Edge of the Wilderness

Twenty-three


But what things were gain tome, those I counted loss for Christ.

—Philippians 3:7

“We thought—dead—how—” Simon tossed in his sleep, muttering and frowning.

Gen roused from her chair and went to him. Dipping a clean cloth in cool water, she wrung it out and laid it on his forehead, then sat on the edge of the bed stroking Simon’s cheek.

“The doctor says you’re going to be fine, dear,” she whispered, trying to comfort him. “Just relax and sleep. Your fever broke a few hours ago.” She reached down to squeeze his hand. He squeezed back, but he didn’t return from wherever his dreams had taken him. He continued talking, jagged, illogical mutterings about Crow Creek and Mother Friend, about starvation and dying . . . and then, about something impossible. Something that made Gen’s hands tremble as she prepared another compress and laid it gently across his forehead.

The mutterings of illness, she reminded herself. He had been delirious only a few hours ago. It was just a dream.

As soon as Simon fell into a deeper sleep, Gen made her way across the hall into the kitchen and sat down, leaning forward to rest her head on her crossed arms.

Elliot came hurrying down the back stairs. “What is it?” he asked, rushing to Gen’s side. “Is he—should I go for the doctor?”

Gen didn’t look up. She shook her head. “He’s all right. Just a few bad dreams. He’s quiet now.” She sat up and brushed her tangled hair back out of her face. Supporting her head with one hand, she said, “He was back in the past somewhere.” She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “It just brought back some memories. That’s all.” She sighed. “Do you mind if I go up and lie down for a while? The children will probably sleep a little later this morning, since it’s Saturday.”

Elliot went to sit with Simon and Gen dragged herself upstairs and crept into the room she shared with Hope and Meg. They were both still sound asleep. When Gen sank onto the mattress, Meg snuggled close. Closing her eyes, Gen tried in vain to fall asleep. When she could not, she got up to head back down to the kitchen and start breakfast.

Then she remembered Simon’s bedroll and saddlebags, still sitting in his room since his return. Saturday . . . wash day. Creeping into Simon and Aaron’s room, she picked up the bedroll, slung the saddlebags over her shoulder, tiptoed out of the room and headed downstairs. When she pulled one of Simon’s shirts out of the saddlebag, something hit the floor. Thinking it was Simon’s Bible, she bent to pick it up and set it aside on the kitchen table while she emptied the bags, unrolled the bedroll, and hauled in the washtub from the back porch. She put water on to heat and then went to set Simon’s Bible on the stairs to take it up with her when she went to get Hope out of bed. It was then she realized the smooth leather book was not a Bible. Something about it was familiar.

Her heart pounding, Gen backed up to the table and half fell into a chair. She opened the book and with a little “oh” saw Etienne’s beautiful script. She turned a page and saw herself, a baby in her Dakota mother’s arms. Another few pages and she was a toddler. Another, and another, and another, and with tears flowing freely Gen watched herself grow up, saw her father’s love and the end of a way of life unfold in his words.

She was almost sobbing when the sound of footsteps made her look up. Elliot was standing in the doorway, a strange expression on his face: “Where did you find that?”

Gen motioned toward the pile of laundry in the corner. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d just start with Simon’s laundry . . . Saturday is always the day we do . . .” Her voice faded away.

Leighton sat down at the table and leaned toward her. “I think you should hear it from Simon,” he said. “I’m not trying to put you off, Gen. Really, I’m not. It’s just not something I want to—”

“I want to hear it from you,” Gen said. Her dark eyes flashed with emotion. “I want to know how Simon came to have this.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “And I don’t want him upset.”

Elliot looked away for a moment. “He made Simon promise never to tell you,” Elliot said slowly. “I heard it. He said, ‘You should have this.’ And then he said, ‘And forget you ever saw me.’”

“Who? Who said that? Who had my father’s journal?” Gen demanded half angrily. When Elliot didn’t say anything, Gen raised a trembling hand to her throat, then up to cover her mouth. She closed her eyes, but tears flowed freely from beneath her closed lids, down both cheeks. “Is he—is he—well?” she croaked out.

“He is,” Elliot said.

“Was he a prisoner?”

“No,” Elliot shook his head quickly. “He’s one of the scouts at Fort Ridgely.”

“Fort Ridgely,” Gen said mechanically. So close. So impossibly far away.

“Gen,” Elliot said, reaching across to put his hand over hers. “He was the one who brought Mother Friend to take care of Simon. He’s quite a man.”

Gen nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes he is.” She swiped at the tears.

“I heard him beg Simon not to tell you,” Elliot repeated softly. “I think he wanted you to—” Elliot broke off. “He asked Simon to hug the children for him. And he pointed to your picture in that journal and said something about you having a good husband and a good life. It was right before we left to come home.”

Gen swallowed and nodded. She looked up at the ceiling while fresh tears spilled out of her eyes.

“What—what do you want me to do, Gen?” Elliot said. “What can I do to help you?”

Gen looked down at her father’s journal. She closed it and held it for a moment. Presently, she held it out to Elliot. “Take it,” she whispered. She stood up, then wavered a little and grasped the back of her chair. Taking a deep breath, she said, “When the children come down, would you remind them to bring their laundry down? Have Aaron fill the washtub. And, would you mind—breakfast—”

“I’ll scramble some eggs. Whatever you want,” Elliot said quickly. .

Gen nodded. “Thank you. I think I’ll just take a walk.” Without looking at him she headed for the hallway. “Elliot,” she said from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I need to be able to trust you with this,” she said. Her voice broke. She nodded toward the Whitneys’ apartment where Simon lay recovering. “He must never know.” She took a deep breath and finally managed to look at him. “Promise me.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked softly.

