Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One

by Jane Bonander

“You haven’t heard of it. Of course you haven’t,” he added almost to himself.

  “And Shy Fawn is a … a—”

  “She’s a Yo-se-mite. One of the many small tribes that were discovered when the white soldiers … found the valley.”

  She heard the derision in his voice, but said nothing.

  “Shy Fawn is the niece of the great chief Ten-ie-ya, who was killed during a skirmish.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “By a white man, no doubt.”

  “Unfortunately, no. He was killed by an Indian from a neighboring tribe.”

  Anna decided that was surprising news. Somehow, she thought he was going to blame the white man for everything bad that happened to the Indian, even if he didn’t deserve it.

  “And you?”

  Nicolas managed a small smile as he continued to watch her. “I’m a Wintu. My mother’s people lived near the Trinity River. It’s where I was born.”

  When he didn’t offer any more explanation, Anna remained quiet, although she was immensely curious. “What about … what about Summer?”

  He looked at her, but his expression was masked. “She’s captivated you, has she?”

  She stood up, caught the hem of her apron and rolled it nervously between her fingers. “Yes,” she said quietly, remembering the loss of her child. “How did she and Two Leaf come to be here with you?”

  Nicolas shoved his hands into his pockets. “Their mother and father were … are friends of mine.”

  “Why are they here with you and not with them?”

  “Do you never tire of asking questions?”

  “No,” she retorted. “I was born uncommonly curious. Well?”

  He braced his arm against the square wooden pillar in the center of the room and looked at the ceiling. She followed his gaze, then glanced back at his arm. His forearm had a dusting of black hair on it, and his fingers looked powerful enough to choke the life from an enemy. Or, she thought, daydreaming again, gentle enough to seduce a woman. An unprompted shiver drew her nipples tight.

  “Summer and Two Leaf are children of the chief of a tribe that lives east of us. On the other side of the mountain.” He gazed outside, his face thoughtful as he pushed himself away from the post.

  “Most of these people just want to be left alone. But with the land becoming fenced and the game disappearing …”

  He shrugged, a motion Anna felt said more about his feeling of helplessness than words could ever express.

  “They make weak attempts at trying to stay alive by stealing a few cattle or raiding a few granaries. They don’t understand what’s happening. For centuries they’ve lived on what the land has given them. In their eyes it can’t be owned. It can’t be bought.” His face darkened. “Not by anyone.”

  Anna’s father’s words thrummed in her brain. These one hundred acres are mine! Mine! I bought them. I’ve earned them. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take them away from me. Was he any less savage than the Indians who had made camp on the edge of his wheat field, claiming it had been theirs before the Jensons had come?

  “And Summer’s people? They’re different?”

  He followed the edge of a cedar floorboard with the toe of his calfskin boot. “They’ll fight for their freedom until they’re pushed beyond endurance. Then they’ll run into the hills and no one will find them.”

  Anna’s heart ached for a people who had the will to fight but knew they couldn’t win. “And the children. How long do you expect to have them?”

  He looked straight at her. “They’re mine now.”

  Something in his eyes tugged at Anna’s heart. “You mean they may never see their mothers and fathers again?”

  “Probably not.” He glanced away.

  Anna was struck by his selflessness. She almost said so, but stopped herself. “Your friends must love their children very much.”

  Suddenly he gripped her arm.

  “And that surprises you? That a savage could have that kind of love for his children?” His eyes once again held anger and contempt.

  Anna jerked her arm away, hurt that he would think her so shallow. “It’s a wonder you can walk upright with that chip on your shoulder.”

  He scowled at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, then turned and strode to the door. “Well? Are you coming?”

  She took a deep breath and glared at his broad back. “You mean I’m still invited?”

  He pulled open the door and stared outside. “The children are expecting you.”

  She sighed. If she’d expected an apology for his callous behavior, she sensed she wasn’t going to get it. With one last look around the schoolroom, she followed him outside.

