The One Chosen

Chapter One - Part 1 - written by:
Sandi99

"I am a red man. If the Great Spirit has desired me to be a white man, he would have made me so in the first place.


Now we are poor but we are free. No white man controls our footsteps.


If we must die, we die defending our rights."


-Sitting Bull - Hunkpapa Sioux


Morning Rain knew this man well. He was with her people after the massacre at Sand Creek, before Washita, at the time when Chivington stole their land and forced them onto reservations.


She knew him when the Cheyenne nation stood proud and free and strong;


when they could follow the Buffalo and set up their lodgings where they wished;


when the Spirits smiled upon them and rewarded them with nature’s blessings. His face was as familiar as the mountains that greeted her each morning, that filled her view when she pushed back the flap of her teepee.


Lately she’d seen him in her dreams many times; his piercing blue eyes, his smile – so rare yet so gentle.


She touched that face now, her fingers edging their way toward the ugly gash on his right temple.


Memories swelled in her mind. Years before, she’d been in the village when Cloud Dancing first brought Sully to them.


The will to live had been extinguished from his eyes as he lay for days in the teepee, weak and fevered.


Cloud Dancing chanted to the Spirits, asking them to spare his life. He would tell Chief Black Kettle, days later, that the Spirits had spoken to him, that this man was special, different from all other white men.


Sully had recovered and grew strong physically but he was troubled. He’d adopted the Cheyenne custom of the vision quest, taking his place in the sweat lodge on two occasions. Then he set out on his journey.


For days, he would fast and pray for guidance – no water, no clothes to cover his naked body.


When he returned, he would once again enter the sweat lodge to speak of his visions. The first time, he’d found few answers but the second quest had been different. When he returned to the sweat lodge that time, there was a new light in his eyes.


Later, as the tribe gathered around a campfire in the centre of the village, Sully had revealed his new path.


“I have been told by the Spirits that I will help the Cheyenne,” he’d said, “that I will be a link between your people and the white man. I will help Black Kettle restore peace.”


Morning Rain had rejoiced with the rest of her village, infused with new hope. This man brought powerful messages from the Spirits, a promise that their people might, someday, be able to return to their old ways. He was never given a Cheyenne name. They called him ‘Sully’, nothing more. But in Morning Rain’s heart, she called him ‘The One Chosen’ – he who walks the path between the Cheyenne and the white men.


In celebration, the village performed the Sun Dance. The ceremony continued until four days had passed.


Singers, drummers, dancers and spectators gathered together to seek that same power, as a group, that Sully had found in his vision quest.


In the centre of a huge circle of teepees, a pole was erected and rawhide strips attached to it. The seekers pierced their skin with the skewers attached to those strips.


As they danced around the pole, the skewers tore at their flesh, a symbol of the sincerity of their prayers. Cloud Dancing, himself, took part in the ritual, the skewers leaving scars on his chest. But Sully sat back, watching quietly. There was no need to participate. He’d seen his visions. Everyone knew that he was one with them, that he was part of the Cheyenne family.


She stared down at him now and her fingers gently probed his body, feeling for further injuries. She was a shaman, a woman of great influence among her people many years ago. Now, with the Cheyenne scattered like the seeds of the milkweed, this identity hardly seemed to matter.


Yet she had assisted Cloud Dancing many times, watching as his touch healed broken bodies and soothed tortured souls.


She had enough knowledge to assess Sully’s injuries and know that they were serious – very serious. His breathing was shallow and rapid. He hadn’t stirred since they’d found him, lying face down in the dirt of the trail, unconscious. Morning Rain turned to her sister, Little Bird.


“Go find Cloud Dancing. Tell him to hurry.”


Little Bird nodded, her brown eyes round with panic, and scurried out of the cabin.


It was fortunate that her sister and Runs Softly had been with her when she’d found Sully. Between the three of them, they were able to lift him and carry him to this deserted hunting cabin.


