***
Parker sat behind a desk in the corner of the marshal’s office, trying to focus on the piece of paper in front of him. After Posy had sent him on his way the previous day, he’d helped Miranda arrange the furniture exactly where she wanted it—oftentimes moving it a quarter of an inch to the left, only to move it right back again—and now he was on the job, writing up a report. A woman in town had her bag stolen out of her wagon, and he was jotting down all the details so they could get to work on it. He’d thought he was listening carefully, but his mind had kept drifting to Posy, and now he couldn’t seem to recall the most important aspects of the case.
The door opened, and a man stepped inside. He was so tall that his shadow fell across Parker’s desk.
“Are you Parker Monroe?”
“Yes, I am.” Parker came to his feet and held out his hand. The man didn’t move from the doorway. “How can I help you?”
“I think you and I need to have a little talk, if you have a moment.”
“I do. Please, have a seat.”
The man crossed the floor and sat down, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. He didn’t say anything until Parker had taken his seat. “My name is Jesse McVey. I believe you know my sister, Posy.”
Parker swallowed. “Yes, I stayed at the Brody when I first came to town, and I met your sister during that stay.”
Mr. McVey nodded. “Well, Mr. Monroe, you and I are going to have a little problem. You see, I love my sister more than anything on this earth with the exception of my wife, and when I hear that someone has offended her, I don’t take too kindly to that. I’ve been known to run men off with bullets grazing their ankles all the way, and my wife even shot a man who threatened to do Posy harm. I didn’t happen to come in here armed, but I can rectify that situation if need be.”
“I . . . I hope that won’t be necessary, Mr. McVey. I didn’t mean to offend your sister—I honestly had no idea that she’s Indian.” He stopped and looked at his visitor. “I’m a little confused, if you don’t mind my saying so—you and Posy don’t look alike.”
“My mother passed away when I was a child, and my Scottish father then married an Indian woman and moved to her village. That’s where I was raised, and that’s where Posy was born. Since then, I’ve drifted back and forth between the two worlds, but Posy has only lived in town for a short time. She’s half Scottish and half Indian. I’m full Scottish, but for all intents and purposes, I’m Indian too.”
“I see. I promise you, Mr. McVey, I had no idea.”
“That’s where I get a little bit confused, Mr. Monroe. Let’s say, for instance, that my sister was German or Swedish. Would that make it all right for you to sit in front of her and spout off your hatred toward Indians? Of course not. Prejudice of any sort, expressed to someone of any nationality or race, shows baseness of character. My sister is a lady in the finest sense of the word, and I will see to it that she is only courted by men who honor and respect that in her.”
Parker nodded. He’d replayed that conversation over and over again in his mind, and he wished he could take it back. “I understand. I’m not worthy to keep company with your sister, and I’ll step away. She deserves someone more capable of holding his temper. I do wonder, though . . .”
He didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to say.
“Go on.”
Parker pulled in a deep breath. “Mr. McVey, I admit that I’ve made a mess of things, and believe me, I’m sorry about that. But where do my feelings enter the picture? My horse was stolen by Indians. Not only that, but my father was killed by Indians.” He stopped and swallowed as the memory came back to him. “He was out hunting, and he was captured and scalped. His hunting partner managed to escape, but only after my father was dead—he had no way of saving him. Yes, I have strong feelings toward Indians—these experiences have taught me to distrust them, at the very least. What do you recommend that I do about these feelings? Do I just forget that my father was murdered?”
Mr. McVey didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, he spoke slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Monroe. For a boy to go without a father is a terrible thing, and when it happens so violently, it’s even more difficult.” He paused. “Are you familiar at all with the various different tribes that live in this area?”
“No, I can’t say that I am.”
“There are several. Posy is Kaw, or Kansa. They value peace, as do many of the others. Only a few tribes act out in violent ways—most are too busy raising their families and creating lives for themselves. I can promise you—the Indians who killed your father and the Indians who stole your horse are not Kaw, and they were likely renegades who had broken away from their tribe and were acting independently. Of course you’re angry—but hating all Indians for the actions of a few is shortsighted.”
Parker could tell that his visitor was trying to remain calm and speak reasonably, but there was very little that was reasonable about this situation. He wanted to let go of his negative feelings and try to understand things from Posy’s perspective, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the day his father had been brought home, handkerchiefs tied over his head to hide his missing scalp. An arrow still protruded from his chest—no one had thought to take it out or cover it up. Miranda had been asleep at the time and was spared the sight, but his mother had never been the same afterwards.
Neither had Parker.
“I’ll think on your words,” he said after a long pause.
Mr. McVey nodded. “That’s all I can ask for. I am sorry for what you’ve experienced, Mr. Monroe.”
When Parker was alone in the office once again, he pushed his chair back, leaned forward, and buried his face in his folded arms. He wouldn’t hurt Posy for anything in the world, and yet he had. At the same time, though, he didn’t know how to reconcile what he’d been through. Part of him wondered if he should keep pushing it down, but it seemed wrong somehow.
On the other hand, perhaps it was selfish.