  After story hour Anna was escorted back to her cabin. She went over to the window and peered out into the compound. The afternoon was warm and windless, and the compound quiet as an empty pasture. She rested her elbows on the sill and her forehead against the metal bars and thought about Nicolas’s attitude toward her. It was almost as if he were blaming her for something. Each time he began to soften toward her, he’d catch himself and lash out. She was trying her best to be polite and civil, and beginning to wonder if maybe he just hated all white people. But that didn’t make much sense either. After all, he was half white himself.

  She left the window and went to the table, sat down and flipped through Mr. Page’s Theory and Practice of Teaching. The dry laws of education couldn’t penetrate her mind, for the many facets of Nicolas’s personality had taken hold of it. He was gentle and teasing one minute, and arrogant the next. Then he’d looked down his nose at her as if … as if she were a foolish empty-headed twit of a woman. A white woman, she thought, as she closed her eyes and cupped her chin with her palms.

  She recalled his infinite patience with the children. And she remembered how gentle and kind he’d been to the young women who cooked and sewed and made baskets for him. Obviously, as a white woman, she was utterly useless to him. Except, of course, as a teacher for his children, and he’d accepted that fact reluctantly. He’d said when he’d kidnapped her that he hadn’t been able to get anyone else to come up here. He’d implied that all white schoolmistresses thought themselves too good to teach his Indian children.

  She made an impatient sound in her throat. If white female schoolmistresses were so hard to come by, why hadn’t Nicolas kidnapped an ancient, decrepit white male teacher? She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She guessed she’d never understand the way his mind worked. But she had to admit that regardless of how he treated her, he had a heart that had flowered and opened for this handful of children he kept hidden away.

  She thought of the children as she had first seen them. The physical abuse she had seen on some of their young bodies, the pain she’d seen in their eyes … she would never forget it. With firm resolve, she intended to solve the puzzle of the children in the mountains.

  Picking up a pencil, she began making random sketches on the tablet she used for her lessons. She smiled as one group of lines suddenly became a skunk with a long, bushy tail and another to take the shape of a rangy, lean wolf. Quickly, deftly, she printed in bold letters, THE TALE OF HISSK THE SKUNK. Bringing the pencil to her lips, she bit down gently on the tip and looked out her window at the leaf-dappled sky.

  Still smiling, she dashed off the story of the skunk and his son-in-law, Gray Wolf.

  Nicolas cut through Black Joke’s shop on his way back to his cabin. As he walked into the dark interior, a tall form stepped out from the shadows.

  Nicolas grinned. “Sky, old friend. It’s good to see you again.”

  The Indian, whose hair was held back from his face by a bright swatch of calico cloth, looked far more uncivilized than he actually was.

  “It’s good to see you too, brother,” he answered in his formal English as he gripped Nicolas’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Then don’t stay away so long. You know you’re always welcome here.” ‘

  “Yes, I know. Unlike the feeling I get at you
r home in Pine Valley,” Sky added with a hint of distaste.

  Nicolas remembered well the beatings Sky had received at his half-brother Marc’s hands for no other reason than his heritage. “I’ve always felt shame that you took the beatings Marcus didn’t dare give me.” He looked away, toward the dark end of the shop. “He doesn’t treat you and I that differently, you know.”

  Sky turned his head and spat on the hard-packed earth floor. “But you are his true brother. His blood is your blood.”

  Nicolas gave Sky a dry laugh. “A circumstance he’s often wanted to forget,” he said, walking over to the forge. He picked up one of the horseshoes Joke was making for Diablo. “Any news?” He inspected the shoe carefully, running his fingers along the smooth inner surface while he waited for Sky’s answer.

  “There are two men headed for Pine Valley to meet with the vigilantes.”

  “Who are they?” Nicolas felt his stomach tighten into a fist.

  “Their names are Freeman and Gladhew. They’re both young, eager scouts and trackers, and the vigilantes have hired them to sniff out the Marauder’s hiding place.”

  “Damn.” Nicolas slammed the horseshoe down on the hammer-pitted workbench. “Are they any good?”

