Taming of Jessi Rose Page 22

  Valeria was Auntie’s real name and Gillie was the only person alive allowed to address her as such.

  “I don’t see why not. We’ll need all the help we can muster.”

  Doyle and Gillie departed soon after, and once Joth finished waving good-bye, Jessi put the already half-asleep boy right to bed. Preacher went to his tent to read his Bible before ending his day, and the Twins mounted up and rode off to patrol the perimeter.

  Jessi and Griffin were left alone. They were seated on the front porch enjoying the night and each other, as had become their habit. Jessi laced her arm through his, and after resting her head against his shoulder, thought how wonderful it would be to end each day just like this for the rest of her life. “I told Gillie about Minerva’s Wanted poster. She said she’d make some discreet enquiries. Well, actually, she said she’d do some sniffing around herself.” They both smiled. Griffin said, “I like her.”

  “So do I. I hope she lives forever. She’s meant a lot to me over the years.”

  He bent over and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I hope you live forever too.”

  They began working on the roof the next morning. Under Griff’s supervision, Jessi and the others spent the next four days sawing, hammering nails and pulling splinters out of their skin. Jessi found herself watching him with a new respect. Griffin Blake was an excellent carpenter and gang boss, and just as he claimed, he knew exactly what he was doing. He built a trap door in the roof so that he and Jessi could continue to watch the sunrise and she was very touched by the gesture.

  One of the assignments given to Joth by his teacher involved writing an essay on three famous people or events in Texas history. Joth wandered into Jessi’s room the day after the roof was finished and asked for her help in choosing his subjects. Jessi was sweeping the floor and stopped to think a moment. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “Well, I talked to the Twins about it.”

  Jessi couldn’t contain her chuckle. “You talked to the Twins about your school assignment?”

  “Yes, was that all right?”

  She straightened her face. “Yes, it was. What did they suggest?”

  “Neil said I should write about the Black Seminole scouts that were in the Army and Two Shafts suggested the Comanche.”

  Jessi was impressed. “Those are two very good choices. What about number three?”

  “Maybe that man the Twins named Griffin after. Señor Cheno Cortinas.”

  “That sounds fine, too, but how are you going to find out what you need to know to do the essay? The Twins can probably help you with the Comanche and the Seminole scouts, but Señor Cortinas might be harder to do.”

  “What about Gillie? She might know. Gillie knows everything.”

  “You may be right, Joth, that’s an excellent idea. How about we ride into town tomorrow or the next day and ask her? In the meantime, you can talk to the Twins about the Comanche and the Seminole scouts.”

  He was one happy boy when he left her room, and a smiling Jessi went back to her sweeping.

  That afternoon Jessi sat with Joth, Griffin, the Twins, and Preacher as Two Shafts told his story. Two Shafts was indeed Comanche, but only on his mother’s side; both he and Neil July were fathered by a Black Seminole army scout named Randolph July. In reality the two men were half-brothers, as each had a different mother, but since they were both born on the same day, it also made them twins. Jessi had never met a true Comanche before, and like many other Texans had been raised to fear the fiercely independent warriors. But as she grew older and began to learn the truth about the lies of the government and the broken treaties, she could not help but sympathize with the plight of the country’s native nations.

  “We were a nomadic people,” Two Shafts said to Joth. “And like our friends the Apache, the Kiowa, and the Sioux, we did our best to hold onto our hunting grounds and freedom, but as more and more Anglos came in, it became harder and harder to do.”

  Jessi knew that everyone in Texas—Indian, Mexican, Black, and White—had lost lives, homes, and loved ones in the battles and raids conducted by and against the native peoples, both before and after Texas independence.

  According to Two Shafts, a seminal incident took place in 1840. “Twelve Comanche chiefs and sixty-five of their people came to San Antonio’s Council House to negotiate the release of thirteen White captives. As a show of good faith the Comanches brought with them one of the captives. The citizenry was not so generous. They proposed that the chiefs be taken hostage instead, to make sure that all the captives would be returned.”