They’d been searching for herbs for Cloud Dancing’s medicines and they’d wandered far into the hills. Transporting Sully back to the village was impossible.


She finished her examination and touched his face again, her fingers lingering on his brow. When she glanced up, she caught Runs Softly watching her, cautiously.


“Why do you worry over a white man? We cannot trust them,” Runs Softly told her.


“This one is different,” Morning Rain assured the woman. “You are not from Black Kettle’s village. You do not understand. When we lived in the Colorado territory, this man was our friend.”


Runs Softly studied her and her eyes narrowed. “You care for this man?”


Morning Rain nodded, sighing deeply. “I had hoped to one day join with him, to be his wife.”


“But, you did not?” Runs Softly prodded.


“No. My uncle, Black Kettle, would not allow it. He said that a woman in my position – a shaman among her people – must marry one of her own kind. He believed that a match with Tall Elk would benefit our village. He trusted Sully but ….”


She hesitated, glancing down at Sully again, “…he is white.”


“Did this man wish for a union with you?”


Runs Softly looked intrigued now and Morning Rain couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I don’t know. We never spoke of it. I was to wed Tall Elk and before I did ….” She pushed Sully’s hair away from the gash on his forehead, “… Sully married someone else. A white woman.”


The women knelt on either side of the narrow cot where Sully lay.


Runs Softly had managed to light a small blaze in the fireplace at one end of the room but it did little to dispel the November chill in the air. She shivered, glancing through the window at the encroaching night shadows. Morning Rain’s gaze was unfocused as she retreated back into her memories, oblivious to the cold that seeped through the gaps in the cabin walls.


“I can still remember the first time the woman came to our camp, when the soldiers were forcing us to remain on the reservation. Sully had been talking with one of the blue coats – a man named Chivington – trying to explain our anger to him. The woman was searching for her son and the braves of our village agreed to help her, even though they were ordered to stay on the reservation. Her son was returned to her and she came to the village many times after that, bringing her medicine to our people.”


“She was a medicine woman?” Runs Softly asked, raising her eyebrows.


Once more Morning Rain nodded. “I watched Sully. He began to spend time away from our village. I knew she had captured his heart. When Cloud Dancing told me that Sully would wed, I married Tall Elk. I would not bring shame upon our families by waiting for a man I could never have. Then the soldiers attacked our village on the Washita and ….”


She faltered, unable to talk about the massacre itself, even though five long years had passed. “My sister and I survived and we lived at Palmer Creek with the others. Sully was the Indian agent and he fought for our people. It did little good. Tall Elk died when he joined the renegades. He wanted to take revenge on the soldiers for everything they did to us, but they killed him as well.”


She drew in her breath and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. When she was composed, she continued. “I was free ….but Sully was not. He had married. After that, when we were granted safe passage to the Tongue River Valley, he came to visit. One time. That was all – until today.” Once more she touched Sully’s face. “He has not changed.”


“Did he help your village, as the Spirits said?” Runs Softly asked.


“He tried,” Morning Rain answered, her voice breaking. “No one could help us.”


The women exchanged glances, their eyes holding all their pain and suffering, their wisdom and resignation.


Runs Softly smiled, sadly. “At least here, in the Tongue River Valley, we live free. We are safe.”


Morning Rain looked away from her and stared at the flickering fire across the room. “For how long? If they do this to a white man, to one of their own kind, what will they do to us?”


Cloud Dancing burst through the door of the cabin with Little Bird on his heels.


“Sully!” He dropped to his knees beside his friend’s cot. For a long moment, he was unable to move as he stared down at his brother. Blood covered one side of Sully’s face and dark bruises had formed beneath his eyes and beside his mouth. Cloud Dancing finally reached out, running his hands along the length of Sully’s body, checking for broken bones, abrasions and wounds. No one spoke as Cloud Dancing conducted his examination, his brow deeply furrowed.


“Broken ribs,” he murmured, his hands moving upward to Sully’s temple. “He’s suffered a blow to the head – no, more than one blow.”


