Lovingly dedicated to Sgt. Smokepole--this one's for you Smokey!
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*Adadoda - (Ay-Toe-Dah) Cherokee for Father.
http://www.wehali.com/tsalagi/index.cfm http://www.native-languages.org/ http://www.cherokee.org/ **************************************
~Saturday August 1st 1874 ~ Early evening at the Southern Star~
Patches tapped the papers neatly into the folder and tucked it under the sling of her slowly healing left arm. This weeks reports were finally done. Including a full report of the attack on the Mission.
A bit awkwardly, using only her right hand, she plugged in the graphite key and checked the tape. That would automatically record any incoming messages that might come in while she was out of earshot, although she doubted there was anything left to message about. Since her left arm was still pretty much useless due to the stab wound she'd recieved during the fight a the Mission a little over a week ago, she'd done pretty much nothing but send and receive messages.
It was a good thing she enjoyed her job.
Once the key was plugged in and she was sure everything was in order, she turned down the lamps and exited the telegraph office. She would deliver the reports to 'Sleeps office then go scrounge something to eat.
Saturday nights at the Southern Star were usually "fend for oneself" nights. It was a night for socializing. Just about every Saturday night when they weren't on the hunt for some bad guy or other, Scarlet, Fritz, Rose, Johnny, Jimmy and Bo would head to the Ace for some good old fashioned celebration and libation. Sometimes they would all go, especially since 'Sleep wanted to visit Becca. They had become very close in the last few months.
Ella took her Sabbaths from sundown on Friday to full dark on Saturday. She spent that time studying or healing, as her faith would allow her to do no work on the Sabbath day. But Rose always made sure there was a big pot of stew simmering merrily away on the stove, and generally big fluffy biscuits--made fresh the day before--to spoon it over. Fine enough of a meal for a bunch of trail worn lawmen.
Patches smiled as she passed the lab. She could hear Bill and Ella speaking, apparently deep in discussion over some theological debate. This had become a habit with them. Seemed fitting on Ella's Sabbath and the night before Bill and Patches would attend Mass. It sort of kept one in "the mood".
Patches would sometimes sit in on such discussions but never when there was work to be done. Getting reports done and out by Saturday evening was her own rule. It allowed her to keep her focus in church, much preferring to concentrate on spiritual matters rather than codes, wanted posters, arrest reports or death certificates.
When she reached 'Sleep's office she rapped lightly on the door.
"'Sleep?" she called, then listened. Silence. Gently she pushed the door open and poked her head in. "'Sleep?" The office was silent, dark and empty. "Huh," she mumbled aloud. "Wonder where he went."
She figured he had probably gone to the house to eat. And that thought made her own stomach growl. So she laid the reports on his desk, straightened his blotter, and left. If he was any where near the kitchen she'd tell him she left the reports. Knowing 'Sleep, he'd prolly not want to look at them until tomorrow anyhow. It was, after all, a lovely evening.
Her moccasin clad feet made little noise on the smooth marble entry way of the house as she made her way to the kitchen. She could already smell the aroma of meaty stew and strong coffee. She quickened her pace, for once not stopping to walk the points of the huge black marble star in the center of the entryway (a game she played with herself similar to hopskotch, and something that Scarlet thought was just funny as hell. Patches claimed it was "good luck" and almost never failed to do it).
Licking her lips she quickly reached down plate and cup, dished herself up a healthy portion of stew over biscuits slathered with freshly churned butter, and poured herself a cup of coffee to wash it all down with.
"Gotta appreciate the little things in life," she said as she crossed herself, said a quick prayer and dug in.
As soon as she finished she rose and walked over to the huge double sink. She burped on her way and giggled a little. "Oh! Excuse me!" She said aloud although there was no one else in the room. Better out than in, her Daddy always said, but that was no excuse to not be polite.
Quicky she washed her dishes and set them in the rack to dry. The sun was just setting and turning the sky deep shades of purple and gold. She smiled, nodded to herself and refilled her coffee cup. Now was the best time to go sit on the veranda. Watch the sun go down and smell the acres of roses at the back of the house.
Yep. Life was good on the Southern Star. It was a place of grand beauty that reminded one that life wasn't ALL blood and dust and bad guys.
"Ah! There you are!" She exclaimed cheerily as she stepped onto the cobbled stone veranda.
Tensleep turned in his chair. His pipe stuck squarely between his teeth, his coffee cup in one hand. He smiled and stood.
"Here I are," he said. "Ya git them reports done?"
"Yessir," she said. "Left'em on yer desk. Mind if I join ya fer a spell?"
