A Man Called Phoenix :: a High Plains Invader Fanfic.
Title: A Man Called Phoenix
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Sam Danville/Abigail Pixley
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence.
Word Count: About 6,750 words.
Summary: This fanfic picks up where High Plains Invaders left off. I'd like to thank Rankin & Bass for inspiring a particular scene towards the end. :D
A Man Called Phoenix
High Plains Invaders: the Continuing Adventures of Sam and Abby.
Though the sun was low in the horizon, bright, orange light from the burning remnants of Avarenth blanketed the land, casting skeleton-hand silhouettes through the trees. Sam and Abby rode as far from the smoldering husk of the town and surrounding countryside as their horses could carry them. The couple was deep into forest before they felt safe enough to give the horses a rest.
Helping Abby down from her saddle, the full weight of what they had left behind struck Sam. Though there were heavy, sad thoughts of leaving the bodies of their friends and what Abby must have felt abandoning her practice, there was also an uplifting feeling of being free from the unhappy life Sam had made for himself. His arms wrapped tightly around Abby, and hers around him. She could feel the tenseness and apprehension drifting away from him as her hands roamed gently over his back, his shoulders going slack from relief and exhaustion. Sam’s hands cupped her face as his lips found hers for the first time in two years, and he felt like he was home. Abby returned his kisses in kind, her small hands stroking over his hair, thick and near-gray from grit and dust.
“Here, now,” she whispered, reluctantly pushing him away, “We have to get these horses watered and make camp while there’s still some light.” She met his eyes and saw that the few tears that had managed to spill out had bathed clean tracks down his unwashed face. “Oh, Sam…” the words barely made a sound as they left her lips.
Sam turned from her, trying to wipe his face on his coat sleeve as he gathered the reins of both the horses in his hands to lead them to the nearby stream. The speckled horses lumbered unsteadily towards the water, grateful to be at their leisure to have a drink. Abby looked about for some employment, but without any supplies “making camp” seemed actually to be a light task. She used the edge of her boot to clear a small circle in the brush and gathered up a small amount of sticks and twigs for kindling. She was just beginning to make a fire pit when Sam came and crouched down beside her.
“We don’t want to make it too big,” he said, taking some matches from his pocket and lighting some of the kindling, “in case those bugs are still out there.”
Sam’s words were softly-spoken and slow to leave his mouth as though he was thinking too much while trying to talk. Abby leaned her head on his shoulder, petting his knee gently, watching as the fire took hold of the smaller, dryer pieces of wood first.
“And I don’t want you getting cold,” Abby replied. She paused for a moment and smiled, “I remember you were always prone to the chills.”
Sam let out a small laugh, “I can’t recall you mindin’ much. I think you like me being sick so you can doctor me up.”
“You’re an excellent patient,” she placed a kiss to his brow.
Threading his fingers through hers, it took him a few minutes but Sam finally responded, “I missed you. I can’t find the words to tell you how much I missed you.”
Abby had come up with many biting retorts to that kind of statement over the past two years without Sam, waiting for the day he would come crawling back and how she would turn him away; but now that she knew what he had been through, the pain he had suffered, she could only hold tightly to his hand and reassure him that, even though he had hurt her, she missed him and still loved him.
“I wish I had never left you, Abigail,” he spoke quietly.
“You had an obligation to the army; you had to go,” Abby replied as though it was something she had told herself many times.
He looked deeply into her warm brown eyes, his expression serious, “You shoulda been my priority, not the army. We shoulda just took off, found someplace where no one knew us.”
Abby smiled, “We’re doing that now. We can start over.”
A curious look came over Sam’s face; his blue eyes were suddenly full of the same spark that they held when he first saw his Abigail. He stood up and pulled Abby to her feet, and he then took a knee in front of her, taking her left hand in his.
“Lord knows I shoulda done this sooner, but… would you have me, Abigail Pixley?” his smile was unsure, and his voice was wavering a bit. “I would be a piss-poor excuse for a husband; but if I could do it all over, I would do much better by you… Abby, you were my first and only...”
For almost thirteen years, Abby had been waiting for Sam to propose. It felt as though she had been waiting since the very moment she met him when he was brought into the medical tent on the battlefields near Milk Creek. Sam had been a fresh-faced twenty-three year old First Lieutenant with the 7th Calvary with a severely twisted ankle which he’d gotten trying to avoid enemy fire, and Abby was a twenty year old nurse just out of the University of Michigan with no field training. During the Ute War, there had been a distinct lack of medical officers, so anyone with medical training at all was encouraged to join the field units. Fear swam in his eyes when he looked around at buckets of amputated limbs and blood coating every surface. He begged her not to cut his leg off, and she tried to reassure him that he was afflicted with a minor- if painful- sprain. Sam’s frightened face made him seem so much younger than he was, and there was something about him that instantly called to Abby to care for him personally.
After a few hours in the field hospital, Sam attempted to hobble back into the forefront of the battle, but he was quickly stopped by his ever-faithful nurse. They had strong words for one another in that moment, none of them very kind, which resulted in Sam receiving a stinging slap to the mouth. He was forced back onto his cot and was told in plain and simple terms that he would remain in bed until Abigail said otherwise. Her tone was that of a frustrated mother talking to an errant toddler, which both humiliated and irritated Sam. It went on for a few days like that between the two of them.
The swelling in Sam’s ankle was just going down enough for him to walk by the time the fighting had subsided. He was sitting upright in his cot, his uniform coat draped over his chest, as he watched Abigail bustling amongst her patients, getting fresh bandages for one and a basin of water for another. Her hair was a deep shade of brown, like warm earth with strands of copper interspersed throughout, and she was in a constant state of pushing the unruly locks behind her ears. She had a pleasant face with large dark eyes that sparkled when she smiled. She did not, however, throw any smiles Sam’s way.
When he caught her gaze, she quickly looked away; her lips pursed tightly together, her footfalls heavier and with more purpose as she strode away. Sam felt heat rise into his face, colour prickling his ears. He had always been a little too sensitive. He had run off at the mouth when he had first been admitted to the field hospital and had been uncooperative and brash towards his nurse when she had only been trying to help him. As Sam thought about his behavior towards her, feelings of shame and guilt knotted up his belly.
Abigail finished attending her patient with a wounded arm with the utmost slowness. Sam was her last patient on the round, and she was dreading visiting his bedside. It was not that she disliked him, but she could not forget that she had slapped him when he was first admitted into her care. Such an action was inexcusable and unprofessional. After all, Lieutenant Danville was little more than a boy in an extremely frightening situation, and she had reacted to his fear and uneasiness by losing her temper. Though she too was overworked and overtired, she could not forgive herself for the incident, and being around him only reminded her of what had transpired. At least this round would end with preparing Lieutenant Danville to be discharged.
Rationing some of the rather scant soup into a tin bowl and breaking off a chunk of stale bread, Abby brought the food tray to Sam’s cot, setting it on the small table next to it. The meals were so meager, barely enough to keep the soldiers going, but it was all they had after their supplies were blocked from reaching nearly a week earlier. She had ruined three petticoats to fashion makeshift bandages and slings.
Sam was fiddling with the left shoulder board which was coming loose from his coat. When the tray clanked against the table, Sam looked up at her. Abigail couldn’t help feeling that he seemed a bit lost. His boyish features made him look like a child playing dress-up in an officer’s uniform. He was of average stature and thin frame with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Every aspect of his face was rounded, adding to his youthful appearance. Even his high cheekbones, which, on a gaunter man, might have appeared harsh, provided a delicate frame for his face from his innocent grayish-teal eyes to his supple Cupid’s bow lips and knobby chin. His hair was a mousy chestnut colour and filled with longish curls, more suitable for a choir boy than a soldier.
“Would you like me to fix that for you?” Abigail said softly, putting her hand over his as he picked at the loose threads on his coat’s shoulder.
