Calico Christmas at Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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of this past summer. There were more cottonwood trees farther up the ravine, but she doubted even a jackrabbit wanted the barren piece of land that was now her camp. Although she did know there were men who would lay claim to something just because someone else had their tent pitched on it already. Maybe this buckskin man was one of them.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Jake said and then he hesitated. “It’s you. Women are scarce out here and it’s hard for a man to find one when he needs her.”
Elizabeth blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
Sergeant Rawlings spoke up. “It’s not what you think, ma’am. It’s on account of the baby being hungry is all.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth breathed out in wonder. She knew in that moment she was going to see the baby.
Jake hesitated and then finished unwinding the furs from his shoulders.
The baby was so tiny and its eyes were shut. Elizabeth thought it must be sleeping until the baby opened its mouth and yawned. Her Rose used to yawn like that.
“There’s no one to feed her,” Jake said. “I asked all around Miles City before I came out to the fort.”
“Miller thought he might be able to milk one of your oxen,” Sergeant Rawlings said. “But it didn’t seem like it would work.”
“I should think not,” Elizabeth said as she stepped closer to the baby. She left enough room so that she wouldn’t pass on any sickness just in case. “It’s a little girl then, is it? If I could, I would feed her.”
The baby started to give a weak wail.
Elizabeth felt her breasts grow heavy with milk. “Where’s her mother?”
“Dead,” Jake said flatly and then repeated what the soldier had said, “The doctor says you’re not going to get the fever.” He looked square at her. “You’re her last hope. She’ll die without something to eat.”
“But still…” Elizabeth knew she would not have let anyone who might come down with the fever touch her Rose. This baby here was frail and reminded her of how Rose had been when she was dying. If Elizabeth closed her eyes, she could still see the image of Rose lying so still after she took her last breath.
Suddenly, the baby stopped its wail.
“I can’t…” Elizabeth started to say, but her arms were already reaching out.
God would have to forgive her if that doctor was wrong, because she couldn’t let this baby die without trying to help it.
Jake held out the baby. Elizabeth wrapped a corner of her blanket around it and bent down to go back inside her tent. She supposed the two men would just stand outside and wait, but she didn’t care. She had a baby to hold again.
Once they got started, Elizabeth was surprised at how easily the baby fell into the rhythm of nursing. Even when the baby had finished eating, Elizabeth just sat there for a while with the baby at her breast. The little one’s hair was black and soft. She was an Indian baby, of course, but she looked like Rose all the same.
The baby didn’t seem as heathen as a warrior would, though.
She had heard that some of the white men who came to the territories took Indian wives. She wondered briefly if Jake Hargrove had married the baby’s mother in a church ceremony.
For a moment, Elizabeth was glad Matthew wasn’t here to see her nursing the infant. From the day he had proposed to her, Elizabeth had tried to be the wife Matthew had wanted. He had married beneath himself; there was no question of that. A lady would never nurse another’s baby and Elizabeth felt sure Matthew would refuse to let her do so if he were here, especially because the baby was not white. And probably irregular in its birth, as well.
The sun was almost setting when Elizabeth opened the tent flap again. Sergeant Rawlings had gone, but the other man was still there sitting on the ground near her wagon. The Indian girl had come closer to the wagon, as well, even though she still sat on top of her pony.
When she opened the tent flap, Jake stood up and walked over to her.
“What’s the baby’s name?” Elizabeth asked as she knelt at the door of her tent and lifted the baby up to the man.
“She doesn’t have a name yet.” Jake took the baby and began to wrap it back into the furs he wore over his shoulder.
“Oh, surely she has a name,” Elizabeth said as she stood up and hugged her blanket around her. Hoping for a girl, she and Matthew had picked out the name Rose before their baby was even born. Rose had been the name of Matthew’s mother, but Elizabeth had liked the name for its own sake, too. “She’ll sleep for now.”
“The Lakota wait to name their babies,” Jake said as he adjusted the baby inside his makeshift sling. “She hadn’t earned her name yet when she was brought to me.”
“My sister will be called the Crying One,” the girl on the pony said. “For the tears of her people.”
Elizabeth was surprised to hear the girl speaking English. Her words were not easily formed, but Elizabeth could understand what she was saying.
“Your sister doesn’t belong to the Lakota anymore,” Jake said. “She belongs to the people of her grandfather.”
The girl didn’t say anything. She just sat, facing east. She didn’t even seem to look at the man. Her face was smooth, devoid of expression.
Elizabeth had heard arguments like this before.
“Your dress is beautiful.” Elizabeth smiled up just in case the girl looked over at her. The faded yellow tones of the calico looked almost white in the rays of the setting sun. A good boiling with some of the dried marigold petals Elizabeth had in her wagon would bring the color back, though. “Your sister is fortunate to have a big sister like you to take care of her.”
“I cannot take care of her.” The girl turned and looked at Elizabeth for the first time. “She needs you.”
“Oh.”
Elizabeth saw the girl’s face crumble. Resentment and pleading both shone in the young girl’s eyes. How she must hate asking for help. And how desperately she wanted it.
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, I—I will do what I can until some other way is found.”
“What other way is there?” Jake asked. His voice was strained, too. “The baby sickens on cow’s milk. I tried to buy some of that canned milk in Miles City—the kind they gave our men in the war—but none of the stores sell it. Most of them hadn’t even heard of it. You are our only hope.”
If things had been different, she and Matthew might have eventually owned a store like the ones that the man mentioned. That had been Matthew’s dream. They probably wouldn’t have canned milk, either, at least not in the beginning. But, in time, who knew?
Matthew always said he would tend the store while Elizabeth tended Rose. He had all those things in the wagon to sell. A fierce sadness rose up in Elizabeth just thinking about it. Those dreams and hopes were all dead. It didn’t seem fair that the peace of her passing should be disturbed with memories of things that would never come true. Matthew had died so fast, he hadn’t even had time to mourn his lost dreams.
Death had been taking its time with her, though. Without her Rose, she wanted to die. She had no family and she would not go back to being an outsider in other people’s homes. She was ready to die. She did not need two pairs of eyes watching her and demanding that she stay alive. She wished she could just close her eyes and keep them closed until she was done with this life.
But, Elizabeth admitted, the doctor in the fort had been a cautious man when he treated Matthew and Rose. A professional man like that wasn’t likely to make a mistake about the fever. She wondered if the doctor had seen the Indian baby. Elizabeth knew most people wouldn’t think it was a tragedy if one more heathen baby died, but she found she did. She had nursed this