Night song…a lullaby for life

My eyes exploded open. Something awakened me. Listening and keenly aware I heard the faint sound of voices singing, then only the howling of the wind and the remnant of the storm methodically tapping at my window. My dog Shep licked my drooping hand, circling in concern not fear, barking for me to follow. Quickly dressing and strapping on my colt I lit a lantern and cautiously approached the door. Calling out I listened. There was nothing, only Shep clawing at the door whimpering. Removing the timber across the front that secured the house from surprise or forced entry I slowly opened the door. Lifting the lantern I saw only whirling snow while feeling an artic blast. It was Shep who first made me aware of the figure lying at the foot of the door curled up and nearly frozen. I set the lantern down and reached to gather the silent form and brought you inside. Laying you down gently I added wood to the stove and hastily built a soft pallet placing it near the heat, leaving room for me to maneuver. Putting water on I then removed your frozen garments that were beginning to thaw and hurried into the back bedroom to retrieve some of my wife’s night clothes sitting untouched in the same place for almost two years. How did this young lady get here and what was she doing out in this storm? These questions and more would have to wait.

Placing you on the pallet I used warm water a clean rag and soap to wipe your nose and face before cleaning the rest of your body vigorously massaging your feet and legs and then your hands and arms. Checking I found a weak pulse. Your eyes remained closed and your lips emitted no sound. Hours past as I continued my ministrations and made a hardy soup. It was midafternoon when you uttered your first sound, a groan followed by fluttering eye lids and then your eyes slowly opened. Looking at me you whispered, ‘Gideon’? ‘Yes” I said with a puzzled look before you closed your eyes in sleep again.

Evening brought darkness and your awakening. ‘I’m so thirsty. Water, can I have some water’? Putting my arm behind her to elevate her back I gave her some water and then some soup. With pillows and blankets I got her in an upright position so she could swallow without difficulty, both of my hands free. Eating what she could she put her head back and softly said ‘thankyou’. Too weak for inquiries and conversation I helped her with her personals, awkward but manageable, before she relaxed and fell back asleep.

Next morning you smiled at the thought of coffee and then ate a simple breakfast of eggs able to feed yourself. I didn’t even know your name which now really didn’t seem important. By the third day you got up with help and that evening sitting by the fire in a rocker I brought in from the porch you begin to share. ‘I’m Adaline Preecher, Addy to my friends. It was three years the summer after the war ended when we left Indiana for the Rockies. We owned a sawmill and a nice house in town but Pa said, ‘before I die I got to see the mountains’. Joinin’ a wagon train in Kansas City we traveled as far as the northeast corner of the soon to be state of Colorado at Julesburg along the South Platte River and then with twelve other wagons headed south into the Colorado Territory. Havin’ made inquiry we settled near Ft. Namaqua along the line of the Colorado Central Railroad near the crossing of the Big Thompson River an area dependent on agriculture, known in a short time for sugar beets and orchards of sour cherries. We found a ranch a couple of miles out of town and Pa set up a new milling operation’.

‘It was 1871 and most of the Indians were peaceable and Pa didn’t worry much. It was a Saturday when they came, renegade Cheyenne led by Black Raven. Lulled into a false sense of safety we were caught totally by surprise. They had been watching observing our schedule. On Saturday at noon all the men at the mill left for home. My father and brother were doing repairs on the corral when an arrow punctured Pa’s back and he made a loud moaning sound as he went down. Looking up and seeing Pa my brother yelled a warning before being pierced in the chest takin’ his last breath. I was busy putting the garden to rest and looked up in shock, while they drug Ma out of the house throwing her to the ground and having their way with her until splitting her head open with a tomahawk. They then mutilated their bodies taking a gleeful delight in their savagery. Horrified at what I was forced to witness I screamed and resisted before they gagged and tied me over a horse’.