He started at her touch, but nodded.
She smiled, taking his uniform coat from him, trading it for the supper tray. “It’s not much, but it’ll do you good to have something warm in you before you set out today,” she said as she pulled up a small chair to his bedside.
Sam didn’t need much prompting to eat. As soon as the tray was placed on his lap, he tucked in, sopping up the soup with the hunk of bread.
“It’s good that your appetite is so healthy,” Abigail said, pulling out a few clean needles and a spindle of thread from her suture kit. As she was threading a needle, Abby noticed that Sam was staring at her. Thinking that she might have hurt his feelings, she added, “It’s just that many men who come through here are sometimes too weak to even eat, so it’s wonderful that you’re getting your strength back.”
Sam raked his shirt sleeve over his mouth and spoke, “Actually, my ankle is still givin’ me fits. I don’t think I should be walkin’ on it.”
Abigail was up from her seat in an instant, unceremoniously throwing the thin blanket off his lower legs and checking over his bandaged ankle, her nursing instincts guiding her. When her fingers were gliding tenderly over his bare flesh, Sam audibly gulped.
As she caught sight of his worried expression and his reddened cheeks, Abigail pressed the flat of her hand to his forehead. She said quickly, “You looked flushed, but you don’t feel feverish. Do you feel poorly?” She cupped his jaw with her hands, attempting to detect any swelling in the nodes in his neck.
“Not when you do that…” Sam’s smile was soft and sweet as his eyes met Abby’s. He let his hand gingerly touch her wrist; he remained tentative in case she rebuffed him.
Abigail was momentarily stunned by his words. She had had patients who had formed an attachment to her before, but she had attributed it to the care she provided and the loneliness that these soldiers suffered while waiting to be sent home. However, she had never returned any sentiments towards those she nursed back to health before she had come into contact with Lieutenant Danville.
“So you feel all right? Your ankle and all?” she stood up and pulled away, hands on her hips.
Sam noted some slight hostility in her posture, and he stammered, “…Y-yes…”
Abby gave him a sharp pinch to his upper arm, “I ought to give you a tobacco enema for tricking me like that! You made me worry!”
“Ouch!” Sam flinched away as she pinched him. He looked horrified at her suggestion, “Don’t go blowing smoke up m’ ass because you jumped to conclusions!”
Her eyes narrowed, and he looked a little more contrite and added, “I’m sorry for the bit about my ankle though. I just didn’t want to leave yet.”
“You’ve done nothing but try to get out of this tent for the past few days, and now you want to stay?” she said suspiciously.
“Yeah, I want to stay here with you.”
There was something wholly innocent in his honesty, a quality about him that made Abigail’s anger dissipate slightly. He reached out to take one of her hands, running the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. His hands weren’t calloused and rough like the other soldiers’. Abby idly wondered how he managed to keep his skin so soft when he had been handling unyielding weapons for days on end.
“I like you,” Sam spoke; a shy sort of expression crossed his features.
Abby squeezed his hand gently and replied, “I like you too.”
When the soldiers that could still carry their own weight had begun the trek to a nearby fort, Abigail convinced Sam’s commanding officer that the young First Lieutenant needed to remain behind with the other more seriously wounded soldiers so as to not aggravate his fever. However, after a few days, the field hospital was forced to pack up and move forward with the rest. A small storage room next to the medical ward in the fort was commandeered by Abigail as a sick room for Lieutenant Danville in case his “fever” was the result of something contagious.
For the next week, Sam found the tedium of forced bed-rest to be eased by Abby’s frequent visits. It was the only way that they could be alone together in the fort’s rather tight accommodations. She brought him food, helped him shave, and even bathed him, which lead to the Lieutenant and the nurse becoming extremely familiar with one another.
One night, as they lay in Sam’s narrow bed, Abby asked him, “Where are you from?”
“Well, I was born in a little place called Sevierville up in the Smokies, but-,” he paused, a quiet sadness passed over him before he continued in hasty manner as though he wanted to get away from the subject as quickly as possible, “But there was a fire that took about half the town, so we went to live with my mama’s sister in Athens, just east of the Tennessee River.”
“You’re a long way from home, then,” she ran her hand gently over his chest, comforting him with caresses and kisses along his shoulder.
“Suppose so; world doesn’t feel so big when you’ve marched half-way ‘cross it,” Sam mused, tucking a lock of Abby’s dark hair behind her ear. “What about you? Have you got kin around here?”
“No,” she smiled, “all my family lives in Michigan.”
“Seems strange that a lady would take off from home on her own like that without having connections to nobody,” Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger on her warm skin.
Abby’s arms twined around his waist, and she pulled him closer. “When the war got going, they called for anyone with medical training to volunteer their services. I just wanted to do some good, and this was no different than any of the other hospitals I’d worked in… Although I didn’t have to worry about bullets whizzing by my head or badgers trying to make off with my underthings when I working back home.”
Sam laughed in his impish way, blue eyes sparkling, “Now you only have to worry about the boys stationed here doing that.”
Looking back on that night, Sam wished he could have made it last for all eternity. He would be shipped off, shuffled around for months at a time, never knowing when he would be able to see Abigail again. Though they cherished the time they spent together, it was never enough. His few weeks leave at a time barely afforded them time alone, meeting up in whatever city they could. It was tortuous agony, the sadness of which could not be captured to its fullest degree in the letters they sent to one another. Sam’s performance on the battlefield had little to do with bravery and everything to do with wanting to return to Abigail’s waiting arms.
When Sam was made a Captain, their time together was less frequent, more strained and stressful, but that did not diminish the love they held for one another. For eleven years, their love had made due with a month-or-so’s visit every season, not enough time for a wedding nor a family. However, in the winter of 1890, came a turning point. Abby had set up a small practice in Avarenth, Colorado, and she and Sam were planning their first Christmas together in years when word arrived that Captain Danville was needed to assist the 7th Calvary Regiment in quelling what was perceived as an uprising of Lakota Indians in South Dakota.
Sam could not be sure as to what set the events in motion, but what transpired on that icy December morning along the creek was nothing short of horrific. Within the confusion and chaos of the moment, bullets roared from Hotchkiss guns, and the bodies of the dead and the wounded, both Lakota and soldier, littered the snow-covered ground. Some of the Lakota women had fled with their children into the frozen prairie, and the orders were given that they should be pursued. Captain Sam Danville, forever a good soldier, always loyal to his superior officers, obeyed those orders, which became a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.
With his horse gravely wounded, Sam was forced to run on foot across slick plains. In distance, he could see the movement of figures in sharp relief to the snow, running frantically only to be shot down by Calvary fire. The wounded were promptly finished off by any soldiers that fell behind the main charge. Sam stopped momentarily to catch his breath, which was when he heard a muffled sound coming from an outcropping of rocks. As he approached, gun drawn, he realized the noise was that of a baby crying. Within a tight niche in the rocks was a young Lakota woman, covered in blood, her infant wrapped in a shawl against her chest. Her eyes were filled with tears, half fearful and half furious, as she saw Sam.
Shaking, she lifted a rifle at him and spoke, though he did not understand what she said. Her voice was broken and rough as though she was holding back from saying more. Sam took a step backwards even as he saw that with her one free hand she could not both hold the rifle and fire it. She was trapped and afraid, just trying to protect her child. Sam began to holster his weapon, holding up a hand in an attempt to show that his was no threat to her. She understood the gesture, lowering her rifle though not taking her hand off it. Sam could not blame her. Though he had no intention of harming her or her child, he saw that his fellow soldiers would be more than willing in their frenzied state, emboldened by the chaos. As the tension between the young mother and Captain Danville ebbed away, the baby calmed, and all became eerily quiet.
