Edge of the Wilderness

Twenty-six


To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: . . . A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

—Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

“Don’t tell me there’s a war on, Avery!” Elliot Leighton slammed his hook down on the senator’s desk.

Glancing down at the new scratch on his polished walnut desk, Avery Lance adjusted his tie and motioned to Elliot. “Please, Elliot. Just sit down and we’ll discuss it like gentlemen.”

“I’m worn out from discussing things like a gentleman,” Elliot said wearily. “I’ve spent most of the fall ‘discussing things like a gentleman.’ And accomplished nothing.” But he sat down.

“I have the document right here,” Lance said, tapping a sheaf of papers with a quill pen. “Superintendent Thompson reports that the Sioux are pleased with their location at Crow Creek.” Raising one eyebrow he said, “He also indicates that if it were not for whites telling the Dakota the reservation is no good, everything would be fine.”

“He’s a liar,” Elliot said bluntly. He reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew his own piece of paper. “Agent Bolcombe says that if they aren’t moved, the entire group at Crow Creek will become extinct.”

“Agent Bolcombe’s hysterical reports do not inspire confidence,” the senator said quickly.

Elliot leaned forward, pleading, “Avery, this isn’t right. You know it isn’t right. We were friends at the academy. You know I’m not a hysteric.”

“My hands are tied, Elliot.” Lance held both hands up in a gesture of despair. “I am sorry, but there’s simply nothing I can do. The Indians are still causing untold trouble in the west. It’s hard to be sympathetic when I have reports of hostiles still breaking through into Minnesota and killing innocent white families.”

“A few isolated incidents, Avery. It has nothing to do with the people at Crow Creek.” Elliot leaned forward and rested his forearm on the desk. “I’ve seen it, Avery. They are harmless old men, women, and children—at least there were still a few children left when I was there early this year. They may all be dead by now.”

“There’s no need to be overly dramatic, Elliot,” Avery said primly. “I’m certain something can be done. But change takes time. You are not the only person saying these things, you know. Governor Edmunds of Dakota Territory has been preaching the same message—judicious superintendence, not soldiers.”

“And for all his trouble he’s been forbidden to enter Indian country or to attempt any negotiations with the hostiles apart from the army,” Leighton said. “I’m not a fool, Avery. I keep myself informed. And I won’t be put off.” Seeing the obstinacy in his friend’s eyes, Elliot sighed. Trying to calm himself, he said quietly, “At least get them to send a physician. Surely that isn’t asking too much.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Avery said, standing up.

“Am I being dismissed?” Elliot said.

“I’m sorry, Elliot. But I have meetings.” He sighed dramatically. “You saw the line of people waiting in the hallway.” He put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “But please come back again. And bring your lovely wife with you. Louella gives a tea for all the congressional wives every Wednesday afternoon. I’m certain she’d love to have the new Mrs. Leighton join her.”

Before he could think what to say, Major Elliot Leighton found himself in the hallway outside the senator’s office. There was, indeed, a long line of people waiting to get in. He supposed he should feel grateful that Avery had made time for him on short notice. But he did not.

“What do I have to do, Simon?” Elliot said later that week over dessert in the elegant Leighton dining room. He tossed his fork aside and stood up. “Maybe you had the right idea back at Crow Creek when you threatened to carry Buffalo Moon back here and lay her at the president’s feet. Perhaps that’s what it will take.” He sat back down. “How is the Bible project progressing?”

Simon nodded. “‘Very well. It will probably take most of the winter, but in the spring we should be able to go back to Crow Creek with the Dakota New Testament, Proverbs, and a revised Genesis.” He cleared his throat and pushed his half-eaten breakfast away. “It will be a long winter. I really do want to get back to the West. We both do. Gen is patient with me, but she hates living in the city.”

“Well, perhaps by then we’ll have made someone listen. Perhaps there will be a new reservation. Where the Dakota can actually prosper.”

Simon looked at Elliot for a moment before saying, “You know, Elliot, every time I look at you I think what a miracle God has wrought in that heart of yours.” Gen came downstairs, poured herself a cup of coffee, and slid into the seat beside her husband. Simon smiled at Elliot. “‘Miracles all around, brother-in-law. Miracles all around.”

