Wildest Dreams

chapter 9

Lettie took another loaf of bread from the oven, weary from so much baking and cooking, yet glad to do it for the extra two men Jim had brought back with him as hired help. Not only would it be nice to have other human beings to talk to in the coming winter, but the extra men kept her busy... too busy to get upset over the fact that Luke should have been back two days ago from his hunting trip. Ever since he'd killed one of the Indians who had tried to steal the horses, she had been sick with worry that while he was out alone he would in turn be killed. He had left five days ago to hunt for meat that he would smoke and store for the winter. He had said he would be back in three days, and she decided that if he didn't show up by tonight, she would send all the help out to find him, even if it meant she had to stay here alone.

She set the bread on the table to cool. The pleasant smell of freshly baked bread in her cozy new house usually cheered her, but today she hardly noticed. Every Sunday she fed the help a fancy meal and baked extra bread and pies for them, but the rest of the week they had to feed themselves. They also scrubbed their own clothes, something which the two extra men, who had always lived as single men, seemed adept at doing, although not often enough as far as she was concerned. Zeb Crandal and Horace Little had worked as scouts, hunters, trappers, and ranch hands all their lives. Horace had never been married, but Zeb had. His wife was dead now, his full-grown son off to California. The two men were older than Jim, she guessed roughly forty, and although they were congenial and were respectful of Luke and her, they were rather crude in their ways, men who had never lived a genteel life.

Neither she nor Luke minded, as long as they earned their keep, which both men did to full satisfaction. The bunkhouse was completed, another storage shed built, and the windmill was finished. Now she could draw buckets of water from a well. The best part was that there was always someone to keep watch at night, although how much help that would be against an entire Indian war party was doubtful.

She was trying to be strong about this, stay busy, master this fear of reprisal from the one called Half Nose, if indeed he was the one who had paid them a visit two weeks ago. There had been no sign of Indians since, and she had told Luke and convinced herself, too, that they could not stop living or give up out of fear of what might happen. Life went on. Now there were extra men to help out in return for a roof over their heads and food from the family garden and her own ovens.

She was proud of what a fine garden she had grown last summer. Already she had another garden started, even bigger than last year's. She had never had a vegetable garden of her own before then, and she felt very accomplished that her root cellar still contained potatoes and carrots from last fall, as well as a basket of seed potatoes from last year that she would use to plant a new potato field this spring. Horace had already dug the trenches for her.

Two years they had been in Montana already. Two long, bitter winters. Nathan turned four just two days ago, little Katie was eight months. She thought she'd heard once that while a woman was nursing, she couldn't get pregnant again. How wrong that had proved to be! Apparently, when it came to a woman's body, nothing was guaranteed. She had barely recuperated from Katie's birth before realizing she was pregnant again. At first she thought it was just taking time for her body to get regulated again, as she had not had a period for three months after Nathan was born. But then she felt the life in her belly and realized it was growing again. Now she wondered if she would always get pregnant so easily. Luke was thrilled to be having another child, but very worried about her health. He had sworn they would simply have to stay away from each other for several months after this one, to allow her time to regain her health fully. She had to smile at the thought. How could they possibly refrain from making love, when it was so enjoyable for them both, and when the winters were so long and dark and lonely?

She pinched the edges around the soft, raw crust of a pie, deciding that if and when God intended for her to have a child, she would have it, and that was that. Life with Luke, in spite of the dangers and hardships, had brought her more happiness than she ever dreamed she would have after the agony of her rape and the terrible loneliness that had followed; and she was glad that in turn, she and Nathan and all the other children she would have could help fill the emptiness Luke had known before meeting her.

She glanced over at Nathan who was piling up some blocks Luke had made for him. Katie crawled over to where he played and promptly knocked over the little tower. Nathan pouted and scolded her, then began showing her how to stack them up again. Lettie's attention was drawn from their play when Pup began barking and Jim knocked on the front door.

"I think he's comin', Mrs. Fontaine."

Lettie hurried over to the door and opened it. Jim pointed to the east, along the road that led to Billings. Pup, who seemed to gain a pound a day, bounded from the porch, out toward the road, and back again, still barking excitedly. "Horace rode out to greet him," Jim told her. "Paint was comin' in slow, and it looks like Luke was kind of slumped over, like he's hurt."