"Please do," he said, indicating a chair with a sweep of his arm. "Didja remember to eat?"
She took the proffered chair and rolled her eyes. "Yer gittin' ta be as bad as Ella," she teased. "Yeah I ate."
"Well sometimes ya fergit," he huffed. "An' I aint seen Ella all day so I wasn't sure she reminded ya." He looked at her. "Did she remind ya?"
Patches laughed. "Yeah, she reminded me. Five times." She shook her head smiling fondly as she got comfortable in the rocking chair and slowly began to rock. "Beautiful night huh?" She noted after a time.
"Yep. Right purdy."
One thing she loved about Tensleep. He always saw and appreciated the beauty in things. Even out on the trail. He leaned forward a bit and pointed. "Mockin' birds comin' out to play."
She followed his arm and saw them too. What a ruckus they made as they darted in and out of the branches of the trees! She couldn't help it, she laughed at their antics.
"How's the shoulder?" 'Sleep asked once again leaning back in the chair.
"Aw," she said lifting her arm a bit in its sling. "Pains me some but it's healin'. Ella says the stitches can come out Monday. Says it won't leave much of a scar. Acorse, she been puttin' one'a her potions on it daily. Stings like hell but smells good. Reckon I'll have to spend some time out on the range gettin' it strengthened up again."
"Reckon so," he said. "Lemme know when ya go. I'll go with ya."
"Alright," she smiled at him. "That'd be fun."
"Yep." He smiled, sipped from his cup and looked out over the land. Twilight was fast approaching, turning the world into a shadowed purple mass of wonder. A breeze blew the roses into rich waves of color and scent and both of them sighed with contentment. Neither realizing the other had done so.
"Patches?" 'Sleep asked after a long silence.
"Huh?"
"I been thinkin' about some stuff," he started.
She glanced at him sideways. "Don't do that," she quipped. "Always gits us inta trouble."
"Hey!" He defended, albeit good naturedly. Jokes like this were not uncommon amongst those that lived and worked at the Star.
Patches giggled. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm jus' hackin' on ya. Whatcha been thinkin' 'bout?"
"Been thinkin' 'bout the night of the attack on the mission," He sipped from his cup looking over the rim at her. Guaging her reactions no doubt.
She held her hand up. "It's all in my report," she said shaking her head a little. "In great gory detail." She was still upset at the loss of Brother Michael, God rest his soul.
"Even the part about that fella?" He asked.
She looked at him questioningly. "What fella?"
"The one you called "father". That fella."
"Oh!" She said, "him. Well like I said that's a long story. And no, not a lot of details of that is in my report, although he was there and thus got mention." She smiled.
"Well," he said. "I'm curious. An' I got time for a long story." He grinned. "An' so do you."
She looked at him cockeyed. "Curiosity killed th'cat yanno," she said shrewdly.
"Heh," 'Sleep chuckled. "Satisfaction brough'im back. Tell me."
Patches laughed. She loved the banter between herself and this crew. Kept things interesting. "Ya sure ya wanna know? Ya prolly heard stories like this a hundred times as well traveled as ya are. It's kinda tragic."
"Yeah, I'm sure." He settled back in his chair and relit his pipe. "I are all ears."
Patches smiled. "Well, lessee...where to start..."
"Try at the beginning," he quipped.
She looked at him sarcastically. "Before or after 'and then there was light'?"
'Sleep rolled his eyes. "C'mon Patches, who is he? To you I mean."
Ah. So thats what it was. 'Sleep, like everyone else on the posse, was simply trying to clear up a mystery. And he had asked her directly, which meant, by her own standards, she'd answer truthfully.
Patches smiled fondly and looked into her cup. "Father, friend, guardian angel, mentor." She said, then looked at him. "The white man calls him 'Sergeant Smokepole' cuz he's deadly accurate with that big ol' Sharps he totes. The Indians call him 'Little Skunk'."
'Sleep raised one eyebrow. "I heard some strange names b'fore but...Little Skunk?"
Patches chuckled. "Donno the whole story on the name but I reckon it might have somethin' ta do with things that happened when he was a baby." She wrinkled her nose. "But even with a name like that he's very much respected among the People."
"Which People?" 'Sleep was genuninely interested now, his whole demeanor had changed.
"Cherokee," she answered right away. "He was an Elder, Aniwaya Clan. Clan of the Wolf, the protectors. You know Cherokee?"
"Some," he said. "Sounds like a good clan for him."
"Oh yeah," she said emphatically. "He gets a little cranky when something he loves is harmed." THAT was the worlds biggest understatement! The last time someone had tried to harm her, he scalped him, gutted him, and cursed his eternal spirit. On the up-side though, the guy deserved it.