His eyes met Morning Rain’s gaze, anger churning in their depths. “Who did this to him?”


“I do not know,” she answered. “We found him like this. His body was cold. I believe it happened long before we arrived. He’d been there for some time.”


“Has he awoken at all?” Cloud Dancing was searching in a pouch at his waist and he extracted a gnarled root.


“No.” Morning Rain shook her head. “He is not breathing well.”


“I know.” Cloud Dancing turned toward Little Bird. “Find me a bowl and something to use as a mallet. You need to grind up this root. I will smooth it onto his wounds.”


Little Bird nodded quickly, took the root from his outstretched hand and moved away to rummage around in the cupboards of the kitchen. Cloud Dancing looked at Morning Rain again. The woman’s stare was focused on Sully. He was able to study her, unobserved. It had been no secret among the people in Black Kettle’s village that Morning Rain had strong feelings for Sully. Cloud Dancing was certain that those feelings would pass, once Morning Rain became Tall Elk’s wife and Sully married Michaela.


Watching her now, he realized he’d been mistaken. She was a beautiful woman, sought after by many of the braves in their new village. Her silky, dark hair hung to her waist and her brown eyes were striking - large and fringed by thick, dark lashes. Her marriage to Tall Elk was brief and they were not blessed with children. Morning Rain’s body was still slender and shapely, her hips narrow and her breasts firm. She was a young woman yet she discouraged any attempts at courtship. He’d always believed that she was still grieving for Tall Elk but never, not once, had he considered the possibility that Morning Rain might be grieving for someone else.


There was no time to dwell on the implications. Sully was badly in need of Cloud Dancing’s medicine. He’d detected a raspy sound in his friend’s chest. That, along with the broken ribs and the deep gash to his head, was cause for alarm. At this point, Cloud Dancing had no idea if he’d be able to save Sully’s life.


Little Bird returned with the ground–up root and Cloud Dancing smoothed it onto the wound. It wasn’t enough. Once, when Sully had been beaten by Buffalo hunters, Cloud Dancing brought him to Michaela. He could still remember her words.


“All I can do is treat what’s on the outside. I have no way of knowing what damage there is on the inside.”


Cloud Dancing felt like that now. Patting the root onto the gash seemed ineffective, inadequate. Yet he could do little else.


“Will he live?” Runs Softly asked.


Cloud Dancing glanced up at her. “I do not know. It is bad.”


“You will help him?” Morning Rain asked, hopefully.


“I will try,” he told her, “but he needs Michaela’s medicine. I cannot leave him alone, to go for her. The ride would take many days. He might die while I am gone.”


“Someone else could go,” Little Bird suggested.


Cloud Dancing shook his head but he smiled at her, gratefully. “No. It is much too dangerous. The Cheyenne are no longer welcome in the Colorado territory. I must go alone – when the time is right. For now, I must stay with Sully and try to help him.”


He bowed his head, raised a hand over his friend and began to chant.


The sound reached him, seeping into a corner of his mind like fog sliding along the forest floor. He’d heard it before, this chanting, this voice. Cloud Dancing? Sully struggled to open his eyes but, as soon as he tried, he slipped farther away. He wanted to reach out, to grab onto the sound somehow, but his arms wouldn’t move. He felt himself being pulled downward as Cloud Dancing’s voice grew more distant, as it became nothing more than a faint echo.


Another voice was replacing it, increasing in volume as it grew in anger. Michaela. He could see her face now, the flash of fury in her eyes, the disapproving frown that masked all her pain.


“You’re just leaving? Just like that?”


Sully could hear himself answer. He sounded weary, beaten. “Not just like that, Michaela. I gotta get away. I need ….”


“You need?!” Her shrill pitch fringed on hysterics. “Have you ever thought about what I need, Sully? Ever since ….ever since I lost the baby, you’ve been so distant with me … so aloof. Until last night, that is. Even then, you acted as if you didn’t want to touch me, like you couldn’t stop yourself. You were angry, Sully. Even as you made love to me, you were angry.”