Sam thought about simply walking away, ignoring his orders. Before he could leave the spot, the sound of hoof beats across the snow caught his attention. Colonel Roane was heading towards his position atop a hard-ridden horse. Sam gave a small motion to the young woman by covering his mouth, gesturing for her to be as quiet as possible. She nodded, keeping both her baby and her weapon close to her.
Colonel Roane jerked his horse’s reigns, forcing the creature to stop as he neared Sam. He spoke in a snide, condescending manner, “Lieutenant- Oh, that’s right, isn’t it? They made you “Captain Danville” now, correct? Well, I suppose it’s to be expected with all the causalities. Have to keep the officers’ table full, don’t we?” He clapped a hand down roughly on Sam’s shoulder with a bark of mocking laughter.
Sam did not know how to respond. A wittier man might have a scathing retort to reply with while a stupid man might have just brainlessly nodded in agreement. Sam, while not witty, was definitely not stupid, and he simply chose not to respond, looking up at his commanding officer blankly.
“What’s this then, Danville? Taking a breather while there’s still work to be done?” Colonel Roane’s tone of voice was that of someone speaking to a simpleton. “The settlers on this land want to feel safe, and we’re going to make sure that they are.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said quietly, “It’s just the ground is slick, and I needed to my footing.”
“Get on with it, boy,” Colonel Roane reared his horse, firing off a shot from his pistol to demonstrate his eagerness for the charge.
However, the sound of the horse’s furied whiny and blast from the Roane’s weapon startled the infant settled within the niche of rocks. The child wailed helplessly, and Roane’s head whipped around towards the noise. With a thrust of his heels, Roane urged the horse towards the stony outcropping. Sam stepped between his commanding officer and the rocks. He felt his heart leap into his throat when the Colonel aimed his weapon at the small cave-like opening.
“It’s just a woman and her baby,” Sam spoke, afraid of the hateful look on Colonel Roane’s face. “They won’t harm nobody…”
Roane peered down, able to see the young woman within the shadows. She was pushing her shoes deep into the moist earth untouched by snow, trying to force herself further into the cramped space, making herself as small as possible. Between the unyielding rocks, her rifle, her infant, and her own body, there was simply no more room to be found. The Colonel could see the whites of her eyes as they darted around nervously.
Sam had seen that look as a boy watching his uncle pull rabbits from traps. It was an expression creatures made right before they tried to make a last desperate attempt to escape whatever had cornered them. The young woman raised her weapon again. The gunmetal glinted off the morning snow, and Roane caught sight of it.
“She’s armed!” he yelled out and squeezed the trigger on his pistol.
Sam knocked the Colonel’s arm off-kilter, the bullet flying off into the distance and away from the trapped woman and child. In a sheer panic, the woman managed to hold onto the rifle with one hand and stretched her fingers to the trigger. In her condition, she could not level a shot, and the round buzzed past Roane’s horse like an angry hornet. The horse bucked wildly, throwing Colonel Roane to the ground.
“Son of a bitch!” Roane shouted, getting to his feet. He was not a large man, but he was tall and thickly muscled. The cords of his throat strained against his lapels as he rained a slew of curses at Captain Danville.
Sam suddenly felt the harsh reality of being cornered; he backed up against the rocks, using his body to shield the opening. “Sir, please, they ain’t done nothing,” the young Captain said, a sick quake in the pit of his stomach.
“Out of my way, boy,” the Colonel growled, grabbing the front of Sam’s uniform coat to try to physically pull him from his self-appointed post. “You’re resisting the orders of one of your superiors!”
Sam paled, and though he thought on it a minute longer, he eventually moved aside. Sam was a soldier, and soldiers did what their commanders told them to do, but what had been happening, even since the beginning of the war, had not settled well in his thoughts. Thinking of people he’d killed, villages he’d help burn, the constant fighting and the relocating did not seem to be helping the hostility and unrest amongst the settlers and Indians, only making it worse. And when Sam saw the frightened, dark eyes of the woman with her baby, he could not help but see his Abigail. If something happened to him, would anyone take mercy on her in the same situation?
Roane’s face was red-purple with anger, snow caked on his uniform where he had fallen from his horse. As Sam moved away from the niche in the rocks, Roane yanked the rifle out of the woman’s hands. She yelped as he did so, not daring to move from her hiding place to attempt to retrieve the weapon.
Reaching over to remove young Captain’s gun from its holster, Colonel Roane shoved it into Sam’s hand, “That ain’t for stirring tea with.”
Off of Sam’s confused look, the Colonel gestured to the woman, “Do your duty and take care of this.”
“Sir, I c-can’t…” Sam shook his head, starring at the gun in his hand.
Roane exploded into a fit of rage, “You will do as you’re told!”
Sam was speechless, continuing to shake his head in disbelief, “I can’t…”
Roane grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and turned him to face the opening of the cave, “You are the most pathetic milksop that has ever disgraced the uniform, and it’s about time you started earning your rank! You didn’t earn those bars on your shoulders; they were handed to you on the bodies of better men that fell before you!”
Sam could not move his eyes away from the woman before him. She did not cower as some might think one would do in this situation. Her gaze locked with his as she was crouching, half-turned to shield her child.
“General Tidwell thinks you’re some fucking hero, being able to negotiate with them, but let me tell you something, Danville, they don’t want to negotiate. They want to take the fucking scalp from your empty skull,” Roane’s voice was low, dangerously quiet. “Do you think for a second that one of hers wouldn’t shoot you where you stand? Did you not see what they did to your men back there, Captain!?”
Closing his eyes, Sam pictured himself home with Abigail. In his mind, he could see himself honorably discharged, married, and with a profession. Though he never had much education, perhaps he could have learned to be like Abby, learned to treat illnesses and such. Abby was so loved by her patients and would never ask for anything if the person couldn’t pay for their treatment. Sam pondered that he and Abby might have never had much money, never enough for a fine home or furnishings, but Avarenth would have taken care of them just as they cared for it. Maybe Mr. Zilich could have found a job for him working at the general store. A simple life, Sam thought, would be much preferable to his current situation.
“What’s the matter, Danville?” Roane sneered, “Does the bitch remind you of someone? I seem to recall that nurse you shacked up with was a bit dark. Has she got some Injun in her?”
Sam stiffened up at that, not liking Roane speaking of Abigail in any context, but especially not with such a disparaging tone.
Roane tightened his grip on Sam’s shoulders, “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re an Injun-lover. What’s it like to fu-”
The Colonel did not get a chance to finish his vulgar statement as Sam turned, the butt of his gun landing solidly against his commanding officer’s face with indignant fury. Roane stumbled backwards, clutching his jaw.
“I could have you court-martialed for that,” Roane fumed as he spat blood onto the ground.
Breathing hard, each exhale visible in the chilly morning air, Sam was shaking; his left hand gripped his gun tightly. His Abigail was a saint, an angel, and no one was going to speak about her with such malice in his presence. However, he had just struck a commanding officer on top of disobeying direct orders. Not only would his military career be over, he could very well be jailed for his actions. Sam’s anger melted away like the snow that covered the prairie as the sun began to rise higher in the sky, and all that was left was confusion and fear that he would not be able to make it home like he promised.
Sam, in his shock, did not realize Roane was upon him until it was too late. He felt the cold muzzle of the Colonel’s pistol pressed harshly into his cheek. A pained gasp caught in Sam’s throat and for a moment he thought he would die of strangulation without a hand being laid on him. General Tidwell had called him a brave man for his performance on the battlefield, but Sam knew better about himself. It’s easy to be brave in the rush of a fight with nameless faces, nameless bodies hurtling towards you. It becomes sickeningly easy not to have sympathy, to kill and to maim when you tell yourself that you’re protecting others and just following orders. One-on-one, however, Sam could feel the hatred rolling off Colonel Roane, and it frightened him. Roane could easily shoot him, blame the woman hiding from capture, and kill her anyway.
