Praise for The Caregiver at Wounded Knee Debby’s words captured my attention from the beginning of this story. Although I knew of the history of the massacre at Wounded Knee, she wove a tale so real I felt like I was living in Rose’s shadow. I felt the deep love she had for her people and her family and her fierce defense against injustice. If you like a love story that is filled with historical details, you won’t want to miss this one. –Karen Kinney, author of Before the Sun Sets, third place finalist/winner of the 2024 Faith Hope and Love Readers Choice Awards Debby Lee pours her heart onto the page in this vivid telling of a strong and brave woman determined to right injustices for her people, despite battling personal and family demons. Does God work things for our good during even the greatest pain, tragedy, or grave injustice? Her characters’ honest response to that question is particularly poignant. Mercy, faith, and hope ring true in this tragic yet tender historical. –Naomi Musch, award winning author of Courting the Country Preacher, Season of My Enemy, and more historical Christian fiction. The Caregiver at Wounded Knee is a beautifully crafted, heartfelt story of resilience and hope. You will be inspired by Rose Rushing Water, a compassionate nurse from the Lakota tribe, as she faces prejudice and a devastating tragedy that upends her beliefs. Her tender romance with Nathaniel Gray Cloud adds warmth and depth to her journey toward faith, illustrating that even in the darkest moments, love and understanding can lead to hope. –Darlene Panzera, ACFW Carol Award-winning author of The Groom She Thought She’d Left Behind (The Runaway Brides Collection)
THE CAREGIVER AT WOUNDED KNEE BY DEBBY LEE
YOU are the reason we do what we do here at Barbour Publishing. We promise that we will always use our God-given talents to produce content with you in mind—and that we will remain biblically faithful, no matter what. Thank you for being the heart of our business. The Caregiver at Wounded Knee ©2026 by Debby Lee Print ISBN 979-8-89151-290-0 Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 979-8-89151-291-7 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher. Reproduced text may not be used on the World Wide Web. No Barbour Publishing content may be used as artificial intelligence training data for machine learning, or in any similar software development. All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental. Cover image © Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible. Printed in the United States of America.
DEDICATION To those who have endured the heartache of betrayal, injustice, and wounds inflicted so deep you thought your heart would never be whole again: God sees you. He hears your cries and He saves all your tears. Do not let the horrid actions of selfish, unscrupulous people keep you from experiencing His love. I like to hope—believe— that with time, patience, and proper support, healing is possible.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Many thanks to those who helped bring this book to fruition. I owe a debt of gratitude to those on the Pine Ridge Reservation for showing me around the site of the massacre and answering my questions. To the Inklings critique group: Kyle Pratt, James Pratt, Heather Alexander, Barbara Blakey, Julie Zander, Joyce Scott, and Tammy Clark: Your input, critiques, and suggestions are appreciated so very much. To my prayer group at Crossroads Foursquare Church: Thank you for your support, your encouragement, and as always, the prayers. Thank you to my fabulous agent, Tamela Hancock Murray. Many thanks to the team at Barbour Publishing for giving me the honor of writing this story, and for all the hard work you’ve done to bring this book to publication.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE This book presents a particular interpretation of a historical event, namely the Wounded Knee Massacre. Other interpretations exist, and this book is not intended to be a definitive or exhaustive account. While this story is based on historical research, some interpretations of events or motivations may be speculative. While I did my best to be as historically accurate as possible, any mistakes within the narrative are purely my own. And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