“You don’t understand, Michaela. You don’t.”


“Then explain it to me,” she’d challenged. “Do you blame me for losing the baby? It’s my second miscarriage. Do you think it’s my fault somehow?”


“Of course not!” He’d longed to tell her that he blamed himself, that he’d gone against a vow he made to himself after her second miscarriage. He hadn’t been around to support her when she lost the first child. It happened during those desperate months when he was a fugitive, hiding out from the army. But he was there when she lost the second baby. In a way, it was worse. She’d been dishing up dinner at the time and she’d suddenly doubled over, clutching at her abdomen.


“Sully!” she’d choked.


He was beside her in an instant, helping her upstairs to their bedroom, reassuring her that everything would be fine, that all she needed was rest. But he was wrong. By the next morning, she’d lost the baby. He would never be able to erase her expression from his memory.


She’d looked haunted, devastated. Nothing could console her. Her depression weighed her down for days afterward. That was when he’d made his decision. Michaela couldn’t carry a child. She said she’d grown too old. He wasn’t convinced of that but he did know that he’d never be able to put her through that torture again. He couldn’t stand to see that expression on her face. It broke his heart.


There would be no more miscarriages. He wouldn’t be responsible for causing more pain. He loved her too much.


He’d stayed away from her as much as he could. At night, he’d wait until she’d gone upstairs to bed, giving her time to fall asleep before he climbed in beside her. Then he’d lie with his back turned toward her, hugging his side of the bed and trying not to touch her. Some nights, when he found it too difficult, he wouldn’t go upstairs at all. He’d fall asleep in the wingback chair in front of the fireplace. She would find him there the next morning.


Then, on the night before their fight, Sully lost his self-control. She’d been affectionate with him all evening, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck. He’d waited until he thought she would be asleep upstairs. He didn’t wait long enough. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’d known the truth – he didn’t want to wait. As soon as he crawled in between the covers, she’d snuggled against him, claiming his lips with her own. The kiss deepened and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t push her away. He’d growled softly and pulled her against him, pressing his body into hers, caressing her through the thin fabric of her nightdress. His lips left her mouth and trailed down her neck to her shoulder. Then he raised her nightdress and pulled it off over her head. He’d felt her naked flesh against his skin and every ounce of willpower drained away.


He’d kissed her, his lips travelling over every inch of her body. She writhed on the bed, whispering his name over and over. When he joined with her, they were consumed with the intensity of their emotions. She’d wrapped her legs around him and they moved together as one. When they finally reached a climax, when they both cried out and clung to each other, another emotion washed over him – anger. He was still angry when he held her in his arms afterward, stroking her hair as her head lay cradled on his shoulder. But his anger wasn’t directed toward her. He was angry at himself. He couldn’t explain it to her. She wouldn’t give him the chance.


“You think I should have stopped working when I found out about the baby, don’t you? You think I caused this myself. That’s what you think, isn’t it?!” she’d demanded.


“Michaela, stop it!” he’d ordered. She was talking irrationally but there was an accusing tone to her voice. She was far too upset to heed his warning.


“Look at you!” she’d exploded. “You stand there, blaming me, yet where were you when I lost the first baby, Sully? Where were you then? How can you stand here so … self-righteously? What gives you the right?”


Her words stabbed at him and he’d stepped back, stunned. She’d glared at him but there was satisfaction on her face. She was hurting him, every bit as much as he’d hurt her. He understood, knew why she did it, but he couldn’t stand there and listen to her any longer. He’d spun on his heel and marched away from her, jerking open the front door then slamming it behind him. He’d never explained, never told her where he was going, never told her how much he loved her.


Michaela’s face faded with the memory. There was something damp and sticky on his forehead but he couldn’t open his eyes or call out. He no longer knew if anyone was even there. Was he alone? Was he even alive? There was a heaviness in his chest and it hurt when he drew in a breath. If he could feel pain, then he must be alive. But where was he? What happened to him?