“All right,” Sam spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “All right.”
Roane eased back slightly, and Sam found his feet to be moving of their own volition as he turned to face the shadowed concave the young Lakota woman was hiding in. He raised his weapon, pulling back the hammer with a click that sounded like a dynamite blast. Roane was patting him on the back patronizingly, encouraging him in a twisted way. The words “I’m sorry” were on Sam’s tongue though they never left his mouth. After taking aim, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see her eyes when he fired.
In his mind, Sam saw different scenarios of how it happened. He imagined that his shot missed, and that the woman got away to safety. He even had a very elaborate version in which the hand of God literally struck Roane dead so that he wouldn’t have to shoot a mother with her child. These fantasies brought little comfort to him when he put more pressure on the trigger of his gun.
Sam did not hear his weapon fire as the hammer clacked down, only felt the kick of the bullet leaving the chamber. He expected to hear the baby cry as it had before at the noise, but there was only silence.
They were gone. Nothing left of them but earthly bodies.
Colonel Roane gave an uproarious laugh, slapping Sam on the back of his neck.
“Good man, Danville,” Roane nodded, mounting his horse again. “There’s hope for you yet.”
For a long while, Sam remained where he was, not sure of what to do or how to react. He wanted to wretch. He wanted to cry and scream. He wanted Abby.
From there on out, Sam become a mindless drone for his superiors. Day after day, week after week, he followed their orders to the letter. If they told him to kill, he killed; if they told him to burn a house full of unarmed women and children while they slept, he did so without question. At first, Sam tried to distance himself from his actions, but it was as he attempted to write a return to one of Abby’s letters that he noticed how deeply affected he truly was.
Gripping a pen in his hand, Sam found himself unable to write the words that had once come so easily. Certainly his letters had a simplistic quality, his child-like block print always a sharp contrast to Abby’s delicate fluid script, but while his words were not often the most refined, the love and adoration behind them always shone through.
What had he to write home about? Destruction, slaughter, and death were not the most pleasant of subjects. What would Abby think of him if she knew what he’d done? She saw him too easily with rose-tinted glasses, her gallant soldier. Sam could not quell the uneasiness he suffered, committing acts that distressed him yet willing to soak up any praise offered later, listening to others glorify horrific deeds as heroic. There may be no fair fights when it comes to war, but no one should revel in atrocities like dogs in their own filth.
A hollow emptiness had placed a bubble around Sam’s heart. Where there had been purpose and a sense of justice, there was now replaced by apathy. One morning, he caught saw his reflection in his shaving mirror and truly saw himself for the first time in years. Gone was the fresh-faced Lieutenant who had hobbled into Abigail’s field hospital with a busted ankle. His curling, chestnut hair was now close-cropped, dull, and speckled with gray nearest his temples. His skin had become rough and ruddy from exposure, and deep lines were etched into his forehead and around his eyes. Sam realized he had wasted his youth fighting a war which now meant nothing to him.
When Sam did not return several of Abby’s letters, she wrote a very distressed plea for a response to let her know that he was all right. He wrote back simply that he was being put on leave and to meet him at Emerald Lake in a month’s time. He posted the letter without thinking, and as the day for his departure grew closer, Sam realized he could not face Abby after what he’d done. Abby would want her Sam back as he had been, but with a spectre looming over him, he could not help but feel that what he had become was nothing worth bringing home. Abby deserved a better man, and Sam hoped she would forgive him.
It wasn’t until almost two years later while battered and bruised from destroying a whole town-full of metallic bugs that Sam would learn that Abby had waited at their secluded camp grounds at Emerald Lake for over three weeks for him to arrive. It was their secret getaway, and necessities like bedrolls and matches were stocked in a small shack Sam had cobbled together. She made camp on her own by the teal-coloured water that she had said reminded her of Sam’s eyes when they made love, but Sam never appeared.
Reluctantly, she had returned to Avarenth, writing several letters to Sam’s regiment to make sure nothing had happened to him. After all, he could have been wounded or fallen ill. No reply ever came. Some time later, she was surprised Sam’s face staring at her from the front window of the sheriff’s office. It was photograph of Sam in his Captain’s uniform on a poster which read:
$200 REWARD!
__________________________________
NORTHERN ILLINOIS RAILWAY COMPANY
WILL PAY
TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS
FOR THE ARREST AND CONVICTION OF
fmr. U.S. CALVARY CAPTAIN
SAMUEL LEVI DANVILLE, alias SAM DANVILLE
FOR TRAIN ROBBERY
__________________________________
The Westbound Express train on the Northern Illinois Railway was robbed on the morning of April 14th 1891 by Sam Danville, armed with a single pistol. No passengers were harmed. Danville is believed to be the person who robbed the Illinois Central train on March 29th 1891 and a Southern Express train on April 3rd 1891…
Abby was dumbfounded. She did not want to believe that it could be true; but as the months passed and more stories about Sam’s exploits filtered in from other corners of the northern territories, she had to resign herself that it was all fact. And how she hated him for leaving her without a word! And she hated him even more for the stares and half-veiled whispers that her presence brought at the local shops. Abigail could not decide which was worse- the townspeople who gave her looks of pity or the ones that spread salacious rumors about her being a “train robber’s whore.”
As the reward amount increased, the list of trains that were looted got longer, and the words “DEAD OR ALIVE” were added, Abby took great pains not to go near the posters on the sheriff’s window and stopped reading the newspaper articles about Sam. He had made his own bed, and he could burn in it for all she cared.
Life continued as it always does though it was filled with hardship. Abby put all of herself into her work, tending the sick and wounded of Avarenth. The rumors and speculation eventually died down, though the occasion idle gossip about her knowing Sam’s whereabouts would occasionally crop up. Her world gained normality again until the day when Sam walked up to the sheriff and laid down his gun, letting himself be arrested.
That day had passed and the next, and now Avarenth was a smoldering heap, blown to smithereens by star-bugs and dynamite. Sam was down on one knee, looking up at Abby with uncertainty and the faintest glimmer of hope. He promised her that, no matter what the papers had said, he never betrayed her love by taking up with other women.
Abby cupped his face in her hands, urging him to his feet. She kissed his forehead, his eyelids, and finally his mouth, reminding herself how good it felt to be near Sam again, to feel his body next to hers.
“After all that’s happened, you’re worried about my pride?” she said with a little unladylike snort.
“Not your pride I’m talking about. I don’t want you to think there was ever a time that I wasn’t thinking of you, Abigail. Even when it hurt too much, I always thought about you,” Sam’s voice was quiet.
Abby untied the red cotton bandanna from around his neck, which had only a few hours prior had a noose around it. She leaned forward to kiss his skin. Sam breathed out a shuddery sigh, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, feeling her lips on him and her hands gently threading through his hair.
“You need to shave,” she smiled, rubbing her fingertips over his jaw.
Sam laughed, and it was the happiest sound in the world to Abby.
“If I shave, will you marry me?” he said with a tilt of his head.
“I was going to do that anyway, but letting me get this prickly fuzz off your face would be a nice wedding present-”
“You’re saying yes?” his face showed his surprise as though he had convinced himself that she would refuse him.
Abby threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly, “Sam, you are a wonderful man, but you really are thick-headed sometimes!”
Sam lifted Abby up and spun her around in his arms, giving a little whoop of joy as they both laughed. It had been so long since either of them had felt truly happy and complete that they had almost forgotten what it was like.
As night fell, the leafless trees served as their church, and they stood before the Lord with the stars and horses as their only witnesses as the two promised to love and protect one another. Without a preacher to officiate or even a ring, Sam and Abby made their own vows, simple and honest, nothing flowery or overwrought.
Knowing that they could never use Sam’s real surname lest it attract the attention of authorities wherever they traveled, they adopted the name Phoenix because, as Jules had said, they would rise from the tattered ashes of Avarenth and begin again.