Through the winter of 1864–65, Genevieve Dane bent her own will to her heavenly Father’s and was rewarded with family love and an inner peace she had never thought possible. She helped Simon proofread the new edition of the Dakota New Testament, she did her best to be an obedient, daughter-in-law to Margaret Leighton, and she tried to be content living in New York. She and Elliot Leighton never again mentioned the existence of Etienne’s journal. She didn’t know what had happened to it, and she didn’t care to know. It was part of the past she must put away. And she succeeded, except for once or twice, when she woke with a start and for the briefest moment thought she was back at Hazelwood Mission. On those nights, she allowed her mind to wander into the past, beginning by reminiscing and ending by crying. After the second time it happened, she no longer lay awake looking at the ceiling, thinking. She always crept out of bed and went to the Scriptures, reading away the memories, clinging to the present.

The children were Gen’s and Simon’s constant delight and dilemma. Mother Leighton spoiled them. Meg and Hope began to test the waters of rebellion against parental authority. Aaron began to talk of West Point. Gen and Simon spent more than one night half arguing the finer points of child discipline until they could present a “united front” to the children. Trying to obey “Do not let the sun go down on your anger” resulted in their seeing the sun rise together more than once—and they forged a stronger union.

Gen refused to act like “an old married woman” when they were alone, and Simon easily learned to rejoice in the wife of his middle age. At times she woke to find him watching her with such love in his eyes she thought her heart would break.



Meg skipped into her grandmother’s sitting room one day after school, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm as she announced, “Miss Burnside is giving a party!”

From where she sat beside the fireplace, Mrs. Leighton said, “The Burnsides have given the village a party every January for generations. But this year Miss Burnside is in mourning.” She looked toward where Jane and Gen sat on the sofa. “Her brother was killed in some minor battle a few weeks ago. An only son, I’m afraid. The family was devastated.” She turned to Meg. “Are you certain she said she was giving a party? It hardly seems appropriate, given the circumstances.”

Meg nodded briskly. “Uh-huh. She said her brother was in heaven and he loved parties. She said some people thought she should be sad for a year and not have any fun, but she said her brother James loved parties and he wouldn’t want everyone sitting around just looking sad all the time.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Leighton replied. She shook her head. “I don’t know about these modern ideas. No one seems to observe a proper period of mourning anymore.”

“Tell us about the party,” Gen urged Meg.

“They have an old barn in the woods and they light a million candles and it’s beautiful. They have a dance and we can ice-skate on the pond at night because they put lanterns everywhere. And there’s a big bonfire and people can eat until they get sick if they want to and they stay up all night.” Meg giggled. “Miss Burnside said last year everybody put their babies to sleep all snuggled into the hay in one of the old stalls. She said somebody changed all their blankets, and the next day when people got home they had the wrong babies! And it snowed and people couldn’t change the babies back for nearly a week!” Meg held her hands over her mouth and laughed again.

“That sounds like quite a party,” Jane said. “But I bet they won’t serve cocoa nearly as good as Betsy’s. Come on, little miss”—she held out her hand—“let’s go get some.”

After Meg and Jane left, Gen stood up and walked to the window, looking out on the streets, already nearly knee-deep in snow. “I remember hearing about the Burnsides’ festival when we were here before. Do you think Simon will allow the children to go this time?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Leighton said. “They don’t have an ill mother to worry over. And Simon—” She hesitated. “Simon himself enjoys life more now. The winter festival has been superb entertainment for the children for years. It’s something to look forward to after Christmas.” She sighed deeply. “I suppose Millicent is right. James would want it to go on. He loved a good party, dear boy.” She lowered her voice, talking more to herself than to Gen. “Come to think of it, if we all observed the mourning traditions completely, this village would be permanently shut down. Hardly a family has been unaffected by the unpleasantness down south.” She returned to her knitting while Gen went to the library to speak with Simon about the Burnsides’ winter festival.

“Of course we’ll go,” he said. “I remember Ellen telling me the Burnsides were among the founders of this town. Every year people wonder if they will have the festival because every year they expect the barn to fall in, the bridge across the creek to rot out, or some other tragedy to occur that will end the tradition. But the Burnsides always manage. They have the bridge repaired, the barn reroofed, the pond cleared away. Wait until you see it. They light a pastor’s annual salary’s worth of candles and lamps. It transforms their old place into a wonderland.” He pulled Gen toward him and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be the envy of every man there with you on my arm.”