  “They will be, one day.” Sky crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the frame of the door. “They are men of little mercy. At least one of them is. The other, I’ve heard, is willing to spare the women and children. At least he was until someone reminded him that Indian boys grow into Indian men,” Sky added, his voice filled with contempt.

  “They’ll be in good company then, won’t they?” Nicolas rubbed the healing wound at his side. “Come,” he said, leading the way out of the shop. “You must eat.”

  As they walked toward the cooking area, Nicolas felt a twinge of panic play over his skin. Trackers. The compound could be threatened if the vigilantes got that kind of help. Until now, Nicolas had felt they were just a bunch of angry Indian-hating bigots who rode blindly into the countryside, looking for unarmed, innocent people. But if they got direction and leadership, they could destroy his plans and reveal his hiding place.

  “I can’t forget to greet you from Mattlock and Emily,” Sky said, interrupting Nicolas’s thoughts.

  Nicolas’s pinched expression smoothed into a warm smile. After Sky had rescued Matt and Emily Cutter’s baby from a madman, they’d taken him in and taught him to survive in the white man’s world. They were just two of the many decent white settlers Nicolas had met in the last few years.

  “And how are the Cutters?”

  “They are fine.” Sky gave Nicolas a wry grin. “Miss Emily hasn’t given up on civilizing me. She thinks now that I can read and write in English, I should dress like Mattlock and buy a farm.” He chuckled. “The next thing I know, the woman will be trying to match me up with one of her white lady friends.”

  “Somehow I can’t see you sitting in some fancy parlor, drinking tea from a china cup.”

  Sky shook his head and smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I miss the old ways. As much as I appreciate what Mattlock and Miss Emily have done for me, I like living away from people, in my cave. It’s home.”

  “The old days are coming to an end,” Nicolas answered as they came to the cooking area.

  Sky raised his eyebrows at the domestic area under the trees. “A table and chairs?”

  Nicolas shrugged.

  Sky shook his head. “Even you, my brother, try to make the people accept the white man’s ways.”

  “It’s necessary, Sky. You know it as well as I.” There was a harshness in Nicolas’s voice that brought Sky’s gaze back to his friend. “I know. But I don’t have to like it.” He sat down, then reached into the leather pouch attached to his belt. He pulled out a clipping that had been carefully torn from a newspaper and handed it to Nicolas. “I thought this might interest you.”

  Nicolas sat across from him and took the clipping, laying it down on the table. He glanced at the heading then looked over at Sky, who returned his look impassively.

  He took a deep breath and looked back at the article.

  Marcus Gaspard, local vintner, says he knows of no reason why the new schoolmistress, who was to arrive in Pine Valley two weeks ago, has not contacted him. Asked if he suspected foul play, Gaspard answered, “I can’t say, but we all know the woods are thick with murderous Indians. I’m waiting for word from her family. If she did leave the Oregon Territory, God only knows where she is now.” The successful vintner added, “As for foul play, I’ll let you come to your own conclusions.”

  One of Nicolas’s fists came down hard on the table, while the other crushed the newsprint and tossed it aside. So his half brother was sniffing around. It made perfect sense; Nicolas knew that. Everyone would wonder why the schoolmistress didn’t show up, but he had been too single-minded to think about anyone else. Suddenly, he realized that Anna’s family would be informed that she had never reached Pine Valley. Somehow he had to assure them she was all right without giving away his secret. “Nicolas?”

  He looked over at Sky and nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “You must be hungry,” he said, avoiding Sky’s probing gaze. “Shy Fawn, please fix my friend something to eat.”

  Shy Fawn bobbed her head and put down the winnowing basket she was using to sift the acorn flour. She limped over to the roasting pit, lifted the fronds and pulled out a cooked, cleaned salmon stuffed with wild mushrooms. She put it on a plate along with a small loaf of sweetened black acorn bread, and, with her eyes lowered, placed the meal in front of Sky, then limped away.

  “She is very young,” Sky said, his eyes lingering on her retreating form. “Why does she limp?”

  Nicolas poured himself a cup of coffee and offered some to Sky, who shook his head. “Shy Fawn was one of the very first women I brought here. Don’t you remember?”

