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I’m sure he will, Boyd thought to himself. He smiled slowly and looked up at his ravishing daughter. And wait till he sees my Lauralee.
Just maybe, he thought, just maybe his daughter and Joe might happen to fall in love?
Lauralee smiled back at her father, wondering what was on his mind that would make him take on such a glow, and make his eyes
dance so?
Chapter 3
Above the wind and fire, love,
They love the ages thru!
—R.W. RAYMOND
The wrinkled hills were alive with the yellows and blues of wildflowers. Joe Dancing Cloud tossed another rock into the creek that murmured and meandered through shallow, gravel-filled riffles behind his log cabin. Torn with what he should do, he was going over and over again in his mind the message that he had received from Boyd Johnston.
The message had said, “Please come. I need you. Boyd.”
The address where Boyd had sent the letter from was a hospital in St. Louis, Missouri.
The fact that Boyd was in a hospital made Dancing Cloud realize the urgency that was needed to heed his friend’s bidding. Perhaps he was dying. Boyd had not been all that strong since the Civil War; not since he had been wounded by the red-haired, blue-eyed Yankee.
The wound had not been life-threatening, but because Boyd had taken so long getting medical attention it prevented him from fully recovering.
And Dancing Cloud knew that in Boyd’s weakened state he had fought pneumonia more than once these past years. Boyd had nearly died from pneumonia only a few moons ago while visiting Dancing Cloud.
Perhaps he was ill once again with the lung disease.
Perhaps this time he might not recover.
Ii, yes, Boyd just might . . .
Dancing Cloud did not want to think further about his friend possibly dying. They had kept in touch through the years since the war, their meetings always filled with peace and harmony. They had talked often about the war. Boyd had told Dancing Cloud that people are not destroyed because they are wrong; only because they are weak.
Joe Dancing Cloud had helped Boyd get over the loss of his family.
Dancing Cloud had in a sense became Boyd’s family.
“And now he needs me as a father needs a son,” Dancing Cloud said aloud.
“And, my son, you must go to him,” Chief James Talking Bear said suddenly from behind Dancing Cloud, drawing Dancing Cloud quickly to his feet.
He turned to his father, concern heavy in his midnight-dark eyes as he once again saw his condition. A blanket hanging loosely around his shoulders did not hide his frailty. His leathery face was gaunt. His dark eyes were buried deeply into his flesh.
“E-do-da, Father,” Dancing Cloud said thickly, placing a hand to his father’s elbow. “Let me help you back to your lodge. You should have not come this far. It weakens you too much.”
“My son, do you not know that your father is aware of the battle being fought within your heart and soul? Do you not know that your father is aware that since you received that message from Boyd Johnston you are torn with what to do?”
James Talking Bear leaned heavily on his tall staff as he walked slowly beside his son toward his cabin. The wind rustled the thin wisps of his gray hair that hung just past his shoulders.
He gazed over at Dancing Cloud, his only son. Always while looking at him it was like looking into a mirror image of himself those many years ago when James Talking Bear was his son’s age. Dancing Cloud’s coal black hair was thick and flowing past his waist. His jaw, chin, and nose were strong. His eyes spoke of his stolid dignity and his triumphant courage. His son was tall and lithe, a man of inscrutable self-poise.
But even with all of those attributes Dancing Cloud had not yet shared marriage vows with a woman. Dancing Cloud had said more than once why he had chosen to delay taking a wife into his lodge to warm his bed. Guilt had followed him along his path of life since the Civil War. Dancing Cloud still blamed himself for having left his people to fight a white soldiers’ war, leaving his Wolf Clan of Cherokee at the mercy of the Yankees, whom, in his absence, had swept down on them like the plague.
James Talking Bear had argued with his son often that Dancing Cloud was just one man. If he had even been there on the day of the massacre he could have done no more than what the others of his village had suffered through. He might have even joined those who had died.
Who then would be chief once James Talking Bear began his long walk in the hereafter?