Gen pushed him away playfully. “Reverend Dane,” she said in mock horror. “Remember your piety, sir!”

“I cannot remember anything, dear girl, when the sunlight pours in the window and makes you shimmer like a beautiful butterfly.”

“Butterfly!” Hope’s voice, sounded from the door. “Where’s it?” She ran to the window and looked out.

“There’s no butterfly, Hope. But there’s a snowflake on the windowpane.” Gen pointed to where a cluster of ice crystals formed a circular pattern on one of the small panes of glass. “Look there. See how they glisten in the sun?” She bent down and helped Hope count the snowflakes. “When I was a little girl,” she began, “my papa used to tell me a story about snowflakes. It’s naptime, and if—”

“No nap!” Hope shouted, frowning.

“Yes—nap,” Gen insisted. “But I’ll tell you my papa’s snowflake story before you fall asleep.” She took Hope’s hand and led the reluctant toddler toward the door. “Piety, Reverend Dane,” she chided when she caught Simon staring at her. She pointed to the open theology books spread out on his desk.

He glanced down at them and then leaned back in his chair. “Beauty, Mrs. Dane. Beauty.” And he watched her until she left the room.



All day Meg and Aaron had lingered by the windows along the street, watching the procession of farm wagons and chaises, buggies and phaetons headed north out of town toward the old Burnside homestead. As the hours passed, Meg fretted, “We’re going to miss the best part!”

“Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Leighton said. “The best part is when it gets dark and they light the candles. The ice-skaters glide onto the pond, the violins play . . .” She sighed. “The late Mr. Leighton proposed to me at a Burnside winter festival.” She looked up as if surprised at the sharing of so personal a detail. Then she grinned at Meg. “So now you know the Burnsides really have been doing this for generations. Almost back to Noah!”

“Oh, Grandma!” Meg said, shaking her head. She looked out the window again. “Where is Father?”

“He’ll be along,” Gen said, going to Meg and standing behind her to look out the window. “He promised he would come back as soon as he could.”

When another hour passed and Simon still had not come, she said, “Mrs. Leighton, what if I keep Hope with me and the rest of you go on ahead? Simon and I can come later in the wagon.”

“Could we?” Aaron spoke up from where he had been pretending to read.

“And what makes you so eager to get to the party, young man?” Elliot teased.

“Amanda Whitrock,” Meg said.

“You be quiet!” Aaron ordered.

“Amanda Whitrock,” Elliot murmured. “Is she that ravishing blonde I saw you talking to after school yesterday?”

Aaron’s cheeks blazed. “I’m not old enough to care about girls,” he murmured. “Amanda’s hair isn’t blonde. It’s light brown. And she isn’t ravishing. She’s just kind of pretty, that’s all.”

The adults in the room exchanged glances.

“What time is Amanda going to the party?” Elliot asked innocently.

“Her family drove by about two hours ago,” Aaron said miserably.

“And,” Meg interjected, “he’s worried because Thomas Bannister likes Amanda, too, and if he gets there first—”

“I told you to keep quiet!” Aaron said and stormed out of the room.

It was decided that Elliot and Jane, Mrs. Leighton and Aaron, would use the buggy to head to the winter festival. Gen would stay behind, along with Meg and Hope, and drive the wagon to the festival as soon as Simon returned. Clearly disappointed but submissive to her grandmother’s demands that she help entertain Hope, Meg sat down before the fireplace and enticed Hope to build a tower with an assortment of wooden building blocks.

Margaret Leighton paused at the door. “Now remind Simon he must take the north branch of the pike. We don’t want you two floundering through the woods looking for us!”

With a crack of the buggy whip above the horses’ heads they were gone.

Nearly two hours later Simon still had not come. Watching Meg fight back tears of disappointment as she looked anxiously at the darkening sky outside, Gen finally said, “Get Hope bundled up, Meg. I’ll get the wagon and we’ll go check on your father.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. A message bearer handed Gen a note that read, “Delayed with family. Needed here. Please go on. Will catch up if at all possible.”

“But we don’t know how to get there,” Meg protested slightly.

“We don’t need to know how to get there,” Gen reminded her. “We’ve been watching a stream of wagons head out of town all day long. There will be a trail almost as wide as a village of Dakota leaves when they are following the buffalo!” She headed for the door. “I’ll hitch up the wagon and be back in a moment.”