When they camped that afternoon by a slough on the Platte, Theodora stood beside the spring wagon and gazed eastward in despair. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she made no attempt to wipe them away. Moving around her, Julius set up his kitchen, his soft brown eyes turning to check on her time and again. Belknap spoke to her in a whisper, leading her with kindness to an upended wooden box that Twiggs had set down for her. She was scarcely aware of either of them, unable to discern what they said to her, for the silence within her was deafening. She stood beside the crate, disconsolate, staring eastward.
The hustle and bustle of the campground faded from her consciousness, and she sat awkwardly on the wooden box. Her throat ached with unspoken self-recriminations. If only she had stayed awake with Tom the night they were lost, had warned him not to drink from the prairie lagoon, or had drunk the water with him, they wouldn’t be separated now. How would she ever explain to her gentle father that she had survived the trek, only to leave her twin brother buried and forgotten somewhere in this horrible wasteland?
“Miss Gordon. Miss Gordon,” someone called to her down the bleak tunnel she inhabited. “You need to eat something. Here. Here’s a plate for you. Take it.”
But she pushed the dish away. How could she possibly eat when she felt so miserable?
For a while she was left in peace, and she returned to her silent vigil. Tommy, Tommy, she called in hopelessness. Please, come back. Come back to me. I was supposed to take care of you. How shall I ever tell Papa?
Time blurred for her, and she never noticed the dusk turn to dark. Someone put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her with infinite gentleness. “Time for bed, Miss Theo. Take you to your tent now.”
Theodora allowed Julius to lead her into her tent, following him blindly in her tears. She sat down on the opened bedroll and stared across the shelter, waiting in the flickering flame of a lantern. Someone came in and sat down across from her, but it wasn’t Tom, so she paid him no attention. In the dim light she sat patiently and waited through the endless night.
Blade felt a dull, gnawing heartache spread through him as he watched her staring with blank eyes at the canvas wall. What were the chances that she would pull out of her overpowering grief alive? The very real possibility that she would soon begin to feel the symptoms of cholera tormented him. That she might suffer the same agonizing death as her brother filled him with rage at his impotence. He had been so careful, so very careful. All of his planning, all of his knowledge about the prairie, all of his skill as a military leader had been for nothing. He could lose her in a matter of hours. His only consolation was that if she did become ill, she would go quickly, without prolonged, needless suffering, for she had no will to live. His heart turned to stone inside him. He couldn’t bear to think of a future without her.
Two days later, the caravan reached the South Platte River. Blade looked around at the treeless campsite and watched Calvin Belknap carry an armful of buffalo chips to the pit that Twiggs had dug for the cook fire. Beside the Yankee spring wagon, on an upturned crate, sat Theodora Gordon. Still silent. Still weeping. Still staring eastward.
She hadn’t eaten or slept since Tom’s death, and dark circles shadowed her green eyes, reddened and blurred now from her endless tears. Blade knew she hadn’t slept, for he’d kept vigil with her, night after night, with the help of Peter and Julius. They’d taken turns sitting up with her, afraid that if she were left alone she might try to return to Tom. They’d tried unsuccessfully to talk with her during those long, desperate hours, but she’d steadfastly ignored them. She seemed to be waiting and listening. And they all knew for whom she listened.
Through the long, silent hours Blade had wanted to enfold her in his arms and soothe her, to rock her to sleep like a frightened child. But some instinct warned him not to touch her. If he forced her to accept the physical tangibility of his comforting embrace, she would shatter like a dropped mirror, for her withdrawal from life was the dream, and the emptiness of life without Tom was the reality she was not yet ready to face.
Now, Blade walked over and stood in front of her, blocking her easterly vision of the horizon. “It’s time you started your chores again, Miss Gordon.” he said without preamble. His voice was loud enough to carry throughout the entire bivouac. “I’ve given you enough time. Now you need to pick up your share of the load.”