"Oh, dear God," Lettie muttered, stepping farther out onto the porch. She could barely make out horse and rider, but it did indeed look as though Luke might be hurt. She waited anxiously. It seemed to take forever for Horace to reach Luke, and she thought how in this land nothing was as close as it seemed. Whatever landmark a person picked, it took twice as long to reach it as one would estimate. Finally Horace reached him. He stopped for a moment, then dismounted and climbed up onto Paint behind Luke. "Jim, he is hurt. Horace is getting on Paint in order to hang on to Luke. Go out there and see if he needs more help!"

Her chest tightened as she waited and watched helplessly. Jim ran to the bunkhouse and mounted his own horse, yelling out to Zeb Crandal to get back to the house. Zeb was mending a fence several hundred yards down in the valley and was able to hear Jim only because the strong wind carried Jim's voice.

The wind. The constant wind. She remembered how it almost drove her crazy that first winter. Now she was so used to it that she hardly noticed it anymore, except on days like today, when the sight of her wounded husband reminded her how quickly one could get hurt and die out here. The land was so beautiful, and at the same time so cruel. A hundred things could happen to a man out hunting alone—flash floods in spring, drought in summer, ravaging cold in winter, wild animals... Indians. Had Luke been attacked by the Sioux? Was he dying? Was he dead already?

She reached down and petted Pup, who jumped up on her, tail wagging. He was already proving to be a good watchdog, guarded the children fiercely, slept on the front porch every night like a sentinel. "He'll be all right, Pup," she said absently, more to assure herself than the dog. She turned and went inside, ordering Nathan to take all his blocks into the bedroom he shared with Katie and to keep the baby in that room out from under people's feet.

"What's a matter, Mommy?" he asked.

"Daddy might be hurt. You be a big boy and help Mommy by staying out of the way."

The boy's lips puckered and his eyes teared as he hurriedly picked up a handful of the blocks and carried them into his room. Lettie did not have time to comfort him. She hurried into the bedroom and pulled back the bedclothes, then grabbed some clean towels from the washroom and set them on a table near the bed. She brought a wash pan from the bathing room and set it, too, near the bed, then checked to be sure the kettle of hot water sitting on the stove was full. She threw some more wood under the burner and said a quick prayer that whatever was wrong with Luke, it wasn't life threatening.

Zeb came riding up to the house then on his sturdy black mare. He was a short, hefty man who always wore buckskins and seldom shaved, a hard worker who spoke little. "What's wrong, ma'am?"

"It's Luke. It looks like he's hurt. Jim and Horace rode out to help him."

Zeb dismounted and tied his horse, then walked to the other side of the garden at the east side of the house. The three riders disappeared temporarily behind a stand of pine trees, then came into view again. Jim was leading Horace's horse while Horace remained on Paint hanging on to Luke. Finally after several minutes that seemed like hours to Lettie, the men made it to the gate at the east entrance to the drive leading to the main house. Lettie ran partway out to greet them, then struggled not to gasp when she saw Luke. The May weather was warm enough to go without a coat, but the wool jacket Luke had worn was still on him, although in shreds. Every stitch of clothing was soaked with blood, and more blood had crusted on the side of his face. He looked white as the snow that lingered on the surrounding mountaintops.

His eyelids drooped when he looked at Lettie. "I'm... all right," he muttered. "...grizzly." His eyes closed then, and he started to slide from Horace's hold.

"Oh, my God," Lettie groaned, trying to help catch him.

"Don't you be strainin' yourself," Horace told her. The slim man was having trouble holding up the much bigger Luke, and Jim quickly dismounted to help. Zeb grabbed

Luke about the waist and Horace dismounted then. The three men carried Luke up the hill and into the house, laying him on the bed as Lettie instructed them to do. She quickly poured hot water into a the dishpan beside the bed and asked Jim to keep an eye on the children, while Horace and Zeb helped get off Luke's gun belt, boots, pants, and shirt.