Just before he plunged into the black pit opening beneath him, one last question nagged at his mind. Would Michaela ever be able to find him?


The One Chosen - Chapter One - Part 2 - written by: Jean McQuaid


It was late in the afternoon when Charlotte and Jenny Goldthorn finally arrived in Colorado Springs.


"Afternoon ladies," smiled Horace as he greeted the two genteel ladies that had just stepped off the train. He'd never seen them before but was getting quite used to greeting strangers since the advent of the train.


Both ladies were well dressed but seemed quite rigid, their dark grey suits accented simply by the high buttoned white collars and small black feathered hats.


Horace was always friendly and seemed extra cheerful today. "Welcome and what brings you fine ladies to Colorado Springs?"


"Well, good afternoon to you too, uh..Mr.?" Jenny Goldthorn asked tilting her head slightly forward and extending her hand in a polite gesture of greeting.


"My name's Horace, Horace Bing. I'm the telegraph operator here and what might your names be?" he replied returning the hand shake to the laced gloved petite hand.


"I'm Jenny Goldthorn and this is my sister Charlotte," she replied eagerly.


Horace held out a hand to attempt a reply from the other Goldthorn sister but received a cold stare instead. He hesitated a moment then withdrew from her noticing that she seemed more interested in trying to smooth out the wrinkles and wipe off the dust from her formal attire.


"Oh don't mind her," Jenny put in. "We've had a very long journey and she's just a little tired. So am I for that matter. We need a place to freshen up and rest before we dine. Perhaps you would be kind enough to show us...."


She was abruptly interrupted, "Oh just tell us where the Hotel is. I'm tired of all this idle chit-chat!" barked out Charlotte. "And I can speak for myself, thank you Jenny!"


Jenny blushed with embarrassment," Now sister, this nice gentleman is just trying to be friendly. The least we can do, as Mother would say is to 'mind our manners'," scolded Jenny.


"Manners be damned! I'm tired and hungry and I'm losing my patience with both of you. I'll find the darn hotel myself!" rattled Charlotte and started off on her own.


Horace quickly grabbed the ladies bags and beckoned Jenny to follow him. He attempted to get ahead of Charlotte but with little luck as she'd already rounded the corner and was headed straight for the Gold Nugget. Tried as he might he just couldn't catch this human freight train as she marched ahead of him straight to the front door of the Saloon. Jenny following close behind stumbled into the back of Horace as he stopped dead in his tracks just outside the door.


Charlotte had wasted no time at all entering and was not the least bit shaken by her surroundings. To the surprise of Horace and the chagrin of Jenny, Charlotte marched boldly over to the bar, removed her gloves and hat, set them neatly down and proceeded to order a shot of whiskey from a speechless Hank.


Jenny gasped as Charlotte raised the glass to her lips, threw her head back and tossed the fluid down her throat. "Another, please," sighed Charlotte. "It's been a long trip and my throat is very dry."


The saloon went silent as Hank proudly poured the dauntless lady another round. Again she tossed the whiskey down as if it was water. A sudden outburst of cheers abounded from the men at the tables and Charlotte slowly turned to take a bow. "Why thank you gentlemen," she said and turned back to face a smiling Hank. "Now sir, may we please obtain one of your finest rooms and my sister and I would also require a warm bath," she announced and added, "but not together, of course."


And with that the whole place filled with laughter. Hank grabbed room keys from under the counter and as soon as he'd moved to the other side of the bar he proceeded to take Charlotte's arm, gave her a wink and led her towards the stairs.


Jenny followed slowly, appalled at the surroundings but soon picking up the pace as not to be left behind.


Horace followed still managing their bags and confused by the past events. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this pair but one thing he did know, this Charlotte had won Hank over, hands down. While Jenny on the other hand was like a scared rabbit, bolting at the slightest movement.