Page 21 of Shoshone Sun

“You just wait and you’ll see.”

Jane didn’t want to say it, admit that it was even the remotest of possibilities: “But what if she’s not there when Peter gets back home? What if she left the cabin with Petey, heading back to Fort Laramie?”

Mary shook her head. “That won’t happen. Even if she got such a crazy idea in her mind, she couldn’t have done it. The horses and wagon were gone, on their way here. She’d never risk her son’s life by trying to walk to Fort Laramie through the freezing cold and snow!”

Jane realized that was true. Her sister was not irrational enough to attempt that. Her sister and nephew were likely snug and safe in the cabin, waiting for Peter’s return. She took a deep, steadying breath. “You’re right again of course. I just need some time outside to clear my head.”

Jane stepped outside, shutting the cabin door behind her. The cold air bit at her cheeks as she inhaled deeply, crisp snow crunching beneath her boots. She walked across the yard, her breath misting in the air, her mind a swirl of thoughts. Although she had hoped to clear her head of any doubt or worry, all she could think about was the decision she had made—the choice to help the Shoshone man over her own sister’s wishes.

She gazed across the vast land before her and at the mountains in the distance. As the cold wind stung her face, she realized that this was her new reality, her new life—a life where she’d have to make her own decisions and stand by them, as hard as that might be. Finally, she understood that she couldn’t regret the decision she’d made to help the Shoshone brave. Despite the arguments and the fear that surrounded the path she’d taken, she felt more certain of her actions than ever before. She had done the right thing, and that was enough.

When she returned to the cabin and approached him, she found the man awake, his eyes now clearer, his gaze more focused. He was propped up slightly on the blankets, his head turned toward the fire.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, moving to his side.

He looked at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Better,” he rasped, though his voice was still weak. “I am better.”

Jane smiled in return. “I’m glad,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she truly believed he felt as well as he claimed.

The silence hung between them for a moment, and then the man spoke again, his voice softer now.

“Your name ... is Jane?” he asked, as though testing the sound of her name on his lips.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m Jane. And you?”

The man’s eyes were set on hers, his voice betrayed the effort it cost him to speak. “I am called Flying Arrow.”

Jane repeated the name in her mind, feeling its weight as it settled into her consciousness. Flying Arrow. A name full of strength, of resilience.

“It’s a good name,” she said quietly.

Flying Arrow gave her a weak nod and his lips curled up slightly at the corners. There was a warmth in his eyes now, a softness that had not been there before. He seemed to be considering something, as though trying to decide whether or not to speak. Finally, he did.

“Thank you ... for helping me,” he repeated, his voice filled with sincerity.

Jane nodded. “You’re very welcome. I’m very glad that you are recovering from your terrible wound.”

There was a long pause, and then, unexpectedly, Flying Arrow spoke in his native tongue—words flowing from his lips in a language that Jane did not understand. His voice was low and pleasant-sounding, and though she couldn’t grasp the meaning, the emotion in his words was clear. He was speaking from the heart, and Jane felt that, even without knowing the words, she understood.

“Please,” he said, switching back to English, “teach me more speaking English. I want to understand all, not just small part.”

Jane blinked, surprised by the request. “You want to learn more English?”

Flying Arrow nodded. “Yes. Now I only know small English. I want to understand all ... and ... I want to talk all to you.”

A strange feeling bloomed in Jane’s chest. There was something about his request—something more than just the desire to communicate. It was as though, in that moment, Flying Arrow was reaching out to her, trying to bridge the gap between them. It was a vulnerable thing to ask, to open oneself up to another person in such a way.

“I can teach you,” she said softly, her voice gentle. “But ... it will take time. And patience.”

“I have … time and … and … patience,” he replied, struggling over the pronunciation of the last word.

For a moment, Jane simply stared at him, feeling an odd sense of peace settle over her. She didn’t know what this connection meant—didn’t know where it would lead. But in that moment, she knew that something important had begun between them. Something that had nothing to do with fear or prejudice, but with understanding.

Chapter Twelve: A Winter’s Bond

- Paul Jacobs Homestead, Winter 1866/67

Eighty miles west of Fort Laramie –

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