  “Did the chiefs agree?” Joth asked.

  “No, and a fight started. When the smoke cleared, thirty Comanche and seven Whites were dead.”

  “What happened to the other Comanche?” Joth asked curiously.

  Jessi was glad to hear he’d done the mathematics in his head.

  “They were captured. The Texans named the incident the Council House fight, but for the nations of the Comanche, the Kiowas, and our other Plains brethren, it was just one more step down the road to our deaths as a people.”

  Two Shafts further explained that as more and moresettlers came west, the tribes from Texas to Kansas were hunted down and stuck on reserves that were often overcrowded, ill run, and understaffed. Supplies of food, clothing, and medicine were delivered erratically at best, and the women and elders starved so the children could eat the minimal rations that were available. The chiefs and warriors, faced with the starvation of their people, did the only thing they could: they left the reservations to find food by hunting buffalo. The great buffalo herds had sustained the nations for as long as the People could remember, but like the tribes, they too were being hunted down and extinguished.

  As Two Shafts went on, Jessi remembered seeing an article in one of the back east newspapers stating that nearly four million buffalo were killed in the years between 1872 and 1874, but only 150,000 by Indian hands. The Anglo buffalo hunters with their long-range guns slaughtered the rest for the skins. According to the article, the stench of dead buffalo rotting in the sun could be smelled for miles, and when a group of White Texas ranchers went to General Phillip Sheridan to complain about the carnage perpetrated by the hunters and skinners, they were told, “Let them kill, skin, and sell them until the buffalo is exterminated, as it is the only way to bring lasting peace and allow civilization to advance.”

  Two Shafts added bitterly, “The free Comanche and the warriors who’d escaped the reservations wanted no part of a civilization based on waste and broken treaties, so a young Comanche chief named Quanah Parker proposed war to rid the grazing lands of the hunters once and for all.”

  Jessi knew about the famous Quanah. His mother was a White woman named Cynthia Ann Parker who’d been taken captive as a child in 1836. In 1860 during a skirmish with the Texas Rangers, her husband, a Comanche war chief named Peta Nocona, was killed, and she andher daughter, Prairie Flower, were captured by the Texans.

  Quanah’s quest to rid the plains of the hunters began June 27, 1874, at a supply base camp near the Canadian River, a place known as Adobe Walls.

  “He had almost seven hundred warriors with him. Kiowas led by the great war chiefs Lone Wolf and Satanta, volunteers from the Arapaho, and a group of Cheyenne led by White Shield. The Cheyenne had come because a group of buffalo hunters had stolen fifty of their best ponies, and they wanted their return or revenge.”

  “But wasn’t it against the law to leave the reservation? That’s what Mr. Trent said,” Joth told his Comanche friend.

  “Yes, it was. Harsh punishments were promised for anyone who left the reservation without permission, but the warriors at Adobe Walls that day had little time for rules. They were fighting for their lives. Quanah planned to start with Adobe Walls, then push across northern Texas into Kansas, destroying the hunters’ bases on the plains. The grazing lands of the buffalo had been promised to the tribes in 1867 under the Treaty of Medicine Lodge, and if the Army wouldn’t keep the int
erlopers out, Quanah and his men would.”

  But it turned out to be a futile endeavor. Even though Quanah and his forces caught the camp by surprise, the thick adobe walls of the settlement and the telescope-equipped long guns of the hunters kept the Indians at bay. The attack which had begun at dawn under the waning Summer Moon waged on into the afternoon, at which time the Indians finally withdrew.

  “The retreating warriors were angry and blamed the Comanche prophet and medicine man named Isatai for their failure. He’d promised victory and Quanah had to intervene to save Isatai from a flogging by a Cheyennewarrior. Quanah never put his faith in another medicine man.”