"So how'd ya find'im?" 'Sleep asked.
Patches laughed. "I didn't. He found me. Literally."
"Really?"
She smiled. "Really."
"How?"
She rocked back and took a long drink of her coffee. Her eyes narrowed as she collected her thoughts.
"It was January, Month of the Cold Moon as the Cherokee call it," she began. "1866. Not real sure of the day cuz I was real sick. Prit near dyin'. I do remember it was snowin' that day though. As much as it ever snows in North Georgia anyhow. I remember thinkin' the snow had come early, and it was like a curse that came with the carpet baggers and yankees. Like they brought all that frozen hell down with'em. As if the war wasn't bad enough...." she stopped taking another drink.
'Sleep didn't say anything. There was, after all, a right and wrong time for questions. His silence must have encouraged her, however, because she continued.
"After Atlanta burned there was one building left standing," she said as she looked out over the roses, her eyes getting far away as if she were seeing in the reds and yellows the flames Sherman dealt out like christmas candy.
"A catholic church, near Spring Street. Disremember the name now but I ended up in it. It was one of the few places indoors that one could get medical attention, manned mostly by nuns. I had a shoulder wound festering from a shot I took up on Kennesaw. Needed help and needed it bad. Took me a long time to recover, cuz of the short supplies and such. Figured it was better than any Yankee outpost. At least there I'd have some sanctuary. Stayed there pretty much till the end of the war."
She smiled some. "Reckon I got converted there. Them priests sure did know how to save your eternal soul!"
She drained her cup and set it down on the table between them. "After that though, there was nothin' left to do but go home. See if anything was left. I figured I was close enough. Daddy, Johnny, Buck and Ray would be there already if not shortly after. We'd rebuild, life would go on...."
Her words trailed off and she swallowed hard. A moment later she sighed. "But that aint the way it was. When I got ta Blossom Creek it was like a ghost town. There was nuthin' left. Our place was nuthin more'n a black scorch mark on the ground. The house burned down, the barn. Daddy's workshop. Everything. Gone. And there was no sign of any body bein' there for months. Not even game trail out back."
"Then the rains came. Seemed fitting in a perverse sorta way. I made a shelter of sorts, determined to wait. Surely Johnny woulda made it through." She shook her head. "A week later I was gettin' sick. My mamma died of pnuemonia when I was a baby, we all got it. Rain and cold and me don't get along well."
She sighed. "Figured I'd best git back to Atlanta. Get some healin' again, maybe check with the army outposts. They might know what happened to my Daddy and my brothers. Never did make it that far. By time I hit Codge's place right outside'a the city, I was fevered and coughin' and weak as a kitten."
"Who's Codge?" 'Sleep asked when she paused.
Again that fond smile. "Codge was the fella that taught me everything I know about telegraphin' and bein a courier. But that's a story in itself. Let's just say there aint nuthin' he didn't know." She chortled. "He's the worlds biggest information hound known to man. Magic on the key. He gave me my first job when I was 11 years old."
"How old were ya when the war ended?"
"Sixteen," she said. "A month away from seventeen."
"Dang," 'Sleep muttered.
"Yeah," She said reaching for her cup. She'd forgotten it was empty. "Lemme go git more coffee, ya want some?"
"Yeah," he said handing her his cup. "Thanks. Why don'tcha bring the pot?"
"I'm on it," she said ducking back into the house. 'Sleep smiled. She was always "on it".
She came back shortly with a hand full of cups and coffee pot. 'Sleep rose to help her as she was carrying all that one handed. He took the cups and put them down then took the pot and poured. They both settled back into their chairs.
"I wasn't sure which was worse," she said with a little shrug. "Seein' our house and lands burned or seein' Codge's place in shambles. But I wasn't exactly thinkin' straight at the time neather. Fever had gone way up, like the fires of hell burnin' in my head. Weather had turned cold. It was a time of extreme opposites.
"I come across a dead Reb sergeant nigh on towards midnight in a ditch b'side the road. Stole his coat to try to keep warm. Was too danged weak to build a fire and that might alert whatever yankee soldiers were in the area. So I curled up under it, wet wool and all, under a mimosa tree back away from the road. Figured to not wake up the next morning, but that was alright. The south was dead, my family was prolly dead. At least this way I could join'em."
She took a deep breath and smirked. "But no. The priests told me that God would provide, and He did." Her smirk turned into that fond smile again. "He sent me Smokepole A.K.A. Little Skunk. Like a dagum miracle he appeared outta nowhere...."