All around them the men stopped in astonishment at his callous words. They were clearly appalled to think that he would insist that the grief-stricken lady do her share of the mess work in her present state of shock .
Through a haze of pain Theodora looked up in confusion at Blade. She focused on him with difficulty. “What? Did you say something to me?”
“I said, Miss Gordon, that you need to get up and get to work.” He enunciated the words with the precision of a drill sergeant barking orders at a new recruit. “Now stand up, Miss Gordon. I’m sure Twiggs has something you could help him with.”
Slowly, Theodora rose. Without a word she walked over to Julius, took the large burlap bag of macaroni from his hands, and poured its contents into the kettle of hot water that hung suspended from an iron tripod over the fire. It was as though she were not even conscious of her behavior, but merely acting out some pathetic charade.
“Glad to have your help, Miss Theo. That’s for sure.” Twiggs smiled at her, his eyes warm with sympathy.
As Blade stalked through the crowd of men, he ignored their astonished looks. Inside his tent he leaned with both hands on the map table already set up for his work and stared blindly at the papers spread before him. He’d known the minute Torn Gordon died that the chances he’d lose Theodora, too, were staggering. They’d been attached by a deep bond of familial love, and her grief was as deep as that bond had been, making it nearly impossible for her to go on without her twin. But Blade was determined to do everything in his power to keep Theodora alive—even if it meant forcing her to work, to eat, to sleep. Even if she hated him for it.
The next morning saw the start of Blade’s calculated attempt to bring Theodora back to the routine of everyday life. When he saw Haintzelman folding her things and replacing them in her packs, he hurried over. “From now on, Lieutenant, the lady needs to be responsible for her own belongings. We don’t have time to coddle a prima donna on this trip.”
Peter’s jaw hardened as he bit back a scathing retort at Blade’s sarcastic tone. Without a sound Theodora rose from her place on the crate beside her tent and quietly took her journal from the lieutenant’s rigid fingers. Turning her back on the captain, she knelt beside her equipment and began to place it in her pack.
But Blade wasn’t finished yet. “Private Belknap can help Miss Gordon with her tent, Lieutenant,” he told Peter, who had started dismantling the shelter. “She can’t do it entirely by herself, but she certainly doesn’t need to sit by like an invalid while the two of you wait on her.” He slapped his gloves against his palm. “Now I believe you have other duties, Haintzelman. See to them.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter snapped, his blue eyes as cold as shadows on snow. It was the first time he’d even come close to questioning his senior officer’s orders, and Blade waited to see if he would make a further comment. But his commander’s belligerent stance must have warned him to keep his thoughts to himself, for Peter turned abruptly on his heel and stalked away. Blade turned to Belknap next. “When you finish helping Miss Gordon take down her tent, Private, go back to your chores with Twiggs. I expect the lady to saddle and care for her own horse as of this morning, just as she was doing three days ago.”
Intimidated, the unhappy private saluted and promptly started to pull up the iron tent stakes.
Then Blade approached the kneeling woman. She was bent over her pack, one long braid falling across her shoulder. Her lashes lay against the purple shadows under her eyes, and her pale skin seemed almost translucent in the morning light. “I trust that’s satisfactory with you, Miss Gordon? You certainly don’t expect those men to take
on your responsibilities, as well as keep up with their own duties, do you?”
Theodora looked up at the tall form and scowled. What did this man want from her? All of her thoughts were directed at the lonely grave site, now miles away, to which she could never return. She had no energy to spare for the insignificant details of camp life. Didn’t he realize that without Tom she was only half alive?
“Well, Miss Gordon?” he persisted. “I asked you a question. I’d like the courtesy of a reply.”
Theodora stood. She blinked and shook her head, trying to concentrate. “What are you talking about, Captain Roberts? I didn’t hear your question.”
Blade stepped even closer, until they were just inches apart. His black eyes riveted her to the spot. His words were precise, pronounced with caustic exaggeration. “Do you think the men should have to do your work, Miss Gordon? Or are you capable of handling your own chores?”
