Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides)

by Cheryl St. John

  It had been an outrageous lie, but before everyone calmed down and realized that, Lydia had run off and Jakob had gone after her, eventually bringing her home. Things had been strained after that, and Emily had withdrawn even more. He’d known there was something wrong, something deeper. He’d heard of women on the prairie going crazy and doing unspeakable things, but she’d lived with his whole family and had plenty of people to talk to. Her behavior went from withdrawn and sullen to asking him to play out scenes where they had no children. That should have chilled him to the bone, but it was easy to look back and think he should have known.

  What had happened next was what caused his nightmares. He’d been called from the pasture where he and Jakob were repairing a fence. Lydia had seen evidence that Emily had started a fire in the tack room. She’d asked Lydia to come get Anton and locked herself inside the room, with kerosene and bales of hay. She told Lydia to tell him she was trapped. But she’d gone in there on purpose. It had never made any sense. That was hard to live with.

  All three brothers had worked to haul water and chop a hole in the outer wall of the barn. Anton had glimpsed Emily standing inside, screaming for him while rafters fell and flames licked at her clothing. He’d gone in after her, with hot ash and splinters falling on his shoulders, support beams splitting and falling, only to be cut off from her and left helpless to reach her while she burned to death.

  She and their baby.

  Grief and guilt were multiplied by his short-sightedness in bringing her here without knowing her, without knowing what to do with her, without having the tools to fix what was wrong and prevent the tragedy. The experience had left him unwilling to open himself up to anyone ever again. Emily’s name alone was a wound that had never healed. He’d learned to live without a woman’s love. He’d learned not to need companionship beyond his son and brothers and father. The thought of needing a woman terrified him. Where anyone other than Nikolaus had been concerned, he’d carefully and methodically constructed a barrier around his heart. It was a shell neither Sissy Clanton nor Helen McLaury could have penetrated a shell Rain Shadow had dissolved in only a few short weeks.

  Rain Shadow. He winced. Thinking of her pierced his already ravaged heart.

  A tap on the door startled him. The door opened, and Anton ran a hand across his face.

  “You all right?” Johann padded into the room in rumpled drawers.

  Anton nodded at his father. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Seems to be going around.” He sat at the foot of Anton’s coverless bed. “We need our rest. Spring plantin’s hard work.”

  Agreeing, Anton lowered himself to the bed’s edge and eyed the pink scar in Johann’s hairline. “You feeling okay?”

  “Seems you’re the one hurtin’.”

  Anton felt a muscle in his arm jump. “Seems I am.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  He shrugged as if he didn’t know what to say or where to start. “I think you know.”

  Johann nodded. Several minutes passed in companionable silence. “Do you love her?”

  The familiar acute cramp seized his heart. He’d never wanted it to happen. But this feeling was nothing like the helplessness and failure he’d known before. Loving Rain Shadow filled him with hope and an optimism he’d never thought to experience. “Yes.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  Anton cut his gaze to the twisted coverlet on the floor. What was he going to do about it? Spend the rest of his life feeling like this? Ache for her until die day he died? Court Helena McLaury and, heaven forbid, maybe even marry her because he didn’t love her and she couldn’t hurt him? Now that was a warped thought.

  A dutiful, demure, prim little wife sounded pretty good in theory. But what did sewing and putting up strawberry jam have to do with being a good mother to Nikolaus? Rain Shadow ranked right up there with Lydia and Annette for mothering. Besides, Nikolaus loved her.

  Besides...he loved her.

  It felt good to admit that.

  Sure, he’d have a time ever getting her to see anything his way, and it would take one hell of a man to handle a woman like that, but what did any of those wifely qualities matter if the wife wasn’t Rain Shadow? After all, she was already his wife.

  Anton shot his glance to his father. “I’ll go get her.” From the nightstand, he picked up the letter he’d received the week before and glanced at the Boston postmark. Abruptly, he yanked open the small drawer and grasped the passenger list he’d taken from Ruiz’ belongings. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The train ride raked up memories Anton had buried years ago. Memories of meeting a young, fresh-faced Emily in Pittsburgh for the first time. Memories of marrying her and sharing a sleeper car on their wedding night. Halfheartedly, he watched the countryside chug past the windows. He would never be able to erase Emily. Fragments of the hurt and disillusionment would always remain. But be didn’t have to let her haunt him. He didn’t have to allow the experience to taint the rest of his life.