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CHAPTER 1 Pine Ridge Reservation, South Dakota Home to the Oglala Lakota People October 1890 An overturned wagon lay sprawled along the road ahead. The splintered axles faced the heavens like gnarled fingers reaching into the cloudless blue sky. The sight marred the tranquil sea of short wild grasses swaying in the gentle breeze. Even at a distance, Rose Rushing Water heard children wailing. A prayer escaped her lips for the victims of the terrible crash and that the wagon she rode in wouldn’t suffer the same tragic fate. She clutched the seat and reached for her medical bag next to her trunk. Children in peril. It always spurred her into action. Even more so, since Boston. “Whoa,” her driver hollered. Before the wheels ceased to roll, she leaped from the conveyance, quickly tied on her Red Cross apron, hiked up her skirts, and sprinted to the carnage. Two gunshots, in rapid succession, pierced the air. Rose flinched at the sight of the wagon driver, who held a revolver in the midst of the wreckage. Trickles of blood flowed from the heads of two dead mules still hitched to the overturned wagon. For a half second she wondered why the man would shoot not one but two expensive commodities. Then she saw the beasts’ mangled legs. Such a costly tragedy, but perhaps the meat could be salvaged. The residents of this community couldn’t afford to waste food. Shoving the thoughts aside, Rose assessed the injured. 7
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A man and woman sat leaning against the broken sideboards. Rose stepped over three torn burlap bags and hundreds of smashed potatoes and carrots to reach them. This family had lost not only their precious animals but the load of vegetables too. “Help,” the woman cried. Two children, one hardly more than a toddler, clung to each other next to her. Tears streamed down their thin cheeks. “I’m coming.” Rose ducked under one of the broken axles, likely the cause of the accident. “There now, little ones. I’m a nurse, and I’ll do everything I can to make your papa and mama better.” She scanned the sobbing boy and girl, saw no obvious injuries, and turned her attention to the wounded. The man’s forehead oozed blood. Rose placed her fingers to his carotid artery. Feeling a steady pulse, she exhaled a grateful sigh. “Sir, can you hear me?” His lack of response troubled her. Long measures of unconsciousness could signal a serious head wound. “Can you tell me your name, sir?” She pulled a bandage from her bag and wrapped it around his head over the bleeding gash. “Sir, please respond if you can hear me,” she said, noting his leg, twisted at an odd sideways angle. Broken. She hollered to her driver. “Find me two long, stout sticks, then ride to Pine Ridge as fast as you can. Bring back Dr. Eastman. Tell him to bring back a wagon or buckboard to transport patients.” The man scowled. He probably wasn’t used to taking orders from a woman. Like that mattered when the parents of two small children were suffering! Stifling her exasperation, she infused more kindness into her tone. “Please.” The driver grumbled as he spun to the left then the right. “I don’t see any sticks,” he said, before hopping onto the wagon seat she’d just vacated. He drove off, thankfully at a good speed. The Pine Ridge Agency was only five miles away, but there and back could take close to an hour, especially if Dr. Eastman wasn’t readily available. Rose tied off the bandage. “I hope the driver hastens his journey to town,” she mumbled to herself before turning to the woman. “My children.” Large dark eyes were filled with worry, and fear laced her tone. 8
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“Mama.” The little ones hugged her. The woman wrapped her arm around them and winced in pain as she clutched them to her side. “Ma’am, I’m Rose Rushing Water. Let me help you, please.” “My husband, is he all right?” “I’ll do everything I can to see he recovers.” She reached to take the woman’s pulse. “Aah.” The woman pulled from Rose’s grasp. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The swollen appendage had turned a deep bluish-purple hue. “Can you wiggle your fingers for me, please? I need to assess if your wrist is broken or merely sprained.” The woman clasped and unclasped her fingers. “My name is Sarah White Bird. This is my husband, Joshua, and these are our children.” “Nice to meet you,” Rose said. Sarah continued. “We heard the first axle break. Joshua told me to grab the children and jump. We did, and then the other axle broke.” A sob shook poor Sarah. “Joshua jumped just as the wagon overturned. A wheel rolled over his leg.” “Mama.” The boy patted his mother’s shoulder. Sarah smiled at her son and tousled his hair. Such little dears, but weren’t they all? The sheer helplessness of not being able to do more tore through her. Rose prayed their father’s head wound wasn’t too serious. Poverty ran rampant through so many reservations, and without Joshua, the family would be mired deeper in it. Sarah ran her fingers along her daughter’s long braid, attempting to smooth it. “I’m glad you can move your fingers all right. It’s likely just sprained.” Still, she hoped to splint Sarah’s arm as a precaution. Rose glanced about and huffed. The driver had neglected to locate two stout sticks to stabilize Joshua’s broken leg. But there wasn’t much he could have done anyway. Trees weren’t in ample supply on the rolling hills around them. She scanned the horizon for something suitable to form a splint. She didn’t see anything, so she stood and eyed the disabled wagon. She circled it and pulled hard on a broken but stubborn sideboard. It popped loose with a fierce snap. The force sent her back two steps and 9
