Between Earth and Sky(99)

Alma cheered at this. That Asku, the old Asku, would never commit murder. She sipped the last of her cold tea. The sweet taste of ziinzibaakwad lingered a moment on her tongue, then faded. Out the window a veil of cloud shrouded the sun’s face. “Can you think of anyone else who might have killed him?”

Minowe fingered her long braid, picking at the ragged ends. She opened and closed her mouth twice before finally speaking. “All this trouble Askuwheteau stirred up after the allotment. Agent Andrews began to change his mind. Thought about redoing the whole thing. Said as much in one of his last letters to the timber company.” She looked straight at Alma. “I didn’t read their reply, but I know it wasn’t good. He cursed worse than Mr. Simms and kicked over his spittoon. Took me hours to clean up the muck.”

“You’ve got to tell my husband about this.”

Minowe grabbed a woven shawl from a nearby chair and draped it around her thin frame. “What’s his name?”

“Stewart. Stewart Mitchell.”

“Is he a good man?”

“Yes, honorable and diligent and—”

“I mean, is he good to you?”

Alma looked down at her empty cup. “Very. More than I deserve.”

“ would be glad of this.”

She ached anew at the sound of his name, but the pain was less sharp, less debilitating, more like a remembrance of injury than a fresh wound. Was Minowe right? She’d never considered that even from the grave he might wish her happiness, might be willing to forgive, might never have blamed her at all.

“Bring your husband tomorrow,” Minowe said, standing. “I’ll tell him about the deeds and letters.”

Alma started to leave, but stopped short of the door. She wrung her purse in her hands, watching the dust and dirt transfer from the silk to her gloves. “I . . . er . . . Stewart doesn’t know.”

Minowe nodded, no judgment in her look, only sorrow. “I won’t tell him.”

Outside in the muted daylight, she glanced again about the sparse land and back to the tarpaper shack. Minowe stood at the top of the stairs, the shawl about her shoulders somehow reminiscent of the quilts they’d clutched about them to keep warm those nights in the woods.

“It wasn’t supposed to end up this way,” Alma said. “I hate that I believed their lies—my father, Miss Wells.”

“They believed them, too, Azaadiins. We all did.”





CHAPTER 40


Minnesota, 1906



Back in the company of the wide, steel-blue waters of the Mizi-ziibi, Alma waded through the same military formalities as on her previous visit to Fort Snelling.

“We’re preparing the prisoner for transfer to St. Paul for tomorrow’s trial.” The major glowered at her from behind his desk. “Can’t you wait and speak to him then?”

His sour expression did not touch her smile. “I must see him today.”

He uttered a curse under his breath and scratched a few lines onto a small square of paper. “Give this to the guard. You found your way to my office again, I trust then you know your way to the round tower.”

She hurried past the barracks and armory toward the old fort. Stewart had stayed in St. Paul to sort through all the documents and testimonies from White Earth. He would meet with Asku tomorrow before the trial, but Alma could not wait to deliver the good news.

The same boyish soldier stood guard inside the tower. This time, he was not asleep, but throwing his knife at a makeshift target painted onto a stack of crates. Nicks and scratches covered every corner of the crates, most far outside the bull’s-eye. He beamed at her behind a flourish of soldierly bravado and led her up the stairs.

“I’ll fetch a chair and bring it up,” he said. “Remember, none of them funny Indian words, now.”

The soldier’s voice had alerted Asku and he stood waiting at the bars, expression guarded. “Azaadiins.”

“I have wonderful news. Really, my husband should be the one to tell you.” She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand and closed the space between. The iron bars now seemed a mere formality. A few days’ time and he’d be free. “Stewart will go over all the legal rigmarole with you tomorrow morning before the trial, but I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t bear that you should spend another night in fear for your life.”

She scanned Asku’s face for a flicker of curiosity or twitch of relief. Instead, he leaned back, the hairline creases around his eyes deepening. “I told you I did not want your husband’s help.”

“I know you’re wary, but you needn’t be. We just returned from White Earth. Minowe told us what happened with the timber allotment. We interviewed Zhawaeshk and that filthy gun merchant. Looked all through the agency’s records—”

Asku’s face darkened. “You went to Gaa-waabaabiganikaag?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The soldier clamored around downstairs, perhaps looking for a suitable chair. Still, she whispered. “I knew you wouldn’t kill anyone. When you wouldn’t talk, we traveled to White Earth to learn why.”

He stepped back from the bars and clenched his hands. White sinew streaked his knuckles. “I told you to leave it alone, Azaadiins.”

“Asku, you’re my friend, Nisayenh. How could I not help you?”