He let out a grunt and sat back up, his thoughts and feelings swirling around like a tornado. He didn’t know what to do from here. All he knew was that he was on the job now and he was expected to turn in this report. He’d do that first, and then he’d mull over what to do about Posy.
What could he do, though? He’d just told her brother he’d stay away from her.
And that was the very last thing he ever wanted to do.
Chapter Nine
Nora came upstairs and took off her hat, putting it on a hook near her dresses. Posy glanced up from the book she was reading and thought she saw traces of tears on Nora’s cheeks. It was just the two of them in the room at the moment, so she took the opportunity to ask, “How are you, Nora?”
Her friend sat on the edge of her bed and unfastened her shoes. “I’m doing all right, I think. It was so kind of the Osbournes to invite me over tonight. The baby . . . Oh, Posy, she’s so beautiful. Mrs. Osbourne had her in a lovely little white dress, and she’s just perfection.”
Posy closed her book. “Was it hard, seeing her again?”
“It was hard, but I think about the possibility of not seeing her again, and that’s even harder.” Nora tucked her shoes under her bed, then sat upright. “The Osbournes actually wanted to name her after me, but I don’t think we should make her too curious. Chances are, she’ll resemble me in some ways, and having my name . . . well, I asked them not to, and they agreed to honor my wishes.”
“So, what are they naming her instead?”
“Celeste. They wanted something that sounded heavenly or like a miracle, and that’s what they settled on. I like it—I think it suits her.”
“I like it too. And I think you’re handling this so well, Nora.”
“You do?” Nora looked surprised. “I’m not so sure, but thank you for saying that.”
“You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. I hope you know that.”
“For now, I’ll just trust your opinion.” Nora slipped out of her d
ress and grabbed her nightgown. “So, tell me about that man from the dining room. We haven’t had the chance to talk—I need details. You spent the afternoon with him yesterday, right?”
“We spent about fifteen minutes together, and then I sent him away.”
Nora paused in the middle of doing her buttons. “What? Why?”
Posy shook her head, trying to dislodge her anger. It didn’t work. “It turns out that he’s not very fond of Indians. He didn’t realize that I am one, and he said some very unkind things before I pointed it out to him.”
“Oh, no. That’s horrible.”
“It’s very horrible. In fact, it’s so horrible that I’ve decided not to think about it anymore. He lives here in town now, so I’m sure we’ll run into each other, but that’s all it has to be. I don’t even need to speak to him if I don’t want to.”
Nora crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Posy’s bed. “I’m sorry. I thought the two of you had the possibility of something wonderful.”
“I thought so too, but this . . . I don’t know how we’d overcome this. He hates the very thing that I am. There’s not a lot of compromising that can be done in a case like that.”
Nora wrapped her arm around Posy’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “Maybe someday, he’ll have some experiences that will help change his mind.”
“That would be nice, but I’m not sure how likely that is.” Posy thought it was much more likely that Mr. Monroe’s prejudice would follow him to the grave.
***
Early the next morning, Posy was sweeping the front porch of the hotel when Jesse rode up. He didn’t bring a deer carcass this time, and he wasn’t dressed in his hunting buckskins. He looked rather ordinary.
“Good morning,” he said, slowing his horse and then sliding off. “Do you have a minute?”
“About ten, I think.” Posy leaned her broom against the porch railing. “What brings you by?”
Jesse motioned for her to join him, and they each took one of the porch chairs. “Giselle was absolutely furious about what happened between you and the new deputy, so I went and paid him a call as soon as I got home.”
Posy’s eyes widened. “You did?”
“I did, but I left my rifle at home.”
“That’s almost a shame.”
He chuckled. “I thought so too, but taking a rifle in to meet with a deputy isn’t such a great idea if you’re hoping to stay out of jail.”
“I suppose so. How did this little visit of yours go?”
“Well, I told him in no uncertain terms that his behavior wasn’t appropriate. He apologized and said he’d keep his distance.”
“He . . . he did?” Even though Posy had decided never to speak to him again, this still disappointed her. She wanted to be the one to turn her back on him, not the other way around.
“He did. Then he told me a little bit about himself and why he feels the way he does about Indians. Did he ever tell you how his father died?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He was shot and scalped by Indians.”
Posy blinked. “He was?”
Jesse nodded. “And then his horse was stolen last week—by Indians. I think we can see why his feelings are what they are.”
“Are you taking his side, Jesse McVey?”
“I’m not. I’m on your side all the way, but sometimes that means making sure you know both aspects of a story.”
Posy sighed. He was just trying to be fair, but she was more interested in being angry. “I’m not as balanced as you are, Jesse. You’ve learned how to give everyone their due—I haven’t come to that yet.”
“It’s something that happens after years of practice, and you don’t have as many years as I do.” Jesse looked out to the horizon. “I was up a good bit of the night thinking about things, and I’ve hit on an idea. Surprisingly, my wife thinks it’s a good idea too.”
“She does? That is a surprise.”
“Definitely. She usually reins me in when I get carried away, but not this time.” He turned to face Posy. “I’d like to see if I can help Mr. Monroe get his horse back.”