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lodged a painful sliver into her palm. She dropped the board and pulled out the inch-long splinter. There was a small gush of blood. This would definitely need iodine. Her stomach rolled. It was one thing to care for others’ wounds, but something else altogether to treat herself. She grabbed another bandage from her medical bag and wrapped it around her hand; then she gritted her teeth, sucked in a breath, and tilted her face to the heavens. Sarah began singing a lullaby to her family. The gentle melody comforted them. Or so Rose hoped. Joshua moaned and reached for his head. The air flew from Rose in a whoosh, and she hurried to his side. He blinked a few times and opened his eyes. They seemed to focus, and relief flooded through Rose. The man was coherent. It meant that he’d be all right, eventually. Joshua emitted a croaky groan. “Sarah? Children?” Sarah stopped singing and grasped her husband’s hand. “Joshua.” Tears choked her voice. Joshua nuzzled his head against his wife’s shoulder. The children snuggled between them. The scene was so tender, so poignant, Rose felt like an intruder. What a delight it would be to have a family, a sense of belonging, love. The thought pierced deep into her soul, as fierce and painful as the splinter in her palm only a few minutes ago. But love and family would have to wait. The Indians, like the White Birds, needed her. She pushed her secrets deeper into the recesses of her mind, fearing they would someday fester. But they would serve no purpose here and now. She splinted Joshua’s leg with the boards from the wagon and bandaged his head while thinking of how she’d graduated from nursing school, in spite of everything. Now, she was determined to serve her people. Her chin inched up a notch. And she would, no matter what the stodgy folks in the East thought of her. The sound of pounding horses’ hooves snapped her back to the vast, empty, wind-whipped prairie. She shaded her eyes with her hand. Two horses pulling a buckboard galloped toward the scene. Another horse and rider approached as well. The men pulled the reins and the animals lurched to a stop. The single rider’s horse reared, its hooves clawing the air. The riders quickly dismounted and looped the reins around a broken axle. 10
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She recognized Dr. Eastman, and not just by his medical bag. The man was legendary back East among the Friends of the Indian groups, though in Rose’s eyes those stuffy snoots were anything but friends. The other fellow with Dr. Eastman was tall, sported a deputy’s uniform, and moved with confidence. “Uncle Nathaniel!” The children raced to him. He swept them into his arms, stood, and strode to the injured. His eyebrows scrunched together, his mouth a thin line, as he hovered over Dr. Eastman. How strong he must be to hold his niece and nephew as though they weighed no more than feathers. Try as she might, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from him. Was he Sarah’s or Joshua’s brother, or was he an uncle by marriage? Did it matter? Rose cleared her throat, but she was still finding it hard to breathe. Sometimes children made her uneasy, for reasons she didn’t care to ponder at the moment. That secret threatened to bubble to the surface. She had to go, now! She lifted her hems and proceeded down the road. “Wait!” A strong hand gripped her elbow. She turned and tilted her head up to see Nathaniel’s face. His prominent cheekbones and thick black hair held her attention captive. “I want to thank you for caring for my little sister and her family.” So, he was Sarah’s older brother. He pulled off his cap and clutched it between his fingers. “You won’t have to walk into town. If you wait a few moments, I can take you.” He possessed strength and compassion. She noted the absence of a wedding ring and then struggled to steer her thoughts to more practical matters as he returned to assist the doctor. She didn’t want anything to distract her from everything she’d worked so hard for. How was she to keep whimsical hints of romance from taking root in her heart?