  There were a few more skirmishes after that but after being defeated by the bluecoats at the great Palo Duro village, Lone Wolf and the Kiowas surrendered at Fort Sill on February 25, 1875. Quanah Parker and the last of the free Comanches followed the Kiowas in three months later.

  “What happened to them? Were they punished for leaving the reservation?” Joth asked with a childlike concern.

  Shafts nodded sadly. “Everyone who surrendered was put into a corral and disarmed. If the warrior had any property, it was burned. All of their horses and mules were shot. Those who’d left the reservation were either put into cells or kept in the icehouse. The bluecoats tossed them meals of raw meat as if they were caged animals.”

  The memories were obviously too much for Two Shafts. He stood and told his brother, “I’m going riding. I’ll be back later.”

  No one tried to stop him as he strode outside.

  Preacher, who’d come in during the middle of the story, said, “Maybe if the country had respected the native races, there might not have been such bloodshed and heartache.”

  “Or if the United States had kept their word, instead of changing it every time the sun rose,” Neil July added as he stood at the back door watching his brother ride away.

  Later that night after hearing Joth’s prayers, she sat on the edge of his bed and asked, “Did you get a chance to hear about the Seminole scouts from Neil?”

  “Yep, when I helped him do up the dishes after supper. I already knew that the Black Seminoles were once escaped slaves who went to live with the Seminoles inFlorida, because Mr. Trent told us about it.”

  “So what didn’t you know?”

  Joth paused to think a moment, then said, “Well, I didn’t know that when the tribes were forced to live in Oklahoma, many of the Seminoles wound up leaving because slave catchers kept bothering them.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Neil said the Seminole chiefs Wild Cat and John Horse took two hundred of their people and left on what he called the Great Trek and went to Mexico.”

  “What did they do there?”

  “First they helped the Mexican government protect the border, then when Mr. Lincoln’s war ended a man from the army came to the Seminoles and asked them to be scouts.”

  “Did they agree?”

  “Yep. Their commander was a man named Lieutenant John Bullis and Neil said the Seminoles liked him a lot because he treated them like men. They were called the Seminole Negro Indian Scouts.”

  Jesse smiled upon hearing the lofty title. “I heard the Seminole scouts were very brave.”

  “They were. Neil said his pa told him that in twelve big fights they never lost a man and none of them ever got hurt.”

  Jessi was impressed.

  “And one time, his pa and the other scouts were in the desert and they had nothing to eat but canned peaches and rattlesnakes.”

  Jessi wrinkled her nose. “They must’ve been really hungry if they had to eat snakes.”

  “I think so too. Have you ever eaten a rattlesnake?”

  Jessi shook her head and chuckled. “Not that I remember. So, what else are you putting in your report?”

  “That the scouts were so brave, Congress gave four of them Medals of Honor.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “I didn’t either, but things sort of went bad after that,” he added solemly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when the Seminoles agreed to be scouts, the government in Washington promised to give the Seminole families land and food, but they didn’t. The families started starving, Aunt Jessi, and the men had to become scavengers and thieves so they could eat.”

  Jessi found the sad tale moving. “Did anybody try and help?”

  “General Sheridan talked to the government and so did some of the other generals but nobody listened to them. Some of the local townspeople even started shooting the Seminoles just for fun, and they almost killed Chief John Horse.”

  “This doesn’t sound like it will end happily.”

  “It didn’t. One of the winners of those congress medals, I think Neil said his name was Adam Paine, got shot in the back by a Texas sheriff. The sheriff shot him at such close range, Aunt Jessi, his clothes caught on fire.”

  Jessi went stock still. “What did the Seminoles do?”

  Joth shrugged. “I don’t know, but Neil said that after that happened, some of the scouts left the states and went to live in Mexico and they never came back. He said that by 1881, there were no more Seminole scouts.”

  Another tragic episode in America’s history, Jessi thought to herself. She hoped that the bravery of the scouts would not be lost over time, because without their help the West would not’ve been settled.