For a moment Lettie froze, just staring at the deep claw marks on her husband's body and one side of his face. He had lost a lot of blood, and her first thought was that if the wounds didn't kill him, infection might. There was still no doctor in Billings that they could send for. There was no one but herself and these two men to help, and they could only act on instinct and what little they knew about what to do for such wounds.

"You all right, ma'am?" Zeb asked. "We can tend to him if you want."

"No," she answered quickly. "I'll do it." She struggled against an urge to scream and weep. "I'll just need you to stay close by, help me turn him over after I get the front of him washed."

Both men saw the terror in her eyes. "In all my years, I've known the Indians to use moss to help against infection, ma'am," Horace spoke up. "It can work pretty good. Once we get him cleaned up, I'll ride up and down the streams, check out the north side of some of the pine trees and such, see if I can find some. We can use it to pack against the wounds."

Lettie swallowed, thinking how just minutes ago she had been so full of resolve, baking bread and pies, sure they could survive here after all. She had been worried about an Indian attack, but it was a grizzly that had nearly taken her husband from her. Luke had just written his father to tell him about the beautiful place where he had settled, that he had a wife and two children and another on the way. He was so happy and proud to be able to tell his father how well he was doing.

She wet a towel and laid it gently against the wounds on his chest to soften the dried blood so she could wash it away. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he smiled at her. "I still have... a lot to learn... about living out here... don't I?" he tried to joke. He grimaced with pain then.

"We'll learn together, and we'll make it, Luke," she assured him.

"Meat. I left... a nice buck... and a dead bear... up by Turtle Creek." He looked at Horace. "Take Zeb... try to salvage some... of the meat... before the wolves get it all. We'll need it... this winter."

Horace nodded. "We'll see if we can find it. Just don't you worry about it, Luke."

Luke closed his eyes again. "So much... to do. I can't... lay here too long."

"You'll lie here as long as it takes for you to be completely well," Lettie scolded, needing desperately to cry. She couldn't now. She had to be strong. She suspected Luke had no idea just how badly he was wounded. She gently washed away some of the blood, and already she could see signs of infection, a deep red in the skin along the line of the cuts.

Dear God, don't let him die, she prayed inwardly. She turned to rinse the towel, shivering at the sight of blood swirling in the water as she wrung it out... Luke's blood. He had shed blood in the confrontation with the outlaws. Now he was shedding blood again, all for this land he was bent on calling his own.



Lettie lay listening to her husband's deep, steady breathing. Silent tears slipped down the sides of her face, tears of joy as she inwardly thanked God for giving Luke's life back to him. After eight days of terrible suffering, his fever was finally gone, and he seemed to be healing; but for the rest of his life he would carry scars from the grizzly attack.

It seemed that life out here was nothing but a succession of joy and sorrow. For the moment she was just glad she had hung on to her baby despite watching her husband's agony. Horace had planted the potatoes for her, as well as a few vegetable seeds. He and Zeb had retrieved a good share of the bear and deer meat and most of it had been smoked for preservation and was hanging inside the stone smokehouse.

Life went on. Spring wildflowers bloomed everywhere, the children were fine, and Luke was sleeping peacefully by her side. Just yesterday Luke had mentioned that Perry Ward should be back from Oregon any time to let him know what kind of deal he could get on cattle from there. Next spring he would start building a herd, and the thought of it was helping him heal and get back on his feet. She hoped he would hear something from his father, prayed the man would show at least a little interest. That would make Luke so happy.

The thought made her realize she owed her own parents a letter. One thing was certain, her letters to them must be food for wonderful entertainment, describing what life was like here in Montana. Now she would be telling them about how Luke had been attacked by a grizzly. At least Paint had not been hurt or killed. Luke loved that horse.

She quietly rose, walking into the main room and getting some paper and ink from the drawer of a fine pine desk Jim had built for her. She thought how Will had done a good job of finding help for them. He was a good friend. She would tell her parents about Jim and Zeb and Horace... and the fact that a third grandchild was on the way.