“I can handle my own chores, Captain,” she repeated in a monotone, as though by rote. “The men don’t have to do my work for me.”
“Good. Fine. Then I’d like to see you get busy.”
Her glance drifted away from the dark eyes watching her with such heartless intensity. Without another word she joined Private Belknap, who was lifting down her canvas tent.
That afternoon, as the others made camp, Blade sought her out once again. Dressed in a green broadcloth blouse and buck skin skirt, she stood leaning against Twiggs’s wagon, as though she’d paused in the middle of a chore and had completely forgotten what she was doing. Her eyes were glued on the eastern horizon.
“Have you collected any botanical specimens today, Miss Gordon?” Blade inquired in a sharp tone.
She jumped with a start at the suddenness of his question. Though he’d made no attempt to approach quietly, she hadn’t even heard him draw near.
Her voice was faint and disinterested. She never met his eyes. “No, I didn’t look for any this afternoon, Captain Roberts. I just didn’t find the time.”
He hovered over her, blocking any view except his own shirt front. “Then I’ll take you. I want you to collect at least a few samples every day, Theodora. You came out here to learn about the flora and fauna of the prairies, and I intend to see that you do just that.”
She shook her head. “I should really help Julius right now.” She tried to step around him, but he forestalled her.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve already told him you’d be with me for a while. Now let’s pick up your carbine from your tent and get going.”
“My carbine?” At last she looked up and met his gaze. “Why, I haven’t used my rifle since the day Sergeant O’Fallon showed Tom …” She gulped and swallowed, blinking back tears. “…Tom and me how to shoot it.”
Taking her elbow, Blade directed her toward her shelter.
She was forced to skip to keep up with his long strides. “From now on, I want you to carry your weapon with you everywhere you go. Right now, I’m going to have you take some target practice with me. Then we’ll find a few plants for your collection.”
“Not today, Captain,” she demurred, ineffectually tugging against his firm grip. “I really don’t feel up to it.”
“I don’t remember asking you if you did, Miss Gordon. I’m in charge of this expedition. I give the orders. You take them. Now come on.”
At her tent Blade picked up her carbine from its saddle scabbard and handed it to her. He guided her to the edge of camp, where a target had been tacked to a cottonwood. They spent thirty minutes reviewing the loading and shooting of the rifle, then searched together for botanical specimens.
For five days Blade hounded Theodora, waking her early in the morning to give her extra time to dismantle her tent with Belknap’s help, pack her belongings, and saddle Athena. In the afternoons, he saw that she had time to bathe in a nearby stream, then took her searching for new specimens for her collection, followed by thirty minutes of rigorous target practice. After that she was expected to help Twiggs with the mess and spend at least an hour on her journal. Roberts goaded her into writing in her diary daily, as well. But nothing seemed to pierce the curtain of grief that separated her from the world around her. She rarely spoke, ate almost nothing set in front of her, took no interest in her surroundings. Like a mechanical doll wound by a spring, she performed the functions required of her, then sat down on the crate, spent, useless, and unmoving.
A full week after Tom Gordon’s death, Blade could see no improvement. In addition, he worried constantly that someone might once again try to take her life. She would make an easy prey, for she’d offer no resistance in her present state. Finally, in frustration, he ordered that a target in the shape of a man be set up.
When Theodora saw the human silhouette, she lowered her rifle and glared at him. “I can’t shoot at that!” she protested. A flush stained her pale cheeks.
Blade was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. She’d spoken in a monotone since they’d left the grave site. He hardened himself to answer with mocking derision. “You’re a slow learner, Miss Gordon. I give the orders, remember?” Without waiting for her reply, he encircled her with his arms and forced her to raise the heavy carbine, guiding it into place. “Should you ever find yourself separated from the group again, I want you to know how to use this.”
Theodora found herself sighting down the barrel, despite her lack of interest in the procedure. “Very well, Captain,” she said, her lips pursed tight. She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The shot didn’t even come close.
