“What now?”
“I’ll introduce you to the chiefs.”
“Is this absolutely necessary?”
“Yes.”
Steve offered her a hand down, but she wouldn’t touch him. He helped Nicholas down. The boy was pale and cautious. Maybe he had picked up his mother’s fears.
Steve led them to the campfire where the old men sat, wrapped in their blankets, smoking their pipes and nodding their heads. As they approached, all grew silent.
Steve looked back for Nicholas. The boy had stopped by the horses and sat down. Steve walked back and squatted beside him. Samantha followed in silence.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.
“I can’t go over there.”
“How come?”
Nicholas shook his head. He wouldn’t look at Steve.
Steve decided to take a shot in the dark. “Because you’re afraid you might give it to them, too?”
Samantha sucked in an outraged breath and held it. Nicholas nodded.
“That’s a fair concern,” Steve said, nodding as well. “I’ll ask them what they think.”
He turned to Samantha. “Is he running a fever now?”
“No.”
Steve walked to the main tepee, where Uncheedah stood with Crows Walking. Steve led Crows Walking back to where Nicholas waited. Steve introduced each in turn. Samantha’s eyes widened at the mention of Crows Walking’s name. Crows Walking grunted at the mention of hers. Steve realized they had other business between them, but it would have to wait.
“The boy is worried. He has consumption, which some white doctors think may be contagious. Nicholas is afraid now to mingle with the Indians for fear he will give them his disease.” Steve knew the answer as soon as he’d stated the question. Nicholas was right. He didn’t belong anywhere near the Indians, who were more susceptible to consumption than whites. He also realized that such an answer might plunge Nicholas into despair.
Crows Walking seemed to swell with pride and indignation. “The boy thinks he is the Great Spirit that he decides when even Indians sicken and die?”
“The boy fears so, yes.” Once started, Steve couldn’t seem to control what came out his mouth. The words came from some deep place in him, some place that needed answers for its own reasons.
Crows Walking nodded as if he could believe this of a white person. “The Great Spirit of the Papago is called First Born,” he said to the boy. “First Born brings whatever He brings. You have to struggle with that, as we all do.”
The old man’s words opened something in Steve. It was as if a dam had suddenly given way, bathing his insides with warm, healing water. Crows Walking looked at him as if he knew that what he’d said had more than one meaning, and that he’d intended it to be that way.
Steve realized that somehow, sometime, Crows Walking had forgiven him for whatever part he’d had in his young son’s death. Steve glanced at Nicholas and saw the same strong release on the boy’s face, wet with sudden tears.
Steve nodded at the boy and motioned him forward. Nicholas wiped his sleeve across his eyes and followed.
Now Steve knew why, in spite of the underlying conflict between himself and Crows Walking, he had always loved the old man. Crows Walking was fair and honest. He would probably tell his version of the truth even if doing so would result in his own death.
Uncheedah introduced Nicholas to the chiefs seated around the ceremonial fire. Nicholas kept a respectful distance between himself and the others. Uncheedah explained in the Papago tongue that the boy needed to take part in the ceremony, as he had been a good friend to Young Hawk. The old men in their blankets remained silent.
After a moment one of the Indians grunted. Others nodded. Finally one of the chiefs invited the boy to attend. Steve nodded at Nicholas.
Silver Fish arrived with his brothers-in-law. Samantha softened when she saw them. In her opinion, Silver Fish was entitled to whatever it took to put his heart at rest.
As dusk fell, Crows Walking emerged from one of the tepees, and the ceremonies began. They consisted of singing, dancing, praying, feasting, and drinking the specially fermented wine made from the saguaro fruit.
Steve watched from beside Samantha. “The Papago are sort of Catholics,” he explained.
“Sort of?” she asked stiffly.
“True Catholics probably wouldn’t think so, because the Papago have reinvented Catholicism, based on their own ancient religious ceremonies.”