Nathaniel Gray Cloud struggled under the weight as he loaded his brother-in-law onto the buckboard bound for Dr. Eastman’s clinic. 11
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Joshua wouldn’t die of his head injury, but that didn’t stop Nathaniel from worrying about him. Or about Sarah and their children. The loss of the wagon and the load of produce meant that there would be no money to purchase the goods to see them through the harsh winter months. Joshua wouldn’t be able to work for a while at least. And the added doctor bills? How would they survive? Anxiety stampeded over him, and he chased it away. If anxiety haunted him, he’d be no use to Sarah and the children, Chaske and Winuna. Every chance he had, their birthdays, Christmas, he lavished presents on them. New shoes, clothes, toys, and sweets, when he could find them at Dawson’s store in town. Just last week he’d given Sarah a new shawl and blanket in exchange for her mending his trousers. He’d given them to her in secret, hoping he wouldn’t wound Joshua’s pride. It was a lot for such a small task, but Nathaniel didn’t mind. Because that’s what family did for one another. He stepped to Sarah’s side and draped an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. When you’re done at the clinic, I’ll drive you and the children home. I’ll chop firewood for you while I’m there.” “Thank you,” Sarah replied. He helped her onto the buckboard’s seat, mindful of her splinted arm, then deposited the children in the rear of the wagon. Dr. Eastman chirruped to the horses, and the buckboard rolled down the road. “Would you mind dropping me off at the clinic?” He jumped at the voice behind him and pivoted. The woman held out her hand. “By the way, I’m Rose Rushing Water.” Miss Rushing Water raised her eyebrows at him. A smile lit her eyes. So this was his best friend’s sister. Peter hadn’t mentioned how pretty she was. “We’re the only ones left,” she said. “I appreciate your offer of a ride.” Nathaniel glanced north, south, east, and west. She was right. How could he have forgotten she was there? What a chump he’d been. So riddled with worry about his sister and her family, he’d neglected the woman who’d found and tended to them. Had he even said thank you? “My apologies, Miss Rushing Water. I’m Nathaniel Gray Cloud.” 12
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Her eyes twinkled. “You must be the Nathaniel my brother wrote to me about.” “Probably. By the way, thank you for caring for my sister and her family. I shudder to think what might have happened if you hadn’t come along.” Her smile grew. “You’re welcome.” “Certainly I’ll give you a ride to the clinic. Do you mind riding astride?” She shook her head and chuckled. “I don’t mind if you don’t. It’s a good thing I have wide skirts.” He added, “And my horse can easily carry two.” Not only was she beautiful and funny, but she was smart too. She had informed Dr. Eastman of Sarah’s and Joshua’s injuries using words he’d never heard before. Compassion had flowed from her as she had spoken with his nephew and niece. Nathaniel placed a foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up. He extended his arm to Miss Rushing Water. “We’re not so formal out here like in some places.” She guffawed. “Not like in Boston.” He hoisted her up, and she landed with a thud behind him. There she sat, unmoving, quiet and still for a moment. Finally, he said, “You’ll have to scoot closer and hang on so you don’t fall off.” She inched forward a bit and placed her hands on his sides. “I won’t fall off.” Was that a note of curt edginess in her tone? What happened to the adventurous spirit he’d seen only moments ago? Had he offended her in some way? How could he have? They had just met! Ladies could sure be fickle sometimes. He blew out a sigh, reached behind him, grabbed hold of her, and pulled her so close the buttons of her overcoat pressed into his back. “Oh!” she cried. “Hang on.” Nathaniel kicked his horse’s flanks, and the animal took off.