  That’s exactly what he’d done. He’d hardened his heart and hurt others in the process. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.

  Since two days ago when Anton had told him of the trip, Nikolaus had been fairly bursting with excitement over seeing Slade and Rain Shadow again. He slept most of the way, his head cradled in his father’s lap.

  The station in Philadelphia bustled with activity. Securing their belongings and hailing a ride monopolized Anton’s thoughts until they reached a hotel and he dropped his leather satchel and saddlebags on the bed. He glanced around the room, stared out the window at the street below and took Nikolaus downstairs to ask directions.

  They had a day to wait until the show opened. Anton hired a horse and Nikolaus, tucked before him, rode to the fairgrounds. A sentry met them as they neared the park. “Show’s not till tomorrow, mister.”

  “Came a day early. Thought I’d take a look around.” The cowboy tipped his hat back on his head and squinted at Anton. “Don’t I know you?”

  Anton offered his hand, experiencing a flash of recognition. “Name’s Neubauer.”

  The cowboy grinned and pumped his hand. “Sure! You helped me bury my Belle up in Butler County. Best cutting horse I ever had.” He released Anton’s hand and gestured over his shoulder. “Look around all you care to, Neubauer.”

  “Thanks.” Anton prodded the horse away with his heels.

  “Your tickets are on me. Tell them your name at the main entrance tomorrow, and you’ll have good seats.”

  “Much obliged.” Anton skirted corrals and livestock tents, the enormity of the encampment taking him by surprise. The entire entourage—gigantic colorful tents, stagecoaches, covered wagons, buggies, excursion cars, housing tents and an Indian village complete with tepees and camp fires lay blocked out and sectioned off military style. “There they are, Pa! Over there!”

  From their vantage point, Anton easily spotted her lodge by its identifying markings. Was she in there? He studied the hide structure he’d once considered an eyesore, and an unexplainable peace enfolded him. She was close. Close enough to see and touch as soon as the time was right. He nudged the horse on.

  “Ain’t we going down there?” Nikolaus craned his neck to look back at him and drew a puzzled frown.

  “I told you I’ll do this my way. In my own time when I’m ready.”

  Nikolaus sighed as if disgusted and turned to ogle the sights.

  Tiered planks for seating had been constructed in a colossal oval shape, the entire space for spectators protected by canvas tenting. Workers hammered guardrails into place. Lowering Nikolaus, Anton slid to the ground and looped the reins around a brace beneath the stands.

  Nikolaus raced into the enormous arena. An abandoned bulls-eye target on a tripod caught his interest. “I wish I’d brung my bow and arrows!”

  “Brought.” Anton climbed the planks, his boots echoing across the arena. Halfway up
, he sat and studied the place where he’d see her tomorrow. The spot where thousands would watch her ride, shoot and eventually take on Annie Oakley.

  What was she doing right now? How was she feeling? Was she nervous? Confident? Lonely? Did she think about him? Miss him? Or had she already dismissed him from her thoughts?

  Across the way, two men strung a ponderous banner between tent poles. Annie Oakley’s face appeared from the folds, a likeness of Rain Shadow following. She wore fringed ivory buckskin leggings and beaded tunic, two long black braids gracing her breasts, and her violet eyes gazed across the vacant arena.

  Anton stared at her image and hoped what he had to offer was enough.

  * * *

  Two Feathers watched Rain Shadow’s morning practice. While she cleaned her guns, he traveled to their lodge. From his belongings, he gathered tobacco, sweet grass, a tamper and his sacred pipe wrapped in red flannel. He walked some distance to find a private spot, never an easy task any more.

  He sat, cleaned his pipe and rubbed the ash over his hands and arms.

  Rain Shadow was better than little Sure Shot. Of that he had no doubt. But many factors would influence the outcome of the contest today. With one thumb closing the bowl, he drew on the pipe, lit the long strand of sweet grass, laid it on one knee and passed the pipe and tobacco through the smoke.