‘After two days we entered their small village, and I was thrown ruffly into a tipi barely able to walk. Finally, an older Indian squaw came and brought me a little food and water. Terrified and shaking she approached and touched me speaking soothing words to help quiet my fear’. ‘I am Kiowa’ she spoke in halting English ‘taken like you but for a different reason. I am but a servant to be used and discarded. You, they want to fulfill their pleasure, but like me you will be left for dead when their food is gone’. Quieting my shaking and sobbing I asked, ‘what can I do’? ‘I will help you’ Orange Blossom, my Kiowa overseer said. ‘You must do as I say for a chance to live’. She then mangled my hair and put dirt on my face. ‘You are crazy woman now. You talk crazy and pick at yourself and the air’. She then mimicked how I was supposed to act and gave me herbs that made my face red and blotched. Then herbs that made me drewel. And then to make me utterly repulsive she brought in fresh dog dung she collected disguising the basket she put it in but not the smell. When a brave would come in he would curse in disgust wrinkling his face while he spit on me and then kick me making a quick exit. This charade went on for weeks, my only food being what Orange Blossom could sneak in for me’.

‘Finally one night she crept into my canvas prison and said, ‘they go now. There is no more food and only six braves left. Maybe they will find an elk or deer. If not, they will kill and take from the white eyes. No one but children and some old squaws are left to guard the camp. They will not try to stop us’. Gathering everything we could to protect against the cold and what little food Orange Blossom could find we set out on the only horse that was left, an old sway back that was to provide meat upon Black Ravens return. We carefully avoided the trail Black Raven and his braves had taken, and Orange Blossom being alerted led us further into the forest for concealment, holding the horses mouth while Black Raven was returning only about a quarter of a mile away. He stopped, looked, and smelled the air but continued on to his camp’.

‘On the third day the winter storm that had been brewin’ was winning the battle between us livin’ and dyin’. First the old horse groaned and blew, its front legs buckling as we barely avoided being trapped as it fell. Stroking his head and neck we spoke softly and with tears of gratitude said our goodbyes. After a short distance Orange Blossom gently grabbed my arm and said, ‘It is my time. I go unto my people. My work here is done. You must survive. Follow the voices. They will lead you to him’. ‘What voices, Orange Blossom, what voices’? Looking forward and then back to her. She had gone, disappeared.. ‘Oh God! I cried out falling to my hands and knees. My meager strength after weeks of starvation was spent’.

‘I began to yield to death’s finality accepting my fate. And then out of the darkness ‘I heard the voice of angels’. Gentle hands lifted me up, reviving my spirit. The darkness and the snow blinded my eyes, but still I looked searching. Out of the blackness a beautiful dancing figure appeared laughing, twirling, arms in free animated fashion. Mesmerized I stood as she came to me and I saw glimpses of red hair and plaid. Drawing close she said, ‘follow me. I will lead you safely home. Gideon needs you almost as much as you need him’. She then went before me dancing and singing a sweet lullaby until a light shown and she said, ‘there, see the light. Go to the door. The angels will awaken him’.

For the first time I focused on the candle on the sill. Still burning I had not put it there. It was new to my house. I sat in silence, my mind a maze. What she described was none other than my wife, Sile, the Irish form of the Latin name Cecilia, the patron saint of music. She loved to sing and dance, her red hair flowing about her as if she was in a gentle breeze. Her sparkling green eyes and freckled face framed by her hair never ceased to take my breath away. For two years I mourned her death, alone and almost unbearably lonesome I felt my life force ebbing away, searching for a reason to keep living. Praying and asking for help from Heaven I continued my daily routine but with little conviction, searching for a way to honor her life.

Now sitting in my rocker silhouetted by the fire Addy sat sipping on Siles favorite tea. Sile had led her to me. ‘It was your wife wasn’t it’, Addy said. Nodding I said ‘yes’. We sat mostly in silence enjoying the stillness that winter excels in, the warmth of the fire, and each other. Days were spent locked in winters grasp as Addy continued to gain strength and insisted on making herself useful fixin’ meals, doing wash, and keepin’ the place clean. I happily obliged. Everyday I hauled firewood, brought snow in for water and made sure all my animals were secure with adequate shelter, food, and water. Winters at these elevations required much of the summer to prepare for. Nights were spent enjoying dinner and sittin’ by the warmth of the stove readin’ and talkin’.

We had become very comfortable in each other’s presence and shared more intimate details about our lives. She had been married until the loss of her husband in a logging accident. When her folks decided to go west she did too. I shared about Sile, how we met and married and my coming west at a young age. Patiently she waited for me to speak of Sile’s death. ‘I need to tell you’ I said, ‘It will help to put this dark memory to rest. Our neighbors the Sorensen’s were helping me that day puttin’ a much needed new roof on the barn. Daniel and his young teenage boys were great help and a lot of fun. Sile had passed them as she went to spend the day with Daniels wife Martha and eight year old Grace. It was to be a happy day of sewin’ and sharin’ as Sile’s baby bump was finally startin’ to show’.