She sat down at the desk and dipped a pen into an ink well. "Dear Mother and Father," she wrote. She paused, a strange feeling of alarm rippling through her. Something was wrong, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. Quiet. Yes, it was awfully quiet tonight. Almost too quiet. She strained to listen, heard a couple of horses whinny somewhere down by the barn. She decided not to worry about it. After all, Zeb was keeping watch tonight, and Horace and Jim were close by in the bunkhouse. She returned to her letter, but she could not concentrate. Her chest tightened in fear then when she thought she heard a man cry out. It was such a short, quick cry, and so distant, she couldn't be sure.

She got up from the desk, looked in on Luke. She hated to disturb him. It was midnight, and he'd been sleeping well since about eight o'clock. This was the best he'd slept since being hurt. There was no sense in waking him up without knowing there really was something wrong. She walked to where Luke's rifle hung in a rack above the door and took it down. She cocked it, went to look out a front window, pushing lace curtains aside.

At first she saw nothing. There was just a sliver of a moon tonight, not enough light to see much. She set the rifle aside and cupped her hands at the glass to get a better view, wondering why, if Pup was out there, he had not barked at the strange noises she had heard. She thought she saw shadowy figures darting silently about. She remembered Will saying how quiet and stealthy Indians could be, and instinct told her it was not white men moving about out there. "My God!" she whispered. Where were Zeb and Horace and Jim? What was going on?

She leaped to her feet and quickly closed the wooden shutters over the window, then ran to another window to do the same, but too late. A log came crashing through it, wielded by a painted warrior who quickly jumped inside, cutting his leg on the way in but paying no attention to the wound. Lettie screamed and ran for the rifle, but just as she reached it a tomahawk swished past her, narrowly missing her and landing in the wall beside the rifle. She gasped at the thud, whirled to see three more warriors had come inside, wielding an array of weapons ranging from rifles to knives. She decided that to fight them could only end in death, and with Luke helpless, what would happen to her children then?

She stared wide-eyed at the wild-looking intruders, petrified, not for herself but for the children and Luke. Were Zeb and Horace and Jim already all dead? "What... do you want?" she squeaked, feeling ridiculous asking the question. From the look in their wild eyes, they wanted blood. Maybe they were here to carry her off and do horrible things to her, or to kill Luke for killing one of their own. One of them stepped forward, his face disfigured, part of his nose gone.

Half Nose! This was the one Will had told them about, a warrior feared by all whites and even some of his own kind.

"Lettie? What's going on?"

Luke! She could not find her voice when he appeared in the bedroom doorway. Surely Half Nose wanted him dead!

Everything happened in a matter of seconds then. Luke lunged for the rifle, but quickly three warriors were on him, beating him. At the same time Nathan and Katie came out of their bedroom, awakened by Lettie's screams and Half Nose's loudly barked orders. Lettie started to run to the children, but by then three more braves had come inside, and two of them grabbed her and held her back. Nathan ran to her, grabbing the skirt of her dress and beginning to cry, keeping his stuffed horse, which he still slept with, enclosed tightly in one arm. Katie began crawling across the floor to her mother, also crying.

Half Nose shouted another command in the clipped Sioux tongue, and Luke's attackers let go of him and let him slump to the floor, still too weak from his injuries and now from the reopening of some of his wounds, to put up any real resistance. One of the warriors grabbed the rifle out of Lettie's hands and Half Nose stepped closer to Lettie, his dark eyes drilling into her. She waited in frozen terror, sure he was here to murder all four of them. He looked down at Luke then, knelt in front of him and grasped hold of his hair, jerking his head up to study his bloody face. He said something to him then in the Sioux tongue, the words spit out bitterly. Lettie waited for the man to take out a knife and lift Luke's scalp, but instead he let go of him. He said something to one of the other warriors, who came over and shoved a rifle against Luke's throat.

Half Nose looked at Lettie once more, then down at little Nathan, who stared back up at him with tear-filled blue eyes. By then Katie had reached her mother and was trying to pull herself up by hanging on to Lettie's dress, but Lettie could not reach down to lift her because two warriors continued to hold her arms. She kept her eyes on Half Nose, feeling sick at the way he was watching Nathan. She kicked at him, not knowing what else to do to make him get away from Nathan. The man only grinned wickedly, then grabbed Nathan, who wiggled and screamed as the fierce warrior carried him to the door.