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CHAPTER 2 Nathaniel clenched his jaw as he strode to his horse from Dr. Eastman’s medical clinic. He dreaded leaving his brother-in-law. But if the man was to fully recover, he must remain in the care of medical professionals. He thought of his sister and ached even more at the unfortunate predicament. At least the entire family had survived the accident. He’d asked a fellow tribal officer, Coyote Who Sneaks, to salvage the meat from the dead mules in exchange for keeping a portion of it. Though the man was unmarried and had no family, he demanded half of the meat. That left half for his sister and her family but did little to assuage the financial loss. Miss Rushing Water exited the clinic and handed him a heavy burlap bag. “Miss Goodale and I packed this for your sister and her children.” “Thank you, ma’am. Elaine Goodale is a kind woman. She’s allowing me the use of her wagon so I can drive Sarah and the children home. We’re leaving as soon as we get loaded. Please tell Miss Goodale I’ll return her wagon later tonight.” Miss Rushing Water tucked a strand of flyaway hair into the knot at the nape of her neck. “I’ll do that. She does seem kind, and she’s a good teacher too.” “Yes.” Nathaniel rummaged through the bag and saw a wheel of cheese, a fresh loaf of bread, and a small sack of beans. Sarah and the children would eat well that night and for the next few days. Then he spotted two small toys, and his eyes misted. “I hope your niece will like the rag doll and your nephew the carved buffalo. I picked them up at Dawson’s General Store. I thought the toys would be a comfort to them while their father is recuperating here at the clinic.” In spite of the frigid temperatures, his heart warmed at her gesture. 15
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“They will.” His voice choked with emotion. Ever grateful, he tipped his cap at her, tucked the burlap sack into the rear of the wagon, and climbed onto the seat. “You’re welcome. Your brother-in-law is in good hands. I plan on staying at the clinic, sleeping in one of the exam rooms, until my house across the street is ready.” “It’s nice to know Joshua will have someone nearby if he needs anything.” “Dr. Eastman and Miss Goodale, of course, will also help. We’ll watch your brother-in-law closely. If any change occurs, I’ll send someone for you right away.” “Thank you. I have a bed in the tack room in the barn down the street from here, where the deputies keep their horses. That’s where I’ll be after I’m done at Sarah’s.” He turned his gaze to his sister. “All ready?” She nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Rushing Water.” She stepped away from the wagon and waved. “It was nice to meet you too, Mr. Gray Cloud. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other in town from time to time.” He tipped his hat, chirruped to the horses, and steered them toward Sarah’s homestead. Chaske and Winuna were snuggled under an armyissued woolen blanket in the wagon bed. His thoughts vacillated between worry for Sarah and admiration for the beautiful and educated Miss Rushing Water. It had been thoughtful of her to purchase toys for the children. The Oglala people were fortunate to have this new nurse at the agency. She seemed professional and dedicated to her work. She could help the tribe in so many ways, especially with the elders and children. They suffered terribly from whooping cough, measles, and numerous other ailments. And they died at an alarming rate. He hoped Miss Rushing Water could change that. In the short time he’d been with her, he had noticed how she’d allayed her patients’ anxiety and earned their trust. He wished he could earn his people’s trust as easily, but that wasn’t likely, not with the tribal police uniform he wore. So many Lakota were mistrustful of anyone aligned with the government. The horses whinnied and stomped. “Brother?” Sarah said. 16
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With a smidgen of embarrassment, he realized he’d steered his animals off the rutted trail. Nathaniel shook his head. Had his thoughts been that lost in the clouds? Yes. He blew a sigh into the early evening air. Wisps of fog momentarily obscured his vision, and then he guided the team back onto the proper path. His sister was strong and capable. She and her children would be all right until Joshua could return to work. The children, though young, were no strangers to hard work. Such was life for all those who called the Pine Ridge Reservation their home. That wouldn’t stop Nathaniel from helping around the small farm until Sarah’s sprained wrist healed though. If the stories he’d heard were true, Miss Rushing Water had to be a strong woman to survive school back