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Sam Danville/Abigail Pixley
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence.
Word Count: About 6,750 words.
Summary: This fanfic picks up where High Plains Invaders left off. I'd like to thank Rankin & Bass for inspiring a particular scene towards the end. :D
A Man Called Phoenix
High Plains Invaders: the Continuing Adventures of Sam and Abby.
Though the sun was low in the horizon, bright, orange light from the burning remnants of Avarenth blanketed the land, casting skeleton-hand silhouettes through the trees. Sam and Abby rode as far from the smoldering husk of the town and surrounding countryside as their horses could carry them. The couple was deep into forest before they felt safe enough to give the horses a rest.
Helping Abby down from her saddle, the full weight of what they had left behind struck Sam. Though there were heavy, sad thoughts of leaving the bodies of their friends and what Abby must have felt abandoning her practice, there was also an uplifting feeling of being free from the unhappy life Sam had made for himself. His arms wrapped tightly around Abby, and hers around him. She could feel the tenseness and apprehension drifting away from him as her hands roamed gently over his back, his shoulders going slack from relief and exhaustion. Sam’s hands cupped her face as his lips found hers for the first time in two years, and he felt like he was home. Abby returned his kisses in kind, her small hands stroking over his hair, thick and near-gray from grit and dust.
“Here, now,” she whispered, reluctantly pushing him away, “We have to get these horses watered and make camp while there’s still some light.” She met his eyes and saw that the few tears that had managed to spill out had bathed clean tracks down his unwashed face. “Oh, Sam…” the words barely made a sound as they left her lips.
Sam turned from her, trying to wipe his face on his coat sleeve as he gathered the reins of both the horses in his hands to lead them to the nearby stream. The speckled horses lumbered unsteadily towards the water, grateful to be at their leisure to have a drink. Abby looked about for some employment, but without any supplies “making camp” seemed actually to be a light task. She used the edge of her boot to clear a small circle in the brush and gathered up a small amount of sticks and twigs for kindling. She was just beginning to make a fire pit when Sam came and crouched down beside her.
“We don’t want to make it too big,” he said, taking some matches from his pocket and lighting some of the kindling, “in case those bugs are still out there.”
Sam’s words were softly-spoken and slow to leave his mouth as though he was thinking too much while trying to talk. Abby leaned her head on his shoulder, petting his knee gently, watching as the fire took hold of the smaller, dryer pieces of wood first.
“And I don’t want you getting cold,” Abby replied. She paused for a moment and smiled, “I remember you were always prone to the chills.”
Sam let out a small laugh, “I can’t recall you mindin’ much. I think you like me being sick so you can doctor me up.”
“You’re an excellent patient,” she placed a kiss to his brow.
Threading his fingers through hers, it took him a few minutes but Sam finally responded, “I missed you. I can’t find the words to tell you how much I missed you.”
Abby had come up with many biting retorts to that kind of statement over the past two years without Sam, waiting for the day he would come crawling back and how she would turn him away; but now that she knew what he had been through, the pain he had suffered, she could only hold tightly to his hand and reassure him that, even though he had hurt her, she missed him and still loved him.
“I wish I had never left you, Abigail,” he spoke quietly.
“You had an obligation to the army; you had to go,” Abby replied as though it was something she had told herself many times.
He looked deeply into her warm brown eyes, his expression serious, “You shoulda been my priority, not the army. We shoulda just took off, found someplace where no one knew us.”
Abby smiled, “We’re doing that now. We can start over.”
A curious look came over Sam’s face; his blue eyes were suddenly full of the same spark that they held when he first saw his Abigail. He stood up and pulled Abby to her feet, and he then took a knee in front of her, taking her left hand in his.
“Lord knows I shoulda done this sooner, but… would you have me, Abigail Pixley?” his smile was unsure, and his voice was wavering a bit. “I would be a piss-poor excuse for a husband; but if I could do it all over, I would do much better by you… Abby, you were my first and only...”
For almost thirteen years, Abby had been waiting for Sam to propose. It felt as though she had been waiting since the very moment she met him when he was brought into the medical tent on the battlefields near Milk Creek. Sam had been a fresh-faced twenty-three year old First Lieutenant with the 7th Calvary with a severely twisted ankle which he’d gotten trying to avoid enemy fire, and Abby was a twenty year old nurse just out of the University of Michigan with no field training. During the Ute War, there had been a distinct lack of medical officers, so anyone with medical training at all was encouraged to join the field units. Fear swam in his eyes when he looked around at buckets of amputated limbs and blood coating every surface. He begged her not to cut his leg off, and she tried to reassure him that he was afflicted with a minor- if painful- sprain. Sam’s frightened face made him seem so much younger than he was, and there was something about him that instantly called to Abby to care for him personally.
After a few hours in the field hospital, Sam attempted to hobble back into the forefront of the battle, but he was quickly stopped by his ever-faithful nurse. They had strong words for one another in that moment, none of them very kind, which resulted in Sam receiving a stinging slap to the mouth. He was forced back onto his cot and was told in plain and simple terms that he would remain in bed until Abigail said otherwise. Her tone was that of a frustrated mother talking to an errant toddler, which both humiliated and irritated Sam. It went on for a few days like that between the two of them.
The swelling in Sam’s ankle was just going down enough for him to walk by the time the fighting had subsided. He was sitting upright in his cot, his uniform coat draped over his chest, as he watched Abigail bustling amongst her patients, getting fresh bandages for one and a basin of water for another. Her hair was a deep shade of brown, like warm earth with strands of copper interspersed throughout, and she was in a constant state of pushing the unruly locks behind her ears. She had a pleasant face with large dark eyes that sparkled when she smiled. She did not, however, throw any smiles Sam’s way.
When he caught her gaze, she quickly looked away; her lips pursed tightly together, her footfalls heavier and with more purpose as she strode away. Sam felt heat rise into his face, colour prickling his ears. He had always been a little too sensitive. He had run off at the mouth when he had first been admitted to the field hospital and had been uncooperative and brash towards his nurse when she had only been trying to help him. As Sam thought about his behavior towards her, feelings of shame and guilt knotted up his belly.
Abigail finished attending her patient with a wounded arm with the utmost slowness. Sam was her last patient on the round, and she was dreading visiting his bedside. It was not that she disliked him, but she could not forget that she had slapped him when he was first admitted into her care. Such an action was inexcusable and unprofessional. After all, Lieutenant Danville was little more than a boy in an extremely frightening situation, and she had reacted to his fear and uneasiness by losing her temper. Though she too was overworked and overtired, she could not forgive herself for the incident, and being around him only reminded her of what had transpired. At least this round would end with preparing Lieutenant Danville to be discharged.
Rationing some of the rather scant soup into a tin bowl and breaking off a chunk of stale bread, Abby brought the food tray to Sam’s cot, setting it on the small table next to it. The meals were so meager, barely enough to keep the soldiers going, but it was all they had after their supplies were blocked from reaching nearly a week earlier. She had ruined three petticoats to fashion makeshift bandages and slings.
Sam was fiddling with the left shoulder board which was coming loose from his coat. When the tray clanked against the table, Sam looked up at her. Abigail couldn’t help feeling that he seemed a bit lost. His boyish features made him look like a child playing dress-up in an officer’s uniform. He was of average stature and thin frame with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Every aspect of his face was rounded, adding to his youthful appearance. Even his high cheekbones, which, on a gaunter man, might have appeared harsh, provided a delicate frame for his face from his innocent grayish-teal eyes to his supple Cupid’s bow lips and knobby chin. His hair was a mousy chestnut colour and filled with longish curls, more suitable for a choir boy than a soldier.
“Would you like me to fix that for you?” Abigail said softly, putting her hand over his as he picked at the loose threads on his coat’s shoulder.