"No! No!" Lettie screamed. "Take me! Take me, not my son!"

In an instant Half Nose had unbolted the door and walked out with Nathan under his arm. Luke tried to get to his feet to stop him. The warrior who stood over him with the rifle whacked him on the side of the head and he fell helplessly to the floor. Lettie struggled to get free of the two braves who still held her arms. Katie was screaming in terror, hanging on to her mother's dress.

When Lettie was finally released, she grabbed Katie and ran to the door, screaming Nathan's name. Outside, the rest of the Indians rushed past her, one of them shoving her out of the way. They mounted up and rode off. In the distance Lettie could hear war whoops and the sound of many horses —Luke's horses, being stolen. Half Nose had already ridden off with Nathan, and Lettie sank to the ground at the fading sound of her son's screaming as he disappeared into the night.



A cold spring rain fell as Lettie drove the buckboard through the muddy main street of Billings, past people who stared curiously at the woman who drove the wagon with a blank stare on her face, letting the rain soak her wool jacket. Syd Martin, the owner of the general store, realized first that something was wrong. Luke had already been to town once this spring, and he'd mentioned his wife was carrying again, due in only a couple of months. He had left her home because he didn't think it would be good for her to be riding in a bouncing, jolting wagon at this stage of her pregnancy, yet here was Lettie Fontaine, driving the wagon herself.

"Mrs. Fontaine!" The man ran out to catch the mules, realizing the woman hardly seemed to know where she was. "Is something wrong?" He managed to slow the mules enough to climb up into the wagon while it was still rolling and take the reins from Lettie. "Mrs. Fontaine?"

"Syd." The man's name came in a groan from the back of the wagon. Syd looked back to see Luke lying in the wagon bed, also getting rain soaked. Little Katie sat beside her father, who was holding a rain slicker over the child to keep her dry. Syd could see Luke's face was bruised and swollen, and there were long, scabbed streaks down one side of his face.

"Luke! What the hell has happened?"

"Get us to Will Doolan's," Luke answered, grimacing as he struggled to sit up. "I've got... to get a posse together... go after... Half Nose. He took our son... Nathan."

Syd closed his eyes, hardly feeling the rain that began running off the brim of his hat and dripping into his lap. "Jesus," he whispered. He looked at Lettie, his heart aching at the look on her face. She seemed almost to be in a trance. He took the reins from her and slapped them against the rumps of the mules, heading them out of town to Will's place. "Indians!" he called out to several people who had gathered to stare. "They took Luke Fontaine's boy! Get some men together and come on out to Will Doolan's!"

Lettie almost vomited at the words. They took Luke Fontaine's boy. Where was her precious little Nathan? Would Half Nose kill him? Keep him to raise as his own? If he let him live, would he be allowed to keep his stuffed horse? She had made that horse for him with her own two hands. As long as he had it with him, he could have a little piece of her heart with him also, and he might be all right, be a little bit comforted. There was so much to grieve over, she couldn't bear to think about any of it. Zeb, Horace, Jim... all dead... butchered. Because of her condition and the need to get help for Luke and find someone who might be able to go after Nathan, she couldn't stop to bury the three men whom she had grown to care for very much. Even poor Pup was dead. Most of the horses had been stolen. Luke's beating had surely set back his recovery, yet he was determined to join whatever posse could be gathered to go after Nathan. Would the beating and his insistence on joining a search party kill him? He was not well enough for this, but she knew how badly he was suffering on the inside, blaming himself.

Who was to blame? Luke, for coming here in the first place? The savage Indians? Half Nose had lost a son. He wanted revenge. At the moment she could understand the feeling. Maybe she was to blame, for not realizing what was going on outside last night... or maybe for a deeper reason. Maybe this was some kind of punishment from God. Maybe she was somehow responsible for her rape after all, and she was supposed to suffer for it.