Crows Walking carried rattles in one hand and walked to the place where Silver Fish’s tepee had been. Crows Walking shook the rattles in each direction. When he had moved around the entire site, he motioned some men forward; they put down bundles of wood and lit a fire. As the wood flamed up, men stood and began to dance. A few women stood, then the children. Everyone except the drummers danced and chanted: “Aiyee, hiiii, aiyee.”
Samantha looked questioningly at Steve. He leaned near her to whisper, “Big medicine.”
Nicholas looked at his mother. “Please, Mama?”
“You aren’t going to insist that he dance, are you?” Samantha asked anxiously. “He was sick last night.”
Steve knew he couldn’t get into any more trouble than he already was. And dancing was one of the best ways he knew for Nicholas to learn what he needed to learn—in his body—where it would do him the most good.
“I’ll leave that up to Nicholas. Do you feel well enough to dance?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how.”
Steve showed him a few basic male steps. When the boy had mastered high-knee stepping and ritual bending and bowing, Steve pointed him toward the circle.
Steve glanced at Samantha. She looked so miserable and scared he wanted to take her into his arms. “I know how you must feel about this, and I know I’m finished with you, not that I ever had a chance.”
“I didn’t know you every really wanted one.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “It’s a good thing those eyes are beautiful. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be worth a damn.” He turned back to watching the dancers.
Nicholas danced for an hour, then walked over to where Samantha had sat down to watch. He dropped onto the yellowed grass beside her. “Water,” he said, panting.
Steve passed the canteen to Nicholas.
“Can we go now?” Samantha asked.
“No, Mama. I want to stay till the end.”
She looked at Steve, who shrugged. “It could be days until they feel they’ve freed the spirits.”
“Freed the spirits? I…” Her voice lost power as she remembered the icy chill she’d felt here earlier.
“Crows Walking is a powerful shaman. He said the spirits of the dead family got trapped here and haven’t left. I wouldn’t say one way or the other, but he’s not wrong about many things.”
“I want to speak to him again,” Samantha said.
Steve waited until Crows Walking dropped out of the dance, then he led Samantha over to the old man’s side. “Crows Walking, this is Samantha Forrester, who owns this land now.”
With his mask off, dressed in buckskins and moccasins the same color as his skin, Crows Walking looked as dry and brittle as old parchment. With his skeletal head, wide face, and large features, he looked odd, even for an Indian. He nodded to Samantha, but he spoke to Steve.
“This is one who bought my land from white man who spoke from both sides of his mouth?”
“The man who bought the land is long dead. This woman is his widow.”
“A woman holds all this land? Does she have need of it all?” Crows Walking’s voice rang with incredulousness. Clearly the old man could not see what one person could do with so much property. A small patch of ground would feed a whole family.
Elunami rode up and bowed her head in a deep bow. Crows Walking grunted his acknowledgment. Then she walked her horse back to the brush corral, where horses nipped at patches of grass. For the first time, she wore traditional Hopi clothing—a straight black wool dress sashed at th
e waist and covering only one shoulder. She’d put up her hair in maiden whorls on each side of her head. It changed her, made her seem more serious.
Crows Walking nodded. “I think I will win this land back,” he said abruptly.
Steve explained that only days ago Samantha had received word that she had won the court case.
Bitterness sparkled in Crows Walking’s eyes. “So, the courts are a fraud, too,” he said. “All white man paper is a fraud. Anytime the white man gets two chances to negotiate with Indians, we have two chances to lose more of our land. It was a mistake to trust the white man’s court. I was a fool.”
Steve felt Crows Walking’s disappointment keenly, but he didn’t know any way to lessen it. A sudden cooling breeze pulled at the old man’s feathered costume and whipped his long white single braid. Crows Walking looked tiny and frail. Steve felt like a betrayer, siding with the white men who had stolen his land.
The dancing went on for four days, short for a Papago ceremony. Every day, Uncheedah and her helpers fed everyone, and Steve passed out generous gifts of food and blankets. Samantha gave up fighting it. Every night she watched, and in the daytime, when the ceremonies were more inexplicable, she and Elunami rode up to the new house to sleep and to freshen up.
