Sugar

It had been hours since eight-year-old Justin had heard any kind of sound outside the stone barn. Perhaps the alarm his father had felt was a false one? It would never have occurred to him to ever question his father, so here he was curled up in the sweet smelling prairie hay listening for possible danger. Even the night sounds and the wind in the trees behind the sturdy structure had hushed into deep silence. Eyes heavy with sleep, the weary child lay straining to hear. The soft scurrying of a mouse in the loft overhead caught his attention and made him think that all must be well; he closed his eyes and soon drifted of into dreamless sleep. "Morning would tell", Pap had said, "morning would tell'.
Before the sun had risen, Justin was awakened by the sound of milk hitting the side of his father's pail in the adjoining stall. Justin lay there listening and wondering what Mama would think when she found out what had been happening since she had been gone.
Mama and his little sister, Amelia, had been in town 30 odd miles east of the farm, taking care of Grandma for nearly a month now. She had caught a bad cold that the doctor said had turned into pneumonia and needed someone to nurse her back to health. Justin and Papa had stayed behind to take care of the livestock. That first morning after Mama and Amelia had driven off in the wagon, Papa had noticed that they had had a visitor in the night. An unshod pony had circled the house and outbulidings. Nothing had been disturbed but the presence hade them feel uneasy.
The indians were on the reservation now and had lived peacefully for nearly a year, but there were rumors surfacing of growing dissatisfaction among the tribe's young warriors at the way the new treaty was being handled. The story was that the people were actually going hungry out there.
The next morning before the sun came up, Papa notice that their visitor of the night before had returned but this time he sat silently astride his pony by the hitching rail in front of the house. Papa had coffee ready on the old cookstove and it seemed only natural to offer the stranger a cup. When he walked out of the house he was startled to find himself face to face with the oldest Indian he had ever seen. There in that weathered face was the history of a people etched by time in every line and every wrinkle. Papa handed him the cup of steaming liquid; after a quick sip the old man pointed at the cup and said, "Sugar". He carefully handed the cup back. Papa walked  inside where he sugared the coffee generously, returned and lifted the steaming cup to the waiting partiarch. With the cup held steadily in his hands, the old warrior sipped the sweetened beverage nodding his pleasure.
Each time a passerby stopped in at the farm word came of increasing Indian trouble. Some folks down river had been burned out and their livestock run off. Many sightings of warriors, some said, wearing paint, lent to the feeling of uneasiness. Still, early each morning, their visitor came and went as the now almost daily raids had become bolder and were reported ever nearer to the farm.
Last night Papa had put Justin in the barn with instruction that if there was any commotion at all Justin was to hide himself in the small room hidden beneath the floor in the saddle and harness storage area. A supply of blankets, food and water had been placed there just in case. Justin had not felt very brave, but he knew that his father was close by, watching and listening throughout the long night.
Now morning had come and Papa was in the barn milking their old cow. When he notice that Justin was awake, he asked how he had slept. He told his son that he thought he had heard the faint sound of running horses coming their way once in the night and then the sounds had just faded away. As usual, just before dawn was breaking the old Indian that they now referred to as 'Joe' had come for his morning cup of coffee.
When Joe left, Justin notice that Papa was looking more worried than usual and he knew his father was not sleeping well. It had always been Mama and Papa's custom to offer kindness and hospitality to all travelers, but he had his family to think of too. He wondered what he should do. Word had come that Mama and Amelia would be returning soom and this only served to deepen his concern. There were also rumors of troops heading their way; Papa knew that things could get ugly in a hurry.
As the days wore on the predawn visits continued and the stories, real or imagined, were spreading in ever widening circles, like a stone cast into a pond. Late one afternoon Papa and Justin were working with the draft team and they notice the horses ears pricked as their heads came up in anticipation. Sure enough, when they turned their gaze to where the huge anmials were looking they saw Mama and Amelia coming down the track toward the house bouncing along in the old wagon. Justin ran to meet them; he sure was glad they were home! Papa wasn't a bad cook, but he had missed the sweet smells that came from the kitchen when Mama was home. He had to admit that he maybe even missed his little sister just a bit.
The wagon pulled up to the gate in front of the house with a flourish, guided by the deft hands of a strong woman who know both how to handle herself and her horses. The look that passed between Papa and Mama told Justin that the separation had been long and hard on all concerned. It sure was good to have Mama home.
It took a bit of time to get everyone settled back in, but soon everything was put to order and the aroma of Mama's cooking filled the small house. It was a happy family that thanked the Lord for food and safety that night. As they sat by the fire Mama told them that Grandma was feeling much better and she also mentioned that they had seen a band of Indians headed due north toward the border about midmorning. She commented on the youthfulness of the braves in contrast with the ancient one that appeared to be leading them. Pap wondered if perhaps they would no longer be able to expect their morning guest.
When Papa went out first thing next morning, he wondered no more. Joe was not there, but he had been. Tied to the rail where he usually sat waiting for his steaming cup of sweetened coffee, stood as pretty a pinto pony as one would ever hope to see. She had eagle feathers woven into her glistening white mane and tail. Papa called Justin to come and see. He had wanted to give his son just such a horse, but times had been tight and now the gift had come. Papa asked wide-eyed Justin what he wanted ot call the brightly colored filly and Justin said, "Oh Papa, can we call her Sugar?"