A Good Day To Die
Waste Anpetu Ta Mata
by
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June was soon upon them, along with the blistering heat. The crops were flourishing with the warm sun and frequent rain showers. The back breaking work continued and the weeds never ceased their insidious proliferation. The family was spending their day out hoeing the long rows of corn when Ana asked Rebecca to return to the soddy to prepare lunch. Rebecca was relieved to have a temporary respite from the monotony.
She trudged through furrows, dirt swirling around her feet in little clouds as she walked. Absently, she swatted at the flies that buzzed around her head. She passed the livestock shelter where Timothy and the oxen munched on their oats and flicked their tails at the biting bugs.
Rebecca entered the darkened coolness of the soddy and sighed in relief. Her hair and dress were plastered to her hot sweating body. She grabbed up the hem of her shirt and plunged it into the pitcher of water on the table. The wetness felt cool on her face and neck as she wiped the tendrils of hair from her forehead. She placed the freshly baked loaf of bread on the table and had begun slicing it, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. She wondered who it might be; more Indians come to beg, scouts for a wagon train, soldiers from the fort? They were coming fast and hard and suddenly a chill ran through the marrow of her bones, causing the gooseflesh to stand out on her skin. Then she heard the screams and she dropped the knife she had been holding. She ran outside and around the side of the house. There before her horrified eyes, she saw a group of Indians charging down upon her family and there was nothing friendly about them. They wore paint on their faces and carried spears and hatchets.
The scene swam before her eyes and everything seemed in slow motion. As the Indians bore down upon them, Kate and Ana screamed and began running toward the soddy. Josiah yelled at her to get the gun, but Rebecca felt she couldn't move. It was as if her feet had taken root in the tough sod. The Indians were upon them and Josiah turned to face them, brandishing his hoe. The first feather-bedecked man to reach her father raced past striking him on the shoulder with his lance and whooping loudly. Josiah tried to knock him off his horse, but failed. The second Indian's lance found its mark deep in his heart. Josiah grasped the shaft with both hands as the blood poured over his shirt. He slumped to the ground and Rebecca knew he was dead.
Ana and Kate were running as fast as they could, their hair flying and their skirts billowing around their legs. Their faces were twisted into abject terror. The Indians easily caught up with them and one ran his lance clear through the body of her mother. Rebecca heard another scream, piercing, eerie and primordial. It was her own and she could not stop. She screamed and screamed as they reached little Kate and struck her down. Rebecca suddenly realized the extreme danger she was in. Her mind could not grasp what she had just witnessed, but instinct made her flee for her life. She ran into the soddy, closed the door and threw the bolt. She turned to grab the gun from the corner next to the stove, but the Indians were already pounding on the door. Before she could level the gun at her pursuers, the window glass shattered, and she saw they were climbing in through the opening. One of them unbolted the door, and more Indians poured into the room. Their taut, muscled, darkskinned bodies were painted in hues of red, yellow, and black. Some wore feathers in their long braided hair. They had necklaces of animal bone and teeth around their necks and beaded bands on their wrists and upper arms. Rebecca had never felt so terrified in all her life as she leveled the gun at them. Her breathing was rapid, coming in short gasps, her eyes wide, fearing they would strike her dead if she dared to blink.
Before she could react, one grabbed the gun from her hands and the others laughed. She flattened herself against the wall, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She watched as the Indians began ransacking their belongings, taking quilts from the bed and clothing from the chests.
The man who had taken her gun was suddenly standing directly in front of her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and brought her face close to his own. He had four blue and red stripes running vertically down his forehead onto his cheeks, two on each side of his nose. His smell filled her nostrils; scents of smoke, grease, sage, and others unfamiliar to her. He raised one dark finger and touched her face; the other still held her hair. She flinched and he said something that caused the others to laugh. The smile faded from his lips as he drew the knife from its sheath at his side. The shiny blade flashed in her face. She whimpered and struggled to free her hair from his grasp. The Indian moved the point of his knife to the spot just below her ribs. He drew the knife back,his muscles tensing and Rebecca closed her eyes, waiting for the thrust that would end her life.
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About the Book
Rebecca Wainwright is fifteen years old in 1866 when her family travels west on the Oregon Trail. The journey is difficult, tedious, and at times, dangerous. They cross swollen rivers, endure severe storms, and Indian attack. While the wagon train continues on to Oregon, the Wainwright family stops and settles in Nebraska. They build a sod home and farm the land. Rebecca and her family endure many hardships on the windswept prairie: fierce snowstorms, voracious wolves, and prairie fire. In the spring of 1867, the Wainwrights are attacked by a party of Lakota Indians and Rebecca is taken captive. Her fear is nearly overwhelming and she wonders what these savages may have in store for her. Her captor, a young, handsome warrior, brings her to a woman in his own village to become the woman's daughter. Rebecca learns the Lakota language and way of life, realizing she has had many misconceptions about the Indians. She learns they are loving, caring people who only want to be left alone by the whites. She falls in love with the young, handsome warrior and they are married in the Lakota tradition. She begins to see the destruction of the native people, their lands stolen and desecrated, the buffalo slaughtered, and the tribes forced onto reservations. She witnesses the Indian people fighting back against white aggression, and becoming a hunted and hated people in their own country.
About the Author
Linda Penninga resides in Michigan with her husband and four children. She has continued her writing journey with the publication of her third book , "A Good Day To Die". Previous to this, she has published two other historicals dealing with the Civil War and reconstruction of the South. They are titled, "Woman Soldier" and "The Long Journey Back".