Steve stayed with Nicholas, who could not be pulled away. Each night he danced until he dropped. The boy was like one possessed. Finally, on the fourth day, something changed. Steve saw it in the boy’s face, in all their faces. They stopped dancing. Nicholas walked over to where Steve leaned against a tree, as if for protection.
“Ready for a rest?” Steve asked.
Nicholas looked past Steve as if transfixed. Steve glanced in that direction but saw nothing. The other dancers appeared to be looking in the same direction.
An east wind came up suddenly and blew through the camp. Nicholas opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. Tears spilled down his cheeks. A murmur rose among the dancers and fell quickly into silence. Only the sound of the wind was audible. Not even a horse whinnied. Birds did not sing. The wind in the trees grew louder, sounded almost like music, rising to a crescendo.
Nicholas smiled at something off in the distance. The wind stopped. Silence stretched out for a long moment, then the Indians cheered.
“They’re gone,” Nicholas said.
It was apparent to Steve that the Indians, too, believed the spirits of Young Hawk and his family were gone, that they had been danced free to take their proper place, wherever that might be.
The dancers went to their blankets. Steve covered Nicholas and lay down beside him. The boy smiled at Steve, snuggled close to him, and dropped instantly into sleep.
Hours later Steve struggled awake and gave out the last gifts of food. The Indians departed.
“Ready?” Steve said to Nicholas, who looked amazingly bright-eyed.
“Is Mama still mad?”
“Yes.”
Nicholas’s eyes were clear and frank. “Too bad for you.”
“Yeah.”
“Look!” Nicholas pointed behind Steve.
Samantha and Elunami galloped toward them. Samantha reined her horse, dismounted, and stepped close to Nicholas. Avoiding Steve’s eyes, she touched Nicholas’s head.
Elunami walked over to the place where Silver Fish’s tepee had been. She walked through the center of the site and turned, smiling. “They’re gone!”
Samantha, too, walked through the center of the campsite, stood over the spot where the tepee had been, and felt none of the earlier icy chill of foreboding. Something lifted in her, lightened.
“We can go back to the house now,” Steve said.
Samantha looked at her son. Nicholas looked different to her. She hated to admit Steve might have been right, but the difference in her son was too shining. He should have been exhausted, but he looked energized, filled with a lightness and confidence she hadn’t seen since before Jared died. It seemed to beam out of him with such force and certainty. “Nicholas?”
“Young Hawk is gone now, Mama. He forgave me.”
“Nicholas…”
“He did, Mama. Mr. Crows Walking was right. The Great Spirit decides who lives and dies. Young Hawk doesn’t blame me. None of them do.”
Stricken, she looked at Steve, who smiled and picked up Nicholas. An odd little ache quivered within her. Seeing how gentle Steve was with her son—and knowing how much trouble he had gone to in order to give Nicholas that experience…
Fighting tears, she looked at Steve. “I want to apologize. And to thank you for doing all this.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I used to think I was smart, but the longer I live, the clearer it becomes that I don’t seem to know anything.”
“I’ve heard that’s a sign of oncoming wisdom.”
“Mama, I forgot to tell you”—Samantha stepped close to her son, cradled like a baby in Steve’s arms—“I forgot to tell you,” he repeated, his eyes shining with joy. “Daddy was one of the angels who came for Young Hawk.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
At the house, Steve carried Nicholas in, put him on his bed, and left Samantha alone with him. Nicholas looked up at her, his blue eyes sleepy and smiling, and Samantha realized Nicholas could heal himself. He couldn’t have before, but now he could. She had no idea how she knew that or where that thought had come from, but realizing it startled her.
She wanted to go to Steve, to thank him for everything he had done for her and for Nicholas. She had learned a valuable lesson. There really couldn’t be two levels of honesty, one for adults and one for children. Nicholas had needed to know the truth. Steve had been right.