Blade absorbed the shock of the kickback and tried to ignore the marvelous feel of her curves pressed against him. He reloaded and, like a man enjoying his own self-torture, placed his arms around her once more. “Let’s try it again, Theodora. You don’t have the skill to merely wound or disarm a man. At least not yet. So aim for the trunk of the body, not an arm or a leg. And aim to kill.”
“I could never shoot another human being, no matter what the provocation!” She gasped in horror as she turned partway around in his arms to look up at him.
“Don’t be a little fool,” he told her, his temper rising at the willful streak that could cost her life. “If a man is trying to hurt you, you shoot to kill.”
She gritted her teeth and spoke with caustic derision. “Did it ever occur to you, Blade Roberts, that not everyone is like you? Some people believe in finding other solutions besides the application of brute force. But go ahead. Call me names. I already know you for what you are.”
His jaw tightened and his body tensed as he prepared for some slur against his mixed blood. He’d been the recipient of prejudice in the past, but the thought that she would stoop to bigoted name-calling made him unaccountably furious. His low voice held the warning rumble of a mountain lion, though he doubted she’d heed it. “And what am I, Miss Gordon?”
Lifting her pointed chin, she met his gaze with unhesitating determination. Her green eyes sparkled with anger. “You’re a ruffian, Captain Roberts!”
The unexpected, innocuous epithet, hurled with such righteous indignation, left him speechless. He quirked an eyebrow and stared at her in delighted surprise. He could feel the laughter bubbling up inside him, tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head and fought to answer her with grave sobriety. “Well, I’ve been called some bad things in my life, Miss Theodora Gordon, but never anything as mean as that.”
She knew he was laughing at her and she was furious. Color flushed her delicate features. She visibly ground her teeth and straightened like a hunting lance in his arms. Before she could get a word out, Blade turned her back around to face the target and brought the rifle in her hands up for her to sight. This time Theodora aimed with deadly accuracy. The bullet struck the human figure directly in the chest.
At last Blade had his answer. If he could stoke that fiery temper of hers high enough, she’d rejoin the world with a vengeance. He’d just have to be sure he wasn’t at the wrong end of her rifle barrel when she did.
/> That evening it wasn’t Twiggs’s gentle hands, or Peter’s sympathetic ones, that offered Theodora her supper. Instead Blade appeared in front of her with a dish of venison stew. “I want you to eat this, Miss Gordon,” he said. “And I want you to eat now.”
“I couldn’t, Captain Roberts,” she murmured, and waved away the food with a halfhearted gesture. “I couldn’t get it down.”
“You’ll eat, Miss Gordon,” he growled through clenched teeth, “if I have to force it down you.”
Once again she surfaced from her cloud of misery to stare at him in anger. “I don’t want any,” she snapped, her lips pursed together in a thin line. At last the determination in his black ones penetrated her detachment.
He glared down at her, perched on her wooden seat. “I didn’t ask if you wanted it, Miss Gordon.” His tone was filled with an ominous threat. “Now, start eating this supper or I’ll spoon it down your throat.”
With a glare of pure frustration, she reached for the bowl of stew, took it from Blade’s outstretched hand, and dumped it on the trampled grass between them. It just missed the toes of his dusty black boots.
Blade pulled his long knife from its sheath on his thigh and flung it in front of her feet. It landed with a thunk, its blade buried deep, the handle vibrating back and forth. His voice was cold and mocking. “It’s the Cheyenne custom for a woman to show the depth of her grief by hacking off a finger or two. Go ahead, Miss Gordon, prove your despair. Chop one off and let’s get this infernal caterwauling over with, so we can get on with the work we came out here to do.”
Incensed by his heartlessness, Theodora reached down and snatched the knife from the dirt. Brandishing the razor-sharp blade, she leapt up to face him. “I hate you! I’ll cut off your—”
Cherish the Dream Page 15