  Joth looked up at her and said, “Do you think Señor Cortinas’s story will have a happy ending?”

  Jessi shrugged. “I hope so, Joth.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter 10

  The saloon’s repairs were completed a few days later, and Auntie decided to throw a party to celebrate the re-opening. Because of her aversion to Vale’s social events, Jessi hadn’t planned on attending, but when the Twins told her that Auntie had specifically asked that she be brought along, Jessi decided to rethink her position. After all, she doubted if any of her detractors would attend; helping a fallen woman like Auntie toast the opening of her new saloon might keep them from entering heaven, so Jessi decided she would go.

  When the day rolled around, the men went to town early to get their hair cut and while they were away, Jessi hauled in heated water for a bath. Preacher had kindly offered to stay with Joth for the evening and the two were now out hunting rabbits.

  After her bath, Jessi took out her new dress and then sat on her bed to open the box she’d received the day after Joth’s return from Austin. It too had come from Gillie and had been brought out to the ranch by Doyle. The note on the large box read: I forgot to give this to you. To be opened only when you wear the dress.

  Of course, Jessi wanted to open the box right then, but she was afraid the all-seeing, all-knowing Gillie would somehow find out, so she’d put it away. As she opened it now, she stared. Placing her hand over her mouth, she laughed with both delight and shock. Inside was a short, very seductive black corset. Jessi lifted it out and scanned the flared high-cut bottom and the tiny gray roses that decorated the bodice. These were no everyday underthings, they’d been designed to tempt a man’s eye. There was a pair of new black stockings, two fancy little garters, a finely made camisole, and a pair of drawers. Gillie had even included new black slippers. A bit stunned by the gift, Jessi found a note on the box’s bottom which read:

  Tell Griffin there’s no need to thank me.

  Love to you both.

  G.

  A shocked Jessi laughed out loud.

  Jessi dressed, and once she was done, walked over to view herself in the mirror. She was amazed by her reflection. In the glass stood the woman she used to be, the woman who was fashionable, articulate, and confident—the woman who’d taught sciences at the Miss Paris LaMarr’s School for Young Women of Color, and the woman who’d married Evan. In the decade since coming home, this woman had been buried beneath the person she had had to become in order to survive. That woman had had no place on a ranch run by her iron-willed father, or on the road with Bob W
inston and his gang. That woman had to be put away in order to preserve her sanity. In its place grew a woman much stronger, more resilient, and far more tenacious than before. Though she might look the same in the mirror, Jessi knew that in reality that woman of a decade ago existed no more.

  Jessi turned to view the back of the stylish navy dress. With its dainty row of buttons down the back and its stovepipe lines, it would be absolutely useless on a cattle drive, but perfect for a social event like Auntie’s party. Seeing her all gussied up would undoubtedly give the gossips plenty to talk about, but as always, Jessi didn’t care.

  “Well, how do I look?” Jessi asked, as she walked into the parlor where the men were waiting. Her short-cropped hair had been dressed and brushed until it shone. In her ears were the gold circlets she always wore. Jessi tried not to smile at the stunned look on Griffin’s face.

  Joth was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. “Wow, Aunt Jessi, is that you?”

  “No, it’s Sam Houston,” Neil cracked with a smile. “You look lovely. Miss Clayton.”

  Jessi gave him a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Neil.”

  Griff could see Jessi’s mouth moving, but he hadn’t heard a word she’d said since she’d stepped into the room. He was far too busy staring at her in that dress. She’d always been beautiful in his eyes, even if she did wear nothing but ranch hand attire, but like this, all dressed up, she seemed like another woman altogether. It was as if she’d been transformed into a prim and proper back east lady who carried a reticule instead of a loaded Winchester, a woman he wanted to hustle into the nearest closet and see how long it took him to undo those little jet buttons down the back of her dress. The thought of undressing her and freeing her warm skin to his kisses and his touch made him instantaneously harden with desire.