Samantha went to her bedroom and took the half-finished reata off the topmost shelf of her armoire. She carried it into Nicholas’s room and laid it on his bed.
“You might want to finish this.”
A glad light filled her son’s eyes. “Can I tie it around my bedpost?”
“May I tie it around my bedpost,” she said, correcting him. “When you’re in the house, but I think it would be more fun outside.” She smiled, liking the idea of him outside, surrounded by plants and trees.
Lance Kincaid stopped his horse in sight of the house. Chane had been right and wrong. He’d been right that the house was big, solid, and imposing, that it had presence.
Lance grinned. Chane must have been green with envy, because this house had more than presence. It blended into the surrounding mountainside with such artistry it affected Lance the way seeing a masterpiece did. He had no idea of the skill it took to place a house in that fashion, but admiration filled him.
Lance had heard Jennie’s ecstatic description of Steve Sheridan. Now he understood. The Chinese claimed a man could not build a better house than he was a person. If that were the case, Steve Sheridan must be one hell of a man.
Its adobe brick walls looked two feet thick. He would be glad for its coolness. If Sam let him inside.
Samantha looked out the window, saw Lance riding through the open gates, and dropped the vase she’d been dusting.
“At least eet weel be clean, when I peek up the pieces,” Juana grumbled.
Samantha ran from the room and stepped out onto the porch. For a moment she was too stunned to say anything. Lance looked more tired and much thinner than the last time she’d seen him. Beneath the brim of his tan hard-brimmed hat, his blue eyes smiled at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. With the harsh sunlight hitting his face from the side, she saw the dim shadows filling in wrinkles she hadn’t noticed before.
“Lance, you came!”
“Told you I would.”
Lance stopped on the top step and held out his arms to her. Surprised, she stepped into them for a warm hug.
“You’ve been busy,” he said, glancing around at the house and yard, cluttered with workmen carrying tools.
“How have you been?”
“It’s been hell actually,” he said, his raspy voice firm in spite of the bleak look that came i
nto his eyes.
“Did you go to San Francisco?” she asked softly.
“Yes.”
“How is Angie?”
Something flashed in Lance’s eyes. He had something to tell her; her heart pounded.
Just then, Steve Sheridan and Ian Macready walked around the side of the house. At the sight of Lance, Steve and Ian stopped talking. Samantha motioned them over.
“Steve, Ian…you remember Lance Kincaid, don’t you?”
Lance offered his hand, and Steve shook it.
“Magnificent house,” Lance said.
“Thanks,” Steve said, surprised.
“And this is Ian Macready, Steve’s superintendent.” Ian shook hands with Kincaid.
Steve’s heart sank. Dressed in white shirt, black trousers, and black frock coat, Kincaid was one of those men who looked good in clothes. Steve became aware of how he must look in comparison—scabbed over on his forehead, neck, and arms, the bandage on his left hand dirty. And it was apparent that Kincaid had come for Samantha. The flush on her lovely cheeks confirmed it.
“Would you like to see the house?” Samantha asked hopefully.
Kincaid nodded. “Sure.”
“Nice meeting you, Kincaid. I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave,” Steve said, preparing to make his escape.
“No, Steve.” Samantha said. “You come with us. He might have questions I can’t answer.”
Steve wanted only to escape, but Samantha’s eyes pleaded with him—and curiosity prevailed. He followed Samantha and her lover into the house.
Kincaid looked like a potentially decent man, but Samantha’s fawning over him set Steve’s teeth on edge.
After a while, Steve’s heart ached with the need to save Samantha from making a fool of herself in front of Kincaid, but there was nothing he could do. She was like a puppy, wanting Kincaid’s approval so badly she couldn’t help herself. She fairly skipped from prized possession to prized possession, hauling them out for Kincaid to admire and comment on. To Steve’s surprise and relief, Kincaid seemed to genuinely enjoy Samantha and her enthusiasm for her new home. He said all the right things to placate her and keep her happy. Steve was grateful for that.
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