Gen looked around her. Footsteps sounded in the upstairs hall. She forced a smile. Looking back at Elliot she said quietly, “I’m going to take a walk. And then I’m coming home to do my family’s laundry,” she said.



“I will.” Genevieve LaCroix looked up into Simon’s eyes and smiled. Just over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Aaron grinning at her. And beyond Aaron, Elliot Leighton stood nodding his approval.

“Will you, Simon Dane, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Samuel Whitney intoned.

“I do,” Simon said, then corrected himself, “I will.” The small crowd gathered in the Whitneys’ parlor laughed.

Samuel pronounced Genevieve LaCroix and Simon Dane to be man and wife. “Let us all join in a prayer of blessing for our friends,” Samuel said. He raised his right hand. “The Lord bless thee and keep thee, the Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee, the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.” He opened his eyes. “And now, Simon, you may kiss your bride.”

Meg giggled, Aaron blushed, and Hope broke away from Nina and ran to Gen, pulling on her skirt and shouting “Up, Ma! Up!”

Laughing, Simon leaned over and planted a chaste kiss on his bride’s cheek before sweeping Hope into his arms. Settling Hope on one side, he put his left arm around Gen and hugged her close, inhaling the fragrance of the wildflowers woven into her hair.

For a moment, all movement and sound in the parlor was suspended, then Aaron said, “We’d better get going, Father. We have a train to catch!” The rest of the day was bedlam. While Gen hurried upstairs to change, Elliot and Simon loaded one buggy with valises and boxes and hauled them to the train station. They returned just in time to meet Gen, who had walked up to the church for an informal wedding luncheon hosted by the Whitneys’ at the church.

By late afternoon, everyone crowded back into the buggy and rode to the train station. Amid hugs and wishes for happiness, Gen and Simon, Aaron and Meg, Hope, and Elliot Leighton climbed aboard the Chicago and Northwestern Railway’s Iowa–Minnesota Division headed south.

“What’s dat, Unka Lee?” Hope demanded, bouncing on Elliot’s lap and pointing out the window.

As soon as one question was answered, another arose, until Gen reached over and tugged on Hope’s dress. “Come here, little miss. You’re going to wear your Uncle Elliot out.”

Elliot shifted Hope to his other shoulder. “She’s fine,” he protested. “She just fits right here.” He sat Hope on his knee so that her eyes could just barely peer out the window and watch the landscape pass. As if on cue, Hope snuggled against Elliot’s arm.

She cast a triumphant smile toward Gen, who laughed and shook her head. “Not even two yet, and already bossing the men around.”

“Takes after her mother that way,” Simon interjected.

Gen slapped his knee. “I beg your pardon! When have I ever bossed you around, Reverend Dane?”

“Oh, let’s see . . . convincing me to accept Dr. Riggs’s invitation to help him proofread the new Dakota Bible at the printers in New York instead of returning to the reservation—”

“The doctor said you need a good long rest before you even think of going back to the reservation!” Gen protested mildly.

“Conspiring with Elliot to take the entire family for a visit to their grandmother’s . . .”

“That was Mr. Leighton’s idea!” Gen pleaded with Elliot, “Give a little help here, ‘Unka Lee’!”

Elliot raised both hands palm up and shook his head. “Sorry, Genevieve. You’re on your own.”

Simon looked down at her, “And proposing marriage when I was on my deathbed!”

“I did no such thing!” Gen said indignantly.

“You did,” Simon insisted. “Praise God.”

Aaron slid onto the bench occupied by Meg, Elliot, and Hope, facing Simon and Gen. “It may be faster than the steamboat,” he said grumpily, “but it’s noisy and dirty. Give me steamships any day.” He hunkered down and, pulling a book out of his pocket, put his feet on the bench next to his father and began to read.

Meg yawned and leaned against her brother.

Simon leaned over and whispered, “It looks like getting up at dawn is catching up with everyone.”

“Mm-hmm,” Gen murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t long before the rhythm of the rails lulled them all to sleep.

The train car jerked and everyone stirred. Elliot shifted Hope to his other arm; Meg slumped down onto Aaron’s lap. Almost without opening his eyes, Aaron removed his coat, rolled it up, and tucked it under his sister’s head. Looking up at Simon, Gen smiled.

“I look old enough to be your father,” he had grumbled that morning when he met her at the base of the stairs just before the ceremony.

“You look like a man with character. A man who has lived,” she had told him, touching his gray sideburns and kissing him lightly.

“I promised you I would never demand anything you don’t freely give,” he had said, blushing furiously. “That promise is still in effect.”

She had been standing on the second step when he said it, her eyes level with his. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward whispering, “And I promised you I wanted passion in my life. That promise is also still in effect, Reverend Dane.” She had looked into his eyes then and said, “I’m only twenty years old, Simon. Don’t expect me to act like an old married woman for another thirty years or so.”

Something had flickered in his eyes, and then he had kissed her gently.

The train slowed, rousing Gen enough that she opened her eyes. She looked outside just in time to see a small herd of horses tearing across a vast pasture. The gray stallion in the lead reminded her of the first time she ever saw Daniel Two Stars. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had ridden into her father’s trading post alongside his friend Red Thunder and a dislikable brave named Otter. Some argument had ended in a fight between Red Thunder and Two Stars. When it was over, Daniel owned the gray stallion.

As the train clattered south toward Iowa, Gen took Simon’s hand and guided his arm up and over her head and then around her shoulders. With an expression that was both surprised and pleased, he pulled her closer. Gen closed her eyes. She was going to be the best wife, the best mother, the best sister-in-law, she could possibly be. And she would be happy. Because it was right.