‘Upon our return that evening the girls were preparin’ a sumptuous dinner for all to enjoy. It was mid day when Daniel’s son Issac who was with me at the peak of the roof yelled ‘Pa’! pointin’ to the dark smoke comin’ from the direction of their house. Frantically we got down off the roof as Daniel haltered and hitched his horse to their wagon. I saddled my horse Scout and then ran into the house to get a full arsenal, flying by Daniel and his wagon. Their house was less than three miles away and Scout chewed up the ground in eight minutes. Reaching the rise just south of the house I slowed momentarily to assess the situation, the Lakota teachin’ me to always look before I leap. An Indian had Sile by the throat dragging her out of the house. I started chucking lead in the direction of the other five Indians when the big one, easily recognizable from the rest at a head taller held her ducking low behind her using her body as a shield’.

‘Racing toward them he stood and takin’ his knife ripped open her belly. I screamed as she collapsed and he ran using his horse and the others for protection sped away. Rushing up and gathering Sile in my arms I lifted up my head and let out a guttural cry that echoed in the Heavens. Rockin’ her in my arms an ocean of emotion spilled over me, wave after wave takin’ me under as I sank to its depths. Then looking I found her vacant eyes open strangely pleading with me wanting to say something before I closed them forever. Inside Daniel found Martha and Grace with crushed skulls and lacerated throats. For days I went through the motions with friends, food, and funerals. Lying on her grave the day we put her body to rest I felt like I had died too’.

At night eatin’ dinner or by the fire Addy continued to ask questions, genuinely interested in my life. ‘I fought in the Indian wars’ I told her, ‘scoutin’ for the army with my trusted Lakota friends. They taught me how to track, think and fight like an Indian, while pursuing our enemy cloaked in silence and remaining invisible. In short I learned how to stay alive’.

In late February Winter began to loosen her stern icy grip. Shep and I were outside when he began to act agitated. I looked about not drawing suspicion as I casually walked to the house. Once inside I secured the door and told Addy to get the 14 shot Winchester. I knew she could handle herself and carefully watch from the window while I gathered my weapons. Removing the furniture and throwing back the rug I opened the door to the cellar which provided a hidden outside exit behind the house.

Looking out the window five Indians approached the one in the center a head taller than the rest. ‘Black Raven’! Addy gasped. Then gathering yourself you said, ‘You are ridin’ into Hell today and its flames will welcome you with eternal torment you bastard’. Leavin’ final instructions, I went underground and out knowing a place of concealment and advantage. As they approached intent on burnin’ us out I leveled my Spencer, aimed and smiled blowing Black Raven out of the saddle holding his throat as he bled out. The others trying to gain courage were eviscerated in a ‘Hell’ of lead. In just a few moments it was over for both Addy and I avenging the death of those we loved.

Two nights later sitting by the fire Addy said looking curiously at me, ‘you know, before we left Indiana for the West we lived in Kentucky and the first love of my life at the age of thirteen was a boy named Gideon. Suddenly he was gone to live with an aunt and uncle, where I don’t know. I found out his parents were killed in a buggy accident. I have never forgotten him, those first loves burning deep into your heart’. A stunning realization began to unfold in my mind. ‘Addy, you lived in Lexington in a pretty white house on Myrtle Street’. ‘Yes’ she said, ‘but how did you know’? Staring at me a look of recognition began to unfold. ‘We would take walks along the river’ I said, ‘making commitments young lovers had no power to keep’.

Kneeling and taking her hands in mine I spoke, ‘I am the boy who stole your heart and you have always had mine’. Staring at each other in disbelief and then tears and finally laughter. Cupping her hand over her mouth Addy spoke, ‘It’s really you after all these years, Gideon, it’s you’. ‘And you found me Addy when my heart needed you most’. Embracing we then kissed passionately. ‘I’ve been some time waitin’ for this moment’, Addy said ‘dreamin’ of this kiss. I think I’ll have another one while we are at it’. Opening my eyes from this sweet reverie I said, ‘Now I will fulfill those commitments I made many years ago’, ‘as will I’ Addy said.

It was Sile dancing and singing a lullaby, happy to play her part that reunited two hearts keeping one alive while restoring the other. Now I know the message that was in her eyes.