“What?” That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “How do you mean to do that?”
“I thought I’d ride down to the village and see if anyone’s heard anything. Go ask some of the surrounding tribes, that sort of thing. And I thought I’d take the two of you with me.”
Jesse said the last so casually, she almost didn’t hear him. When she realized what he’d said, she was even more flustered.
“You want to take us with you? I don’t understand.”
“I think it would be good for Mr. Monroe to see the village and meet our parents and understand a little more about where we come from. He also needs to see you out there where you really belong, not confined here in a town and surrounded by people.”
“But I left the village for a reason. You remember that, don’t you, Jesse?”
“Of course I do, but Giselle took care of Griffin, and his friends haven’t been back—I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground.”
“But what about Hun-gah-le-nah? He was so angry when I left . . .”
“You’ll be all right, Posy. I’ll protect you.”
She sat back in her chair and thought about it. She badly wanted to visit the village and see her parents, and she’d love every minute of the ride. Was it worth the risk, though? And would Mr. Monroe gain enough from the experience that he would come to think differently? If they took him to the village and introduced him to their parents and he was still filled with hatred at the end of it, she would feel as though she’d brought an enemy into the camp and made her parents vulnerable.
“And there’s one other thing.”
She looked up and saw the serious expression in Jesse’s eyes. “What’s that?”
“This will give you the opportunity to assess his character.”
“I already know plenty about his character. Much more than I want to know.” She paused. “You’re trying to tell me something.”
Jesse exhaled. “When I spoke with him, he said he’d leave you alone, but the look on his face—well, he looked like he was walking toward the gallows. That man has feelings for you, pretty deep feelings, and maybe he deserves another chance.”
Posy was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “Anyone can have feelings for another person. That doesn’t make them deserving of a second chance—it just means they have feelings. Jesse, I know you have a unique perspective on this because you live in both worlds, but I was raised Indian. Father only taught me enough about being white that I wouldn’t embarrass myself horribly if I ever came into town—everything else about me is Indian. I can’t just ignore what he said and pretend nothing happened.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m suggesting that we show him our way of life, let him see the gentleness of the Kaw traditions, and educate him. He hates Indians because of his limited exposure to them. If he knew more, if he understood more, he’d have the opportunity to expand his beliefs. We’d be giving him the opportunity to move past his prejudice.”
Posy sighed. Jesse was making a lot of sense, even though she hated to admit it. “Education is good.”
“It’s very good.”
“I just thought . . . I thought you’d be as angry as I am.”
Jesse chuckled. “When Giselle first told me, I was furious. I was ready to plow my fist right into that man’s face, and I went in there planning to threaten him with his very life. But after I spoke with him . . . There’s never just one side to a story, Posy, and his side is plenty compelling. I decided to reserve judgment until after I’ve gotten to know him a bit better. He lives here now, he’s a deputy—we’re going to have interactions with him, and I’d just as soon know more about him.”
Posy flopped back in her chair and groaned. “Why must you be so sensible and logical and . . . and calm?”
He laughed again. “I didn’t learn that from my Scot father—I le
arned it from my Kaw stepmother.”
“And so you’re saying I should be calmer too.”
“I’m saying you might want to consider it.”
“Fine. Just . . . just fine. I’ll go. But if I decide to push Mr. Monroe off a cliff at some point during this little adventure, I’m holding you responsible for it.”
“Understood.”
Chapter Ten
When Jesse McVey returned to the marshal’s office, Parker was immediately on alert. He’d kept his promise and hadn’t sought Posy out—as hard as it was—and he didn’t think he’d done anything to stir up more trouble, but he was cautious nonetheless. Mr. McVey’s suggestion caught him completely by surprise—he wanted to go with Parker to return Miles’ horses, and he wanted to see if he could help find Freya. Parker had blinked a few times before he stammered a yes.
What surprised him even further, though, was to ride out the next morning and see that Posy was waiting for him along with her brother.
“Miss McVey.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have you come to wish us well?”
“No, I’m coming with you.”
He glanced down and noticed that she wore buckskin riding trousers. “You’re coming too?”
“Posy’s an excellent tracker,” Mr. McVey inserted. “She’ll be a valuable asset when it comes to looking for your horse.”
“Of course. I’m glad to have her along. I’m just surprised.”
“I enjoy surprising people.” Posy gave him a pointed look, and he understood her message. She was here to help, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him. He could accept that.
Miranda would be spending the nights at the Brody Hotel while he was gone so he wouldn’t worry about her being home alone in a new town. Mrs. Brody had been more than accommodating when he explained the situation. Miranda had insisted that she’d be fine, but she relented rather quickly, leading Parker to think that her protests were more for show than anything.
Jesse and Posy each had a horse, and Parker was riding one lent to him by Colonel Gordon. If they couldn’t find Freya, he’d have to find a way to buy a new one, but for the moment, at least he wasn’t completely without. They headed off on their way, Miles’ horses being led behind, and Parker was able to dredge up some hope that when they came back, they’d be bringing his horse with them.
A Passing Glance Page 8