He started at her touch, but nodded.
She smiled, taking his uniform coat from him, trading it for the supper tray. “It’s not much, but it’ll do you good to have something warm in you before you set out today,” she said as she pulled up a small chair to his bedside.
Sam didn’t need much prompting to eat. As soon as the tray was placed on his lap, he tucked in, sopping up the soup with the hunk of bread.
“It’s good that your appetite is so healthy,” Abigail said, pulling out a few clean needles and a spindle of thread from her suture kit. As she was threading a needle, Abby noticed that Sam was staring at her. Thinking that she might have hurt his feelings, she added, “It’s just that many men who come through here are sometimes too weak to even eat, so it’s wonderful that you’re getting your strength back.”
Sam raked his shirt sleeve over his mouth and spoke, “Actually, my ankle is still givin’ me fits. I don’t think I should be walkin’ on it.”
Abigail was up from her seat in an instant, unceremoniously throwing the thin blanket off his lower legs and checking over his bandaged ankle, her nursing instincts guiding her. When her fingers were gliding tenderly over his bare flesh, Sam audibly gulped.
As she caught sight of his worried expression and his reddened cheeks, Abigail pressed the flat of her hand to his forehead. She said quickly, “You looked flushed, but you don’t feel feverish. Do you feel poorly?” She cupped his jaw with her hands, attempting to detect any swelling in the nodes in his neck.
“Not when you do that…” Sam’s smile was soft and sweet as his eyes met Abby’s. He let his hand gingerly touch her wrist; he remained tentative in case she rebuffed him.
Abigail was momentarily stunned by his words. She had had patients who had formed an attachment to her before, but she had attributed it to the care she provided and the loneliness that these soldiers suffered while waiting to be sent home. However, she had never returned any sentiments towards those she nursed back to health before she had come into contact with Lieutenant Danville.
“So you feel all right? Your ankle and all?” she stood up and pulled away, hands on her hips.
Sam noted some slight hostility in her posture, and he stammered, “…Y-yes…”
Abby gave him a sharp pinch to his upper arm, “I ought to give you a tobacco enema for tricking me like that! You made me worry!”
“Ouch!” Sam flinched away as she pinched him. He looked horrified at her suggestion, “Don’t go blowing smoke up m’ ass because you jumped to conclusions!”
Her eyes narrowed, and he looked a little more contrite and added, “I’m sorry for the bit about my ankle though. I just didn’t want to leave yet.”
“You’ve done nothing but try to get out of this tent for the past few days, and now you want to stay?” she said suspiciously.
“Yeah, I want to stay here with you.”
There was something wholly innocent in his honesty, a quality about him that made Abigail’s anger dissipate slightly. He reached out to take one of her hands, running the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. His hands weren’t calloused and rough like the other soldiers’. Abby idly wondered how he managed to keep his skin so soft when he had been handling unyielding weapons for days on end.
“I like you,” Sam spoke; a shy sort of expression crossed his features.
Abby squeezed his hand gently and replied, “I like you too.”
When the soldiers that could still carry their own weight had begun the trek to a nearby fort, Abigail convinced Sam’s commanding officer that the young First Lieutenant needed to remain behind with the other more seriously wounded soldiers so as to not aggravate his fever. However, after a few days, the field hospital was forced to pack up and move forward with the rest. A small storage room next to the medical ward in the fort was commandeered by Abigail as a sick room for Lieutenant Danville in case his “fever” was the result of something contagious.
For the next week, Sam found the tedium of forced bed-rest to be eased by Abby’s frequent visits. It was the only way that they could be alone together in the fort’s rather tight accommodations. She brought him food, helped him shave, and even bathed him, which lead to the Lieutenant and the nurse becoming extremely familiar with one another.
One night, as they lay in Sam’s narrow bed, Abby asked him, “Where are you from?”
“Well, I was born in a little place called Sevierville up in the Smokies, but-,” he paused, a quiet sadness passed over him before he continued in hasty manner as though he wanted to get away from the subject as quickly as possible, “But there was a fire that took about half the town, so we went to live with my mama’s sister in Athens, just east of the Tennessee River.”
“You’re a long way from home, then,” she ran her hand gently over his chest, comforting him with caresses and kisses along his shoulder.
“Suppose so; world doesn’t feel so big when you’ve marched half-way ‘cross it,” Sam mused, tucking a lock of Abby’s dark hair behind her ear. “What about you? Have you got kin around here?”
“No,” she smiled, “all my family lives in Michigan.”
“Seems strange that a lady would take off from home on her own like that without having connections to nobody,” Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger on her warm skin.
Abby’s arms twined around his waist, and she pulled him closer. “When the war got going, they called for anyone with medical training to volunteer their services. I just wanted to do some good, and this was no different than any of the other hospitals I’d worked in… Although I didn’t have to worry about bullets whizzing by my head or badgers trying to make off with my underthings when I working back home.”
Sam laughed in his impish way, blue eyes sparkling, “Now you only have to worry about the boys stationed here doing that.”
Looking back on that night, Sam wished he could have made it last for all eternity. He would be shipped off, shuffled around for months at a time, never knowing when he would be able to see Abigail again. Though they cherished the time they spent together, it was never enough. His few weeks leave at a time barely afforded them time alone, meeting up in whatever city they could. It was tortuous agony, the sadness of which could not be captured to its fullest degree in the letters they sent to one another. Sam’s performance on the battlefield had little to do with bravery and everything to do with wanting to return to Abigail’s waiting arms.
When Sam was made a Captain, their time together was less frequent, more strained and stressful, but that did not diminish the love they held for one another. For eleven years, their love had made due with a month-or-so’s visit every season, not enough time for a wedding nor a family. However, in the winter of 1890, came a turning point. Abby had set up a small practice in Avarenth, Colorado, and she and Sam were planning their first Christmas together in years when word arrived that Captain Danville was needed to assist the 7th Calvary Regiment in quelling what was perceived as an uprising of Lakota Indians in South Dakota.
Sam could not be sure as to what set the events in motion, but what transpired on that icy December morning along the creek was nothing short of horrific. Within the confusion and chaos of the moment, bullets roared from Hotchkiss guns, and the bodies of the dead and the wounded, both Lakota and soldier, littered the snow-covered ground. Some of the Lakota women had fled with their children into the frozen prairie, and the orders were given that they should be pursued. Captain Sam Danville, forever a good soldier, always loyal to his superior officers, obeyed those orders, which became a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.
With his horse gravely wounded, Sam was forced to run on foot across slick plains. In distance, he could see the movement of figures in sharp relief to the snow, running frantically only to be shot down by Calvary fire. The wounded were promptly finished off by any soldiers that fell behind the main charge. Sam stopped momentarily to catch his breath, which was when he heard a muffled sound coming from an outcropping of rocks. As he approached, gun drawn, he realized the noise was that of a baby crying. Within a tight niche in the rocks was a young Lakota woman, covered in blood, her infant wrapped in a shawl against her chest. Her eyes were filled with tears, half fearful and half furious, as she saw Sam.
Shaking, she lifted a rifle at him and spoke, though he did not understand what she said. Her voice was broken and rough as though she was holding back from saying more. Sam took a step backwards even as he saw that with her one free hand she could not both hold the rifle and fire it. She was trapped and afraid, just trying to protect her child. Sam began to holster his weapon, holding up a hand in an attempt to show that his was no threat to her. She understood the gesture, lowering her rifle though not taking her hand off it. Sam could not blame her. Though he had no intention of harming her or her child, he saw that his fellow soldiers would be more than willing in their frenzied state, emboldened by the chaos. As the tension between the young mother and Captain Danville ebbed away, the baby calmed, and all became eerily quiet.
