The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

78: Kindred Hearts to Bleed and Break

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Fiona by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

I can't believe we managed to get out of the bloody fort.

That was the litany inside Fiona's head, and it kept repeating itself over and over. I honestly can't believe that worked. We got out of the bloody fort.

She and Mr. Devereaux had passed themselves off as enlisted men and escaped from Fort Bridger. I suppose if Alex...er, Captain Scarcliff...had been here, we never would have managed it. Mr. Devereaux would surely have ended up in the brig, and I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't have ended up in there with him. She was exhilarated, euphoric from their success, even though she had to admit, she had been terrified the entire time.

Her hair was itchy underneath the blue wool soldier's cap and her bound chest felt tight and constricted beneath poor Lundy Bad Medicine's threadbare blue coat. The battered boots she'd found beneath his bed rattled loosely on her feet, despite the wadded rags she had stuffed into the toes. She was very thankful that the Bridger scouts had a habit of wearing enough of their own clothing and accessories. She and Mr. Devereaux were able to cobble together convincing costumes from what they had left behind in their cabin.

Now, hiding out in a stand of cottonwoods near the creek with Mr. Devereaux, she realized that her fear was just starting.

"You sure you're up to this, Little Firebrand?" Mr. Devereaux said, scanning the line of teepees before them with anxious eyes. "No telling what kind of mood the Lakota are in. This is stupid. We could get ourselves killed."

Her heart was pounding in her chest. "They're going to be massacred. I just couldn't live with myself if..." She looked at him. "Mr. Devereaux, I won't think less of you if you don't come with me. You don't have to..."

"Yes, ma'am," he growled. "I really do. Let's go."

She took a deep breath and followed him. Her feet felt as though they were moving on their own, and she forced herself to breathe slowly, to calm down. They aren't animals. They are not savages. They have children over there. Families. The thought put steel in her resolve. They are human beings. She remembered the awful words she'd heard through the canvas wall of the tents back at the fort, of how she'd heard officer's laughing about how glad they would be to shoot Indian children. I will not stand by while Collins uses innocent people for target practice.

She could smell smoke and meat cooking, and the sounds of voices and laughter growing louder as they walked. She was breathing hard. Her stomach clenched and she thought for a panicked moment that she might actually vomit from anxiety. She knew she had to be visibly shaking.

Someone was standing up ahead, a barechested young man holding a spear. His black hair fluttered in the breeze like a war pennant, and a stripe of black paint across his eyes looked like a domino mask obscuring his face. Fiona was sure she'd never seen someone look so fierce in her entire life.

Mr. Devereaux held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Fiona quickly did the same, her heart in her throat.

"Peace," Mr. Devereaux said quickly, carefully gesturing the word with his hands. "No weapons."

The young man frowned, narrowing his eyes as his gaze flickered over each of them. Fiona realized he must be accessing how much of a threat they were. His eyes widened as he looked at her, and a bemused look crossed his face.

He knows I'm a woman. Fiona fought the urge to turn around and run. The warrior beckoned them forward, allowing them to pass him as he followed them into the village.

Other than Storm and the Fort Bridger scouts, the only Indians Fiona had ever been in contact with were the traders and their families that had camped outside the fort in the past. Those people wore a mishmash of clothing from both cultures, spoke bits of English, and were visitors on government-claimed land. These Indians, by contrast, were completely alien to her, and she was trespassing on their land and into their lives. Was it a mistake to come here? She was nearly in a panic, and had no doubt they could see her trembling. What was I thinking? We won't even be able to talk to them, beyond some sign and precious few words. I don't dare reveal that I can speak some Absaroka.

Others were gathering as they entered the village, surrounding them, staring and talking among themselves. Someone was calling out in words she could not understand. A familiar voice, deep and husky, cut through the cacophony of chatter. "Dev?"

She gasped, whirling around and forgetting herself completely. Jesse? She nearly didn't recognize him. He was hardly someone she expected to see here. But there he was, burnished by the sun, his face whiskered with golden, unshaven stubble. He was dressed entirely in native clothing, and if not for his hair gleaming like yellow prairie grass in the sun, he would have blended into the crowd like spotted fawn hiding in dappled shade. She blinked, unsure that she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing. How in the bloody hell...

"Dev, what are you..." Jesse stammered. "How are you...," He was clearly as gobsmacked as she and Mr. Devereaux were. "Shitfire...is that...Fiona?"

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