East. He wondered how she’d found the resources to fund her education. And what persuaded her to travel to such a place to study medicine? Many of the Oglala women knew about healing without attending fancy universities. Where had Miss Rushing Water said she’d studied? Boston. That was it. Sarah’s children let out a whoop when the little cabin on the homestead appeared on the horizon. Lord above. He’d been dreaming of Miss Rushing Water again. The sun was halfway over the western horizon. Just enough daylight left for him to complete Joshua’s nightly chores. Milking the cow and chopping wood wouldn’t take long. He stopped the horses in front of the cabin and jumped from the seat to lift the tots from the back of the wagon. They scampered inside, likely hungry by now. He handed his sister the burlap bag of food then tied the reins to the hitching post near the water trough. “You feed the children. I’ll take care of the chores.” Sarah nodded and ducked inside. Nathaniel drew a bucket of water from the well and poured it into the water trough. The horses could drink while he did the chores. The cow mooed when he entered the warm sod barn. Roughly thirty minutes later he’d finished the milking and taken the tin pail inside to Sarah. He snuggled Chaske and Winuna a moment, then stepped outside. He chopped wood until his shoulders ached, and with each swing of the 17
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ax, his anxiety dissipated. Not only did the chores help alleviate his worries, they would also keep Sarah and the children from freezing that night. Would Miss Rushing Water be warm enough in the tiny room at the clinic until her home across the street was ready? Would she need firewood as well? If so, he’d be pleased to chop some for her. What was he doing, thinking of her again? He steered his thoughts to more practical matters. The potbellied stove in the clinic quarters emitted a fair amount of heat, but not nearly enough considering how cold the Dakota nights could be. He logged a mental note to check on Joshua and Miss Rushing Water when he got back to town. Later, when he’d stacked a sizable amount of wood by the front door, he filled his arms with enough to keep the family warm for the night. Then he strode into the dimly lit one-room cabin and dropped it by the fireplace. “Thank you.” Sarah handed him a rounded piece of fried bread with wonderful-smelling cheese melted on top. Famished, he bit into it and chewed briefly before swallowing. “What kind of brother would I be if I left my sister and her family to freeze?” She smiled and rubbed his shoulder with her good hand. Nathaniel moved to the small bed where his nephew and niece slept hugging their new toys. He patted their heads, careful not to wake them, and moved toward the door. “I’ll come back at first light and let you know how Joshua is doing.” “I’d appreciate that.” She dropped onto a chair, cradled her wounded arm in her lap, and stared up at him. Dark half-moons showed under her eyes, and weariness shrouded her face. Nathaniel shoved the last bite of bread into his mouth and donned his cap. “I gotta get Miss Goodale’s wagon back to town and check on Miss Rushing Water, uh, I mean Joshua.” Sarah arched her eyebrows, a hint of a smile on her lips. The need to justify his actions climbed up his windpipe and tumbled out of his mouth. “Don’t give me that look. Our people need someone besides Dr. Eastman with knowledge of modern medicine. For the sake of our tribe, I don’t want to see anything happen to her.” A grin dimpled his sister’s cheeks. Did she think he was sweet on the woman? He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 18
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Rose said goodbye to Miss Goodale and was about to close the clinic’s door when a tall man with a bushy mustache entered. He removed his cap. “Good evening. I’m Agent Daniel Royer. I take it you’re the new nurse, Miss Rose Rushing Water?” “Yes, I’m pleased to meet you.” She closed the door, and they made small talk for a few minutes before he excused himself to speak with Dr. Eastman in the part of the clinic that served as a kitchen. The front room was darkening. Rose lit the lamp and dropped into the rocking chair by the potbellied cookstove. She opened her newest medical book but hadn’t read more than three pages when whooping and hollering echoed outside. Agent Royer stormed into the room, tugging at his collar. Even in the dim light, she noted sweat beading on his forehead. Rose asked, “Are you all right, sir?” “As long as those dancers don’t get all riled up, I will be. Are you all right?” A scoffing sound flew from her lips. “Of course. Dancers you say?” Could he be referring to the Ghost Dance? She’d read newspaper articles from her