Sam thought about simply walking away, ignoring his orders. Before he could leave the spot, the sound of hoof beats across the snow caught his attention. Colonel Roane was heading towards his position atop a hard-ridden horse. Sam gave a small motion to the young woman by covering his mouth, gesturing for her to be as quiet as possible. She nodded, keeping both her baby and her weapon close to her.
Colonel Roane jerked his horse’s reigns, forcing the creature to stop as he neared Sam. He spoke in a snide, condescending manner, “Lieutenant- Oh, that’s right, isn’t it? They made you “Captain Danville” now, correct? Well, I suppose it’s to be expected with all the causalities. Have to keep the officers’ table full, don’t we?” He clapped a hand down roughly on Sam’s shoulder with a bark of mocking laughter.
Sam did not know how to respond. A wittier man might have a scathing retort to reply with while a stupid man might have just brainlessly nodded in agreement. Sam, while not witty, was definitely not stupid, and he simply chose not to respond, looking up at his commanding officer blankly.
“What’s this then, Danville? Taking a breather while there’s still work to be done?” Colonel Roane’s tone of voice was that of someone speaking to a simpleton. “The settlers on this land want to feel safe, and we’re going to make sure that they are.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said quietly, “It’s just the ground is slick, and I needed to my footing.”
“Get on with it, boy,” Colonel Roane reared his horse, firing off a shot from his pistol to demonstrate his eagerness for the charge.
However, the sound of the horse’s furied whiny and blast from the Roane’s weapon startled the infant settled within the niche of rocks. The child wailed helplessly, and Roane’s head whipped around towards the noise. With a thrust of his heels, Roane urged the horse towards the stony outcropping. Sam stepped between his commanding officer and the rocks. He felt his heart leap into his throat when the Colonel aimed his weapon at the small cave-like opening.
“It’s just a woman and her baby,” Sam spoke, afraid of the hateful look on Colonel Roane’s face. “They won’t harm nobody…”
Roane peered down, able to see the young woman within the shadows. She was pushing her shoes deep into the moist earth untouched by snow, trying to force herself further into the cramped space, making herself as small as possible. Between the unyielding rocks, her rifle, her infant, and her own body, there was simply no more room to be found. The Colonel could see the whites of her eyes as they darted around nervously.
Sam had seen that look as a boy watching his uncle pull rabbits from traps. It was an expression creatures made right before they tried to make a last desperate attempt to escape whatever had cornered them. The young woman raised her weapon again. The gunmetal glinted off the morning snow, and Roane caught sight of it.
“She’s armed!” he yelled out and squeezed the trigger on his pistol.
Sam knocked the Colonel’s arm off-kilter, the bullet flying off into the distance and away from the trapped woman and child. In a sheer panic, the woman managed to hold onto the rifle with one hand and stretched her fingers to the trigger. In her condition, she could not level a shot, and the round buzzed past Roane’s horse like an angry hornet. The horse bucked wildly, throwing Colonel Roane to the ground.
“Son of a bitch!” Roane shouted, getting to his feet. He was not a large man, but he was tall and thickly muscled. The cords of his throat strained against his lapels as he rained a slew of curses at Captain Danville.
Sam suddenly felt the harsh reality of being cornered; he backed up against the rocks, using his body to shield the opening. “Sir, please, they ain’t done nothing,” the young Captain said, a sick quake in the pit of his stomach.
“Out of my way, boy,” the Colonel growled, grabbing the front of Sam’s uniform coat to try to physically pull him from his self-appointed post. “You’re resisting the orders of one of your superiors!”
Sam paled, and though he thought on it a minute longer, he eventually moved aside. Sam was a soldier, and soldiers did what their commanders told them to do, but what had been happening, even since the beginning of the war, had not settled well in his thoughts. Thinking of people he’d killed, villages he’d help burn, the constant fighting and the relocating did not seem to be helping the hostility and unrest amongst the settlers and Indians, only making it worse. And when Sam saw the frightened, dark eyes of the woman with her baby, he could not help but see his Abigail. If something happened to him, would anyone take mercy on her in the same situation?
Roane’s face was red-purple with anger, snow caked on his uniform where he had fallen from his horse. As Sam moved away from the niche in the rocks, Roane yanked the rifle out of the woman’s hands. She yelped as he did so, not daring to move from her hiding place to attempt to retrieve the weapon.
Reaching over to remove young Captain’s gun from its holster, Colonel Roane shoved it into Sam’s hand, “That ain’t for stirring tea with.”
Off of Sam’s confused look, the Colonel gestured to the woman, “Do your duty and take care of this.”
“Sir, I c-can’t…” Sam shook his head, starring at the gun in his hand.
Roane exploded into a fit of rage, “You will do as you’re told!”
Sam was speechless, continuing to shake his head in disbelief, “I can’t…”
Roane grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and turned him to face the opening of the cave, “You are the most pathetic milksop that has ever disgraced the uniform, and it’s about time you started earning your rank! You didn’t earn those bars on your shoulders; they were handed to you on the bodies of better men that fell before you!”
Sam could not move his eyes away from the woman before him. She did not cower as some might think one would do in this situation. Her gaze locked with his as she was crouching, half-turned to shield her child.
“General Tidwell thinks you’re some fucking hero, being able to negotiate with them, but let me tell you something, Danville, they don’t want to negotiate. They want to take the fucking scalp from your empty skull,” Roane’s voice was low, dangerously quiet. “Do you think for a second that one of hers wouldn’t shoot you where you stand? Did you not see what they did to your men back there, Captain!?”
Closing his eyes, Sam pictured himself home with Abigail. In his mind, he could see himself honorably discharged, married, and with a profession. Though he never had much education, perhaps he could have learned to be like Abby, learned to treat illnesses and such. Abby was so loved by her patients and would never ask for anything if the person couldn’t pay for their treatment. Sam pondered that he and Abby might have never had much money, never enough for a fine home or furnishings, but Avarenth would have taken care of them just as they cared for it. Maybe Mr. Zilich could have found a job for him working at the general store. A simple life, Sam thought, would be much preferable to his current situation.
“What’s the matter, Danville?” Roane sneered, “Does the bitch remind you of someone? I seem to recall that nurse you shacked up with was a bit dark. Has she got some Injun in her?”
Sam stiffened up at that, not liking Roane speaking of Abigail in any context, but especially not with such a disparaging tone.
Roane tightened his grip on Sam’s shoulders, “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re an Injun-lover. What’s it like to fu-”
The Colonel did not get a chance to finish his vulgar statement as Sam turned, the butt of his gun landing solidly against his commanding officer’s face with indignant fury. Roane stumbled backwards, clutching his jaw.
“I could have you court-martialed for that,” Roane fumed as he spat blood onto the ground.
Breathing hard, each exhale visible in the chilly morning air, Sam was shaking; his left hand gripped his gun tightly. His Abigail was a saint, an angel, and no one was going to speak about her with such malice in his presence. However, he had just struck a commanding officer on top of disobeying direct orders. Not only would his military career be over, he could very well be jailed for his actions. Sam’s anger melted away like the snow that covered the prairie as the sun began to rise higher in the sky, and all that was left was confusion and fear that he would not be able to make it home like he promised.
Sam, in his shock, did not realize Roane was upon him until it was too late. He felt the cold muzzle of the Colonel’s pistol pressed harshly into his cheek. A pained gasp caught in Sam’s throat and for a moment he thought he would die of strangulation without a hand being laid on him. General Tidwell had called him a brave man for his performance on the battlefield, but Sam knew better about himself. It’s easy to be brave in the rush of a fight with nameless faces, nameless bodies hurtling towards you. It becomes sickeningly easy not to have sympathy, to kill and to maim when you tell yourself that you’re protecting others and just following orders. One-on-one, however, Sam could feel the hatred rolling off Colonel Roane, and it frightened him. Roane could easily shoot him, blame the woman hiding from capture, and kill her anyway.
“All right,” Sam spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “All right.”
