t.
Nellie nickered when I entered the barn, the moon beaming streams of pale light through the cracks in the barn wall. The smell of hay comforted. “We’re going for a night ride.” Iwhispered the words. I knew the river would be fordable and I wouldn’t need to wake Kirk’s ferryman. I also didn’t want to take the new covered bridge, as Nellie’s hooves echoed in the structure. She didn’t like it either. The plodding of Nellie through the stream might wake the ferryman, but I doubted it. Even if he heard it he’d have no reason for alarm. And the moon would light my path.
I saddled Nellie, tied the quilt rolled up behind the saddle, found the stump I used to mount, slipped my leg onto the knee brace of the sidesaddle, leaned down to push the door open, rode through. I eased the door closed, though couldn’t reach to hook it shut. I hoped the wind wouldn’t blow it open or my father would see it early and notice Nellie—and then me—gone. I wanted as much lead time as I could manage.
“Whatcha doing?”
I twisted my head. “Henry Hart. What are you doing out of bed?”
“I guess I’m old enough to be up before sunrise.”
“It’s a long way ’til then. Go back to bed.”
“Heading to Andrew’s, are you? I could ride with you, keep you company.”
“Oh Henry Hart, I’d love your company, but this time, this is, well, it’s a secret, but I’ll share it with you. Promise you won’t tell Father for at least a week. Promise?”
He nodded his head. “You’re getting married.”
“How did you know that?” I hadn’t imagined Henry interfering. He pointed his chin toward the bedroll. “I didn’t figure you’d spend the night ’less you were proper married.”
“We will be soon enough. And I’ll be back. We’re going to live north of here, but a little ways, and I can see you often.”
“I’d like that.” His next words startled. “I’m lonely, ’Liza. I miss our trips, you and Father and I, to Fort Vancouver andSpokane. I miss Mama and Timothy and Matilda and Joseph and even sneaky Mr. Craig. I miss them all.” His voice broke. “And I miss you, even though you’re here.”
In that moment I knew I missed that Lapwai life too. All those people who had been so much a part of what we did, all the Nez Perce who welcomed my parents and the Jesus books, who sang the songs we loved. I missed them all despite their betrayal. And oh, how I missed our mother.
I dismounted and took my brother in my arms. “I’m not abandoning you, I’m not. I’ll be back.” I held him as a puppy clings to comfort.
“It won’t be the same, it won’t. Everything’s changed.” He’d had no part in either the massacre or the hostage stalemate that went on for four weeks and I’d thought him unscathed by the ordeal. But he’d seen my father arrive, feet bloodied, near death; he’d been there when Mr. Cranfield brought the original news of all the Whitmans’ deaths, and my own, in error; he’d been rushed upriver by the Nez Perce, then to Spokane, and then on to Fort Vancouver where they waited while the British negotiated the release of the captives, then overland to Tualatin Plains and finally to Brownsville, disrupted like an acorn bounced along by grazing hogs or cattle. He’d suffered too.
“You’re right, it won’t be the same. But we can make something new between us, new memories that aren’t hurtful and all wrapped up in Mama’s dying and Rachel coming and all that sadness . . . before.” I felt him sob against me, swallowed grief that shook his shoulders. “Shh, shh now, it will be all right.” I held him away, looked into his tear-spilled eyes. “We’ll be all right. All of us. I’ll see to that. You can come and live with us, Mr. Warren and me. Would you like that?” I hadn’t gotten Mr. Warren’s approval for the offer, but I hoped it would bring small comfort to my brother at this moment.
He thumbed his eyes. “He’s all
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