  Sky’s amazed eyes didn’t leave Shy Fawn. “I didn’t recognize her.”

  “It’s no wonder,” Nicolas answered, his voice tight with remembrance. “Her face was bruised and swollen, and she couldn’t walk.”

  “She’d been working at the Picksten ranch.” Sky’s face hardened as recollection spread across his features. His face jerked up to meet Nicolas’s gaze. “She was with child.”

  Nicolas reached out and gripped Sky’s shoulder. He remembered well the pain and suffering Sky had gone through when his own wife and child had been killed. “He’s a healthy, strapping boy.”

  Sky stopped eating and stared after Shy Fawn, who was preparing a tray of food. He shot Nicolas a quick glance, then resumed his meal.

  Nicolas hadn’t missed Sky’s interest in Shy Fawn. He hadn’t considered Sky earlier, when he’d been thinking of someone to care for her and the boy. Now he saw the chance to rid himself of one more problem—Shy Fawn’s infatuation with him. “She is not my woman,” he said, answering Sky’s unasked question.

  Sky stopped chewing briefly, then nodded. “That’s good.”

  Nicolas hid a smile. Playing Cupid might work. With Sky already interested in Shy Fawn, how hard could it be?

  He got up to pour himself more coffee, noting the crumpled newspaper article at his feet. “Have you heard any other news about the schoolmistress?” he asked as he sat down again.

  Sky shoved a piece of salmon into his mouth. “I stopped at the ranch before I came. Marcus seems to think the woman decided not to come.”

  Nicolas swore. It was typical of Marcus to believe one thing and tell the newspaper another, just to stir up a little more hatred among the whites. “Has he really contacted the woman’s family in Oregon?”

  Something in Nicolas’s voice caused Sky to stop mopping up the rest of the salmon with his bread and look up. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because,” Nicolas said slowly, “she’s here.”

  Sky stopped eating and stared at Nicolas. “Here? How did she get here?”

  Nicolas twirled the coffee cup on the table. “I brought her here.”

>   “You brought her here? Why?”

  “I’ve been planning this since Father died. You know how much I needed a teacher,” he said simply.

  “And she came with you?” Sky snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

  Nicolas snorted. “What do you think?”

  Sky merely shrugged and took another bite of the acorn bread.

  Nicolas remembered Anna’s reaction to him at the station. “She thought I was a Gaspard servant.”

  “Hmmm,” Sky murmured. “I would expect a white woman to put up some resistance.”

  Nicolas recalled Anna’s initial nervousness and hesitance. “I was surprised she came along as willingly as she did,” he answered, trying to push from his mind the sound of her screams that first night he had locked her in.

  Sky shook his head and smiled. “The old maid must have some pluck.”

  Nicolas coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes, she’s … she’s braver than I had expected she would be—for an old maid.” Suddenly he looked up and saw Anna storming toward him. Her skirt and petticoat were pulled up to her ankles, and her golden hair, which had loosened in the wind, shimmered in the sunlight.

  “Mr. Gaspard!”

  Nicolas cringed as Sky turned around to see who was shouting at him. He glanced at Sky and their eyes met briefly. To Nicolas’s chagrin, Sky’s were filled with silent laughter, and he heard him mutter, “Old maid, huh?”

  “Mr. Gaspard,” Anna repeated, trying to catch her breath as she approached. “Why hasn’t the lock been removed from my door? Just how long do you expect to keep me a prisoner?” She gave Sky a cursory glance, but continued her tirade. “What more do you want from me? Haven’t I given you my word that I would stay? I don’t take my responsibilities lightly, sir, and I never, ever go back on my word.” A fat, windblown curl flopped over her eyes, and she blew it off her face.

  Nicolas looked askance at Sky, who avoided his eyes but appeared overly concerned with a circle of oil soaked into the rough wooden tabletop.

  Anna stood before him awaiting his answer. She crossed her arms over her bosom and tapped her foot impatiently, her expression firm. “Well?”