Roane eased back slightly, and Sam found his feet to be moving of their own volition as he turned to face the shadowed concave the young Lakota woman was hiding in. He raised his weapon, pulling back the hammer with a click that sounded like a dynamite blast. Roane was patting him on the back patronizingly, encouraging him in a twisted way. The words “I’m sorry” were on Sam’s tongue though they never left his mouth. After taking aim, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see her eyes when he fired.
In his mind, Sam saw different scenarios of how it happened. He imagined that his shot missed, and that the woman got away to safety. He even had a very elaborate version in which the hand of God literally struck Roane dead so that he wouldn’t have to shoot a mother with her child. These fantasies brought little comfort to him when he put more pressure on the trigger of his gun.
Sam did not hear his weapon fire as the hammer clacked down, only felt the kick of the bullet leaving the chamber. He expected to hear the baby cry as it had before at the noise, but there was only silence.
They were gone. Nothing left of them but earthly bodies.
Colonel Roane gave an uproarious laugh, slapping Sam on the back of his neck.
“Good man, Danville,” Roane nodded, mounting his horse again. “There’s hope for you yet.”
For a long while, Sam remained where he was, not sure of what to do or how to react. He wanted to wretch. He wanted to cry and scream. He wanted Abby.
From there on out, Sam become a mindless drone for his superiors. Day after day, week after week, he followed their orders to the letter. If they told him to kill, he killed; if they told him to burn a house full of unarmed women and children while they slept, he did so without question. At first, Sam tried to distance himself from his actions, but it was as he attempted to write a return to one of Abby’s letters that he noticed how deeply affected he truly was.
Gripping a pen in his hand, Sam found himself unable to write the words that had once come so easily. Certainly his letters had a simplistic quality, his child-like block print always a sharp contrast to Abby’s delicate fluid script, but while his words were not often the most refined, the love and adoration behind them always shone through.
What had he to write home about? Destruction, slaughter, and death were not the most pleasant of subjects. What would Abby think of him if she knew what he’d done? She saw him too easily with rose-tinted glasses, her gallant soldier. Sam could not quell the uneasiness he suffered, committing acts that distressed him yet willing to soak up any praise offered later, listening to others glorify horrific deeds as heroic. There may be no fair fights when it comes to war, but no one should revel in atrocities like dogs in their own filth.
A hollow emptiness had placed a bubble around Sam’s heart. Where there had been purpose and a sense of justice, there was now replaced by apathy. One morning, he caught saw his reflection in his shaving mirror and truly saw himself for the first time in years. Gone was the fresh-faced Lieutenant who had hobbled into Abigail’s field hospital with a busted ankle. His curling, chestnut hair was now close-cropped, dull, and speckled with gray nearest his temples. His skin had become rough and ruddy from exposure, and deep lines were etched into his forehead and around his eyes. Sam realized he had wasted his youth fighting a war which now meant nothing to him.
When Sam did not return several of Abby’s letters, she wrote a very distressed plea for a response to let her know that he was all right. He wrote back simply that he was being put on leave and to meet him at Emerald Lake in a month’s time. He posted the letter without thinking, and as the day for his departure grew closer, Sam realized he could not face Abby after what he’d done. Abby would want her Sam back as he had been, but with a spectre looming over him, he could not help but feel that what he had become was nothing worth bringing home. Abby deserved a better man, and Sam hoped she would forgive him.
It wasn’t until almost two years later while battered and bruised from destroying a whole town-full of metallic bugs that Sam would learn that Abby had waited at their secluded camp grounds at Emerald Lake for over three weeks for him to arrive. It was their secret getaway, and necessities like bedrolls and matches were stocked in a small shack Sam had cobbled together. She made camp on her own by the teal-coloured water that she had said reminded her of Sam’s eyes when they made love, but Sam never appeared.
Reluctantly, she had returned to Avarenth, writing several letters to Sam’s regiment to make sure nothing had happened to him. After all, he could have been wounded or fallen ill. No reply ever came. Some time later, she was surprised Sam’s face staring at her from the front window of the sheriff’s office. It was photograph of Sam in his Captain’s uniform on a poster which read:
$200 REWARD!
__________________________________
NORTHERN ILLINOIS RAILWAY COMPANY
WILL PAY
TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS
FOR THE ARREST AND CONVICTION OF
fmr. U.S. CALVARY CAPTAIN
SAMUEL LEVI DANVILLE, alias SAM DANVILLE
FOR TRAIN ROBBERY
__________________________________
The Westbound Express train on the Northern Illinois Railway was robbed on the morning of April 14th 1891 by Sam Danville, armed with a single pistol. No passengers were harmed. Danville is believed to be the person who robbed the Illinois Central train on March 29th 1891 and a Southern Express train on April 3rd 1891…
Abby was dumbfounded. She did not want to believe that it could be true; but as the months passed and more stories about Sam’s exploits filtered in from other corners of the northern territories, she had to resign herself that it was all fact. And how she hated him for leaving her without a word! And she hated him even more for the stares and half-veiled whispers that her presence brought at the local shops. Abigail could not decide which was worse- the townspeople who gave her looks of pity or the ones that spread salacious rumors about her being a “train robber’s whore.”
As the reward amount increased, the list of trains that were looted got longer, and the words “DEAD OR ALIVE” were added, Abby took great pains not to go near the posters on the sheriff’s window and stopped reading the newspaper articles about Sam. He had made his own bed, and he could burn in it for all she cared.
Life continued as it always does though it was filled with hardship. Abby put all of herself into her work, tending the sick and wounded of Avarenth. The rumors and speculation eventually died down, though the occasion idle gossip about her knowing Sam’s whereabouts would occasionally crop up. Her world gained normality again until the day when Sam walked up to the sheriff and laid down his gun, letting himself be arrested.
That day had passed and the next, and now Avarenth was a smoldering heap, blown to smithereens by star-bugs and dynamite. Sam was down on one knee, looking up at Abby with uncertainty and the faintest glimmer of hope. He promised her that, no matter what the papers had said, he never betrayed her love by taking up with other women.
Abby cupped his face in her hands, urging him to his feet. She kissed his forehead, his eyelids, and finally his mouth, reminding herself how good it felt to be near Sam again, to feel his body next to hers.
“After all that’s happened, you’re worried about my pride?” she said with a little unladylike snort.
“Not your pride I’m talking about. I don’t want you to think there was ever a time that I wasn’t thinking of you, Abigail. Even when it hurt too much, I always thought about you,” Sam’s voice was quiet.
Abby untied the red cotton bandanna from around his neck, which had only a few hours prior had a noose around it. She leaned forward to kiss his skin. Sam breathed out a shuddery sigh, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, feeling her lips on him and her hands gently threading through his hair.
“You need to shave,” she smiled, rubbing her fingertips over his jaw.
Sam laughed, and it was the happiest sound in the world to Abby.
“If I shave, will you marry me?” he said with a tilt of his head.
“I was going to do that anyway, but letting me get this prickly fuzz off your face would be a nice wedding present-”
“You’re saying yes?” his face showed his surprise as though he had convinced himself that she would refuse him.
Abby threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly, “Sam, you are a wonderful man, but you really are thick-headed sometimes!”
Sam lifted Abby up and spun her around in his arms, giving a little whoop of joy as they both laughed. It had been so long since either of them had felt truly happy and complete that they had almost forgotten what it was like.
As night fell, the leafless trees served as their church, and they stood before the Lord with the stars and horses as their only witnesses as the two promised to love and protect one another. Without a preacher to officiate or even a ring, Sam and Abby made their own vows, simple and honest, nothing flowery or overwrought.
Knowing that they could never use Sam’s real surname lest it attract the attention of authorities wherever they traveled, they adopted the name Phoenix because, as Jules had said, they would rise from the tattered ashes of Avarenth and begin again.