younger brother Kaneenawup about Wovoka, the shaman from out West who’d invented the Ghost Dance. This man, whom many people revered, was attempting to bring back traditions that her people had lost. How exciting. Oh, how she wished to be part of it. She’d missed so much while she’d been away. Practicing her native customs and speaking her language had been forbidden at the university. That hadn’t stopped her, though, leading to more than one altercation with the stiff-necked dowager in charge. Rose had tried several times to teach the headmistress about natural herbs that helped reduce fevers and cure coughs, but the woman only scoffed and stuck her pointy nose in the air. And then there was the unfortunate incident with Mr. Leon that had sent Rose packing for home sooner than she’d liked. Her chest constricted at the memory of those poor children. Drawing in a deep breath, she willed her hands to stop shaking. “Miss Rushing Water?” The agent tugged at his mustache. 19
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“Um, yes?” She’d been woolgathering again. “You may think the dancers mean no harm, but it frightens the settlers. Dr. Eastman says it’s nonthreatening, but for all we know, it’s a war dance. The sooner the army puts a stop to it, the better for all of us.” Rose sucked in a breath. She chomped on her lower lip to keep from spouting that it most certainly would not be better for her people to forsake dancing. They had sacrificed far too much already, and still, it didn’t seem to be enough to please the settlers. Would anything, other than their extermination, ever be enough to please them? An icy chill ran the length of her spine as an unwelcome memory invaded her mind. The university requested that the students attend Mass every Sunday. There, Rose heard a mean-spirited nun whispering to Mr. Leon that the sooner the Indians were exterminated, the better it would be for the country. Rose had bitten her tongue to keep from lashing out at the woman. She leaned back in the chair and hid her face behind her book. When the agent opened the door and stepped outside, Rose listened for the sounds of the Ghost Dance. Moments later, the jangling of bridles and harnesses drew her attention. She stood, set her book on a crate, and reached for her shawl. Could that be Mr. Gray Cloud returning with Miss Goodale’s wagon? What would he have to say about the Ghost Dance? She stepped outside, intending to find out. The night air contained a chill, and she shivered under her thin crocheted garment. Mr. Gray Cloud drove past the clinic, his shoulders hunched, his face drawn and weary looking. She watched him climb from the seat and lead the team toward the barn at the end of the street, where he stayed. Rose poked her head into the clinic. The sleeping powders she’d fed Joshua earlier were doing their job. He snored like a bear in hibernation. She removed her shawl, yanked her coat from the hook, and slid it on. She hurried to the barn, hoping to speak with Mr. Gray Cloud. The moment she entered the structure, the earthy aromas of leather, horse tack, and wild grasses rose to greet her. His back was to her. For a moment she watched him as he wielded a pitchfork to feed the stock. He moved with fluid, graceful motions. She imagined their forefathers using bows and arrows with as much ease 20
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when they hunted buffalo. She swallowed hard, as if a piece of dry bread had lodged in her throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Gray Cloud. May I speak with you a moment?” He turned and faced her. Strands of his coal-black hair had worked loose from his braid and clung to his sweat-streaked forehead. He gripped the pitchfork like a spear, resembling a warrior going into battle, and perhaps he was. “What is it, Miss Rushing Water?” His soft tone belied his powerful stance. She swallowed again, struggling for words, but the stubborn lump in her throat refused to move. “Wh–what can you tell me about the Ghost Dance? Can you help me be a part of it?” He rammed the pitchfork tines into the earthen floor, creating a twang. His eyes widened, and his chest heaved. Startled, Rose gasped in shock. The poor man looked terrified, but why? Shouldn’t he be proud that their people had found a way to express themselves? Her thoughts whirled as she tried to make sense of his reaction. In the space of her next breath, he was at her side, gently placing a hand at the small of her back. His dark eyes locked with hers. “Mr. Gray Cloud. I’m sorry—” She gulped, unsure what exactly she was sorry for. “Miss Rushing Water,” he replied. His voice faltered for a moment. “Promise me, for your safety, you will have nothing to do with this Ghost Dance, and never mention it again.”
