When the wheels of the wagon rested on the pancaked road of traveler's, I jumped from the back and took my place beside Redhawk and his horse. He glassed the army of men and horses east beneath the rising sun. With the naked eye, I couldn't spy my husband among the wagons and masses. Hot tears pressed against my eyes to see such a wake of souls who came to wrest me from captivity in the wilderness.

I did my best to press out my dress with my hands one of the officer ladies gave me for my journey home. It was a far cry from the deerskin I was forced to wear in captivity. There was lingering smell of the lavender perfume mixing and mingling with the damp dewy earth before us. The air was a sweet savor of home.

Redhawk looked down from his brown mare. "It's them, Mrs. McCord." This I reckoned then to be General Sully and his marching men along with a supply line and my husband with his horses.

He reached down from his horse and pulled me up to his backside. The others in our group fanned back. The lot of them seemed to understand the moment. Doing my best to hold on and shield the sun from my eyes, Redhawk smacked the reins of his horse. We took off like a bolt of lightning across the open prairie.

With my heart in my throat and the wind whipping our faces, I dug my chin into his back and hung on for dear life. As we approached the line of men, Redhawk having made the sign with his hand, I took a spill from the rear of the horse and landed on my rear. It wasn't exactly how I imagined greeting my once left for dead husband.

The boy Joseph was the first one to reach me with his hand to help me up. I dusted myself off when my husband blotted out the sun. I sprang into his arms, knocking him over to the ground where we held each other without shame.

As I looked up at the army of men who flanked us, I'd never seen so many leathery skinned soldiers blush on the horizon. I couldn't speak. I choked up inside until I couldn't breathe, but I didn't care, I held my husband on the ground until we brushed ourselves off. Then he kissed me and swept me back off the ground.

"It's my fault," he said. "I should have stayed with you."

I looked into his moist eyes and kissed him, so he couldn't catch his tongue to talk more nonsense. "No, Jake. You proved your valor once, enough to be left for dead in the war. Don't fret over the Indians giving you a bloody haircut. We got a new start, that's all that matters." Tears pressed against my eyes. "I gave no more thought for the land, only for you and my son."

"Every stitch I own meant nothing without you."

I hugged his neck. "By the looks of it, you brough twenty horses to trade with the Indians for me."

"Nothing is worth more to me than you," he said.

We circled back against the grain of General Sully's men, horses, and wagons. The soldiers passed by on the dusty trail, heading for the foothills to punish the uprising or make peace, depending on which came first.

General Sully strolled up to our wagon on his horse to greet me. He tipped his hat. "Mrs. McCord. Thankful to see you survived when many women don't. Most former captives that do, can never speak of the horrors, and some have lost their minds all together."

With my humble nod, he knew I appreciated life more so. No one man, general or not, husband or no, wanted to speak of things done to women. "You might say, I had an angel by my side, named Little deer, but I got plenty of scars, though some are on the inside."

General Sully looked away, hesitant to ask. But I reckoned he'd get around to it. "If you don't mind, Ma'am, we'd appreciate your scouting information on where they might be holed up, and what their strength in number might be."

"They have been in a canyon, impenetrable by a large army. But they are an army with the Arapahoe. Know this too: the chief is not happy, because his daughter fell in love with an army man at fort Laramie. He rebuffed her advances, which left the woman in a deep depression. She threw herself off a cliff. You might say, she died from a broken heart, and it makes the chief's heart both heavy and hard."

The general's eyes widened and, then he nodded. He stroked his Billy goat of a beard. "Maybe, there's some wisdom to be learned from what you tell me."

I felt the worn edges of smile come to life. "I reckon we should make more love and less war. Love and marriage could bring more of us together. I reckon we all have to figure out how to share the land. We all can't live in the wind." I said this, knowing their goal was to put them on reservations and take the best land for the whites.

The general tipped his hat to me again. "I see by the light in your eyes you're a changed woman with a story to tell. I do hope to read about it someday."

Perhaps I will, someday. For now, I'd prefer the solitude and to be surrounded by the ones I love."

"I suspect you'd make one hell of a negotiator, Mrs. McCord? We could use someone like you to help us make peace and not war."

"Thanks just the same General. But you seem to be lookin' hard enough for a way forward. Godspeed."

"Good day, Ma'am."

We rode for home with the wind behind us and the land before us. But I knew the land was not my heart anymore. None of us, Indian or white will hold the land forever. But sow and reap we must, knowing this world is no permanent home, only a place between heaven and hell.

John 3:8
The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So, it is with everyone born of the Spirit.

THE END