She touched her swollen abdomen. Somehow, through finding Zeb and Horace and Jim's bodies, through stumbling over poor Pup, through struggling to hitch a team of mules to the wagon and helping Luke into it, then through the long, jolting, almost day-long ride into town, she had hung on to the new life in her womb. At the moment she didn't really want to live at all, but poor little terrified Katie needed her mother, as did the new baby growing inside her. The one called Half Nose well knew how to get his revenge. Killing all of them would have been the easy way. They would not really have suffered at all. He probably thought Nathan was Luke's son by blood, figured taking the boy was the best way of punishing Luke and her for what had happened to his own son. For all his savagery, he was a wise man, and he was probably hurting as much inside as she was right now.

What was the sense in all this bloodletting? If Half Nose and his people had come to her house hungry, she would have fed them. If they had needed blankets, she would have given them some. Luke would probably even have traded them some horses for some buffalo robes—anything to keep the peace. Instead, the Indians had tried to steal Luke's precious horses, the only thing he had to make money on last summer. That led to killing Half Nose's son, and now all this. It could all so easily have been avoided.

Nathan! She could hear his screams. The terror in his eyes as Half Nose carried him off would haunt her the rest of her life. How was she ever supposed to sleep again? Eat again? If Luke and the others could not find her son...

She was hardly aware of arriving at Will's, or of Will lifting her down from the wagon and carrying her inside the house and laying her on a bed. She said nothing, for if she opened her mouth, she would start screaming and never stop. Someone began removing her wet clothes then, and she heard Henny talking to her, but the words did not make any sense to her. Someone laid a sobbing Katie on the bed beside her. She could hear men talking in another room, loud voices, heard Luke cussing, groaning. Luke... He couldn't go riding off with a search party in that cold rain. It would kill him.

Anguish was evident in Luke's voice as he explained what had happened. Will exclaimed when he heard about Luke's grizzly attack, and she remembered that Will and Henny hadn't even known about that yet. Immediately talk turned to gathering men together to go out and find Nathan. Then someone mentioned sending men out to bury Zeb, Horace, and Jim. Good. That was good. She hoped they would bury Pup, too, so the wolves could not get to him. Wolves. Howling wolves. Constant wind. Fierce grizzlies. Screaming, bloodthirsty Indians. This was a cruel land in which Luke Fontaine had chosen to settle. She could bear all the hardships, anything the land and the elements wanted to throw at her. But she could not bear having her son taken from her. She could see his sweet smile, see the ever-present stuffed horse in his arms. His smile faded, and he began shrieking. "Mommy! Mommy!"

She should be with him. The horror of it made her gasp, and she looked up at Henny. "I... I didn't finish my letter," she told the woman, who looked at her with deep concern in her eyes.

"What letter, dear?"

"I was... writing a letter... to my parents in Denver. I was going to tell them how well things were going. I had my garden planted... another grandchild on the way... Luke's pregnant mares. Everything was so good. The letter and ink... are still sitting on my desk... at home. Jim made the desk for me. You really... should come and visit, Henny... see the desk." What was she jabbering about? Nothing but nonsense came out of her mouth. Nathan! No! She couldn't think about that. "What should I say, Henny... in the letter?"

Henny leaned over her, stroking some of her damp hair away from her face. Yes, Henny knew why she was talking about nothing. "They'll find him, Lettie," the woman told her gently. "God will help them find him."

Tears began to spill out of Lettie's eyes. She had to believe that, didn't she? If she didn't believe that, there would be little reason to go on living. Henny helped her put on a warm, dry flannel gown, and Katie curled up beside her. Luke came into the room then, looking like a wild man. His blue eyes blazed with determination, but he looked pale and bruised. One side of his face was still puffy from the grizzly scratches, and he had lost weight from being sick. He half stumbled to the bed, a mixture of horror and guilt and sorrow on his face.

"I'm so goddamn sorry, Lettie," he groaned, his own eyes tearing. "We'll find him. I'm not coming back without him. I don't care how long it takes."

"You can't... go out there, Luke. You'll die. I can't lose you, too."

"If I can't find Nathan, I deserve to die! This is my fault, for bringing you here, for not understanding how in hell to deal with Indians. If I had known this was going to happen, I would have let Half Nose's son come at me and bury an arrow in my chest. Right now I feel like that's exactly what he did anyway!"

He turned and limped out of the room. Lettie heard men's voices again, someone telling Luke to get into some dry clothes, to get some rest. They would get organized and head out in the morning.