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CHAPTER 3 A good night’s sleep hadn’t abated Rose’s frustration. As the morning sun peeked over the eastern horizon, warming the chilly air, she exited the clinic and stepped out into the street, wishing she could slam the door behind her. The fact that her patient needed rest kept her from doing so. No nurse worth her salt allowed her personal feelings to interfere with her duties to those in her care. But how could Mr. Gray Cloud have done that? He’d threatened her to keep away from the ghost dancers or he’d speak to her older brother Peter about the matter. She huffed. Nathaniel Gray Cloud had been lucky, in her opinion. Raised on the reservation among his family with plenty of opportunities to learn the Lakota language and traditions. He hadn’t been taken away to live in a residential school as she had after the deaths of her parents. And from there she’d been sent to live in a city full of white people. Her brown skin had drawn stares and whispers. Boston had often been so noisy she wanted to plug her ears with cotton to ease her headaches. The shops and buildings and people lived crammed together in the smallest of spaces. It had been like living in a stuffy wardrobe. A melancholy sigh escaped her lungs, snatched away by the wind and carried across the rolling plains. Though she was grateful for her college education, feelings of missing out on a traditional upbringing in this beautiful place left a hollow ache in her middle. The cold wind whipped circles around her, swirling her skirt around her legs. If Mr. Gray Cloud refused to teach her about the Ghost Dance, she’d seek the information elsewhere. Her brothers would help her. At least Kaneenawup would. 23
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Kaneenawup. He was named after the Saulteaux chief from Canada, and his name meant He Who Sits like an Eagle. He clung to his Indian name rather than accept the white one his teachers had insisted he answer to. His rebellion against learning the white man’s ways often landed him in trouble with teachers and school boards alike. The letters she’d received from him most recently contained vivid descriptions of the ceremonies he’d attended. She could hardly wait to see him again. If anyone could teach her about the Ghost Dance, it would be him. Kaneenawup had been only ten years old when their parents died from the measles. Peter had been sixteen; and she, just twelve. How terrible it had been for the three of them to be separated. She’d heard that Kaneenawup had been a handful. It was no wonder! Shoving aside the painful memories, she strode toward the agency’s administration building, intending to speak with Peter or Agent Royer. She hoped, at the very least, they’d have information about Sitting Bull. She’d had the pleasure of meeting the respected chief when Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show had come to Boston. The man had a persistent cough that needed to be checked, and Rose had eagerly volunteered for the task. She thought him wise beyond his years as she tended him and he regaled her with stories of buffalo hunts and wild horses that had once roamed the reservations. The Great Chief was a controversial figure, lauded by some, despised by others. Her plan to locate him might take a bit of detective work. If he wasn’t out touring with Buffalo Bill, he’d be at his home on the Standing Rock Reservation. That was north of Pine Ridge, but if she wrote to him, she hoped that someone would read the letter to him and he’d remember her. Perhaps they’d write a reply to her on his behalf. She’d love the opportunity to see him again, if her duties at the clinic allowed her time to travel to his reservation. By the time she stepped into the Pine Ridge Agency administration building, the wind had chilled her to the bone. She rubbed her hands together, then over her arms. In the years she’d been gone, she’d forgotten that the strong winds had such a bite to them. Next time she’d remember to wrap her shawl around her head. “Excuse me,” she addressed the clerk seated at the front desk. “I’d like to see Peter Rushing Water or Agent Royer, please.” 24
The Caregiver at Wounded Knee
The clerk pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your name and the nature of your business?” She straightened her spine. “I’m Rose, Peter’s sister. I arrived from Boston last night. I’m a trained nurse. I’d like to speak with either of them and become better acquainted with the goings-on here on the reservation.” The clerk shuffled a handful of papers on his desk. “Peter’s out. Royer’s busy.” “When will my brother return? May I at least schedule an appointment with the agent?” “Don’t know. I’ll tell Royer you stopped by.” The clerk rolled a piece of paper into a dilapidated typewriter without so much as glancing at her. Rose bristled at his curtness and indifference. “Should I stop by later this afternoon? Perhaps then Peter will have returned and Mr. Royer won’t be as busy.” The clerk pounded on the typewriter keys. “Fine.” She huffed and turned to leave. Before she reached the door, shouts resounded from outside. The desk clerk leaped from his chair and stomped past Rose, muttering under his breath. He yanked the door open and bolted outside. Rose followed and nearly bumped into him. He simply stood as if rooted in place. She sidestepped around him to see what caused the commotion. Peter and Nathaniel Gray Cloud, in their deputy uniforms, sat atop their spooked horses. Her older brother had been diligent about sending her extra money for books and clothes while she attended the university. She wanted to run to him and give him a big hug and say thank you, but this was obviously not the time for that. Their animals bucked and shook their heads from side to side. The men clutched the reins and clung to the saddle pommels. She didn’t recognize the other deputy standing near them. A scowl marred the man’s face. He spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the dirt and folded his burly arms over his chest. His stance indicated he was spoiling for a fight. She focused her attention on another man standing with his back to her. Dressed in buckskin, he wore a long dark braid that hung to his waist. Three feathers graced the beaded band around his head. He must 25