“Tell me what you want of me and it will be done,” Dancing Cloud said, looking into Boyd’s faded eyes. He flinched when Boyd suddenly closed them and it did not seem as though he was breathing any longer.
Dancing Cloud sighed heavily with relief when Boyd once again opened his eyes and sucked in a wild breath, then began to talk again.
“My daughter has never had a true family since my departure for the Civil War when she was five,” Boyd said slowly, feeling more drained by the minute. “Her mother was murdered by the Yankees. She . . . she . . . was raised in an orphanage.”
Boyd wanted to hurry on with his request, for he could feel himself slipping away. This time he felt it might finally be the last hurrah of his life.
Dancing Cloud shot Lauralee a quick look. Sympathy for how she had lived was like a sharp edge within his soul. When he had returned from the Civil War he had found many Cherokee children orphaned whose parents had been killed when the Yankees had passed through on their way to the battlefields farther south.
Seeing this had made him not wish to have children of his own. He had even considered getting married only to give some Cherokee waif a home. Perhaps more than one. Due to the ravages of the Civil War, the need was still great.
His eyes smiled into Lauralee’s, thinking that she would understand the need to adopt some unfortunate Cherokee child and give them a home filled with love and understanding.
Then his attention was drawn back to Boyd when Boyd broke into a fitful bout of coughing.
Lauralee moved into quick action. She bent over her father and raised him into a half-sitting position. She stroked his perspiration-beaded brow.
The coughing finally subsided. Lauralee eased her father back down onto the bed and drew a cover up snugly beneath his chin.
“Joe, I need you to escort Lauralee to Illinois,” Boyd said in an almost whisper. “You will be taking her to relatives where she will finally have a true home.” He paused and inhaled a deep, trembling breath. He grabbed Joe’s hand. “Will you do that for me, Joe? Will you?”
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Joe glanced up at Lauralee, then back down at Boyd. “Does she agree to such an escort?” he asked thickly.
“Not entirely,” Lauralee blurted out, yet wishing that she hadn’t the moment she saw the wounded look in Dancing Cloud’s eyes. “You see, I feel that I am old enough to care for myself. I told Father time and again that I can travel quite well on my own.” She paused and sighed. “But he still insists.”
“And you agreed to allow Joe, honey,” Boyd said, patting her hand.
“Yes, I did, but . . .”
Boyd took her hesitance as something else, as something reflecting on the escort that he had chosen for her. In what breath that he could find, he tried to explain to her why Joe could be trusted.
“Lauralee, although Joe is Indian, he is the only man I would entrust your care,” he said between shaky breaths. “Yes, he is Indian. He is a full-blooded Cherokee. Joe is of the Eastern band of Cherokee, the remnant that still clings to the woods and waters of their old home country. They are of the mountain Cherokee of North Carolina, the purest-blooded and most conservative of the Cherokee nation. He is not of the mixed bloods who are guided by shrewd mixed-blood politicians who are chiefly on the low grounds and in the railroad towns.”
When Lauralee saw that this little speech had totally winded her father, she leaned into his embrace. “Hush, Father,” she murmured. “You don’t have to explain anything else to me. I can see the kind of man Dancing Cloud is. I, too, see that he can be trusted.”
“Good,” Boyd wheezed out. “Good.”
Although Dancing Cloud saw traveling with Lauralee as a way to get to know her better, to give him a better understanding of this intrigue that he felt for her, he was torn again with what to do. The time it would take to get Lauralee to Illinois would be many days and nights of travel.
Could history repeat itself?
Could tragedy strike his village again in his absence? His father!
Could he die?
Whenever Dancing Cloud thought of the possibility of his father dying before he returned to his village, he would remember what his father had said about being ready to cross over to the other side. He was anxious to join his wife, to walk hand in hand with her in the hereafter.
That comforted Dancing Cloud to know that his father thought of death as a means to be happier. When the time came that his father did pass on over to the other side Dancing Cloud’s grieving would not be as severe. He would envision his father and mother together again and smile.
Then there was Lauralee, and how troubling it was think of being with her for the length of time it would take them to reach Illinois. Although he did wish to know her better, he doubted that it should be for any reason other than just to know the daughter of his friend Boyd! It was time for him to take a wife. He was not sure if his people could accept a white wife for a man who would one day be their leader.
Yet he again remembered his father’s words. The debt to Boyd would be paid once and for all if he did this final deed for him. And it was obvious that Boyd was dying. This made Dancing Cloud want to do this last deed for him, no matter the cost to himself.
Dancing Cloud’s silence worried Boyd. “Joe, I’ll understand if you feel that you can’t do this for me,” he said, his voice scarcely audible. “I feel guilty for even putting you in the position of being away from your people for this length of time.”
Boyd’s eyes widened. He attempted to rise on an elbow only to crumple back down onto the bed. “I am so thoughtless,” he said. “I did not ask about your father.”