  His daughter would probably win. If her white family sought her out as she hoped, what would become of his small family? He was an old man. She and Slade had their whole lives ahead of them. He wouldn’t hold onto her. Two Feathers waved the sweet grass around himself, appealing to the spirits.

  If her family didn’t seek her, what would that do to her?

  He cradled the pipe in his left arm, the stem pointing west. “Tunkasila wiyohpeyata, wacecicive. Onsimala ye. Omakiya ye. Grandfather where the sun goes down, I am praying to you. Pity me. Help me.” Two Feathers dropped the first pinch of tobacco into the pipe bowl. He repeated the ceremony in each direction, then upward to Tunkasila Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, and finally down toward Unci Maka, the Earth.

  Words became harder and harder to find in his second round of heartfelt prayer. “Grandfather, Great Spirit, You are all powerful and above all things. All things come from You. Let Your spotted eagle look down from the blue sky, which is above all storm clouds. Hear my prayer. I know You can do all things. Help my Rain Shadow in her needs.”

  A spotted eagle soared above, unseen by the Indian, who had touched one knee to the ground in supplication of Grandmother Earth.

  * * *

  The grounds had been transformed into a milling, pulsating crush of bodies. Holding Nikolaus’ hand securely, Anton strolled along rows of wooden stands with red awnings. The throngs tried their luck at games. Wheels spun, shots were fired and balls knocked down cans and blocks while children squealed and dodged adults. Rollicking laughter exploded all around them.

  Inside the arena, the band tuned up, and Anton shouldered their way to the ticket wagon. Center-front seats awaited them just as the cowboy had promised. Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show began with an impressive parade, Will Cody leading the cowboys, Indians, vaqueros, marching band, coaches, wagons and animals.

  Anton and Nikolaus watched a stagecoach attacked by Indians. Nikolaus cheered stunt riders, jugglers and a buffalo stampede. Anton was impressed by South American gauchos, Black Elk and the Deadwood Stage. The famed Johnnie Baker exploded blue glass balls in the air with single shots, but none of it compared to the thrill of glimpsing her.

  While his attention focused on one spectacular act, the next was set up and the last removed. Unprepared, Anton spotted Rain Shadow emerging from a tent behind her father. He stared at her, the center of attention, while he blended anonymously into the crowd. It pleased him to see her this first time without her seeing him. This was her world, and it took time to absorb.

  Two Feathers, dressed in chief’s feathered headdress, bartered with the shirtless Hank Tall Bear. The brawny- chested Indian paraded a dozen dazzling white horses past the stoic father. Two Feathers examined them and gestured.

  Tall Bear motioned, and his fellow braves dropped bundles of colorful blankets, hats and clothing at Two Feathers’ feet. “‘Chief’ Two Feathers poked a box with his toe. Tall Bear knelt and opened the box, holding beads and claw necklaces aloft. Two Feathers pointed to the ring on a brave’s finger, and Tall Bear spoke softly to the brave. Apparently, the young man didn’t want to part with the piece of jewelry, and the crowd tittered. At last Tall Bear convinced him, and Anton laughed with those around him when the brave made a pretense of being unable to get the ring from his finger. Tall Bear finally bit the ring off, the brave howling, and Two Feathers slipped the ring on his own hand, urging his daughter forward.

  Rain Shadow stared prettily at the toes of her moccasins.

  A flurry of activity changed the scene, tom-toms and gourd rattles creating a pulsing beat. The white horses galloped away, replaced by a crowd of celebrating Indians.

  “There’s Slade, Pa!” Nikolaus pointed to a group of Indian children taking part in the mock festivity.

  Rain Shadow emerged from the tent once again, this time in full ceremonial garb—a pristine white fringed dress, her braids laced with feathers and beads. A strip of white banded her forehead. The crowd oohed and aahed, the women uttering a collective sigh.

  Anton caught his breath. She made a beautiful Indian princess. But then she made a beautiful manure shoveler, too. He grinned.

  Hank Tall Bear awaited his bride, his muscular body dressed in a loin cloth, leggings, knee-high boots and a quill vest. The medicine man presided over the ceremony, shook his gourd rattle and led the dancing. To a pulsing drumbeat Tall Bear and Rain Shadow danced a spellbinding primitive dance on their own, and the well-wishers formed a circle around the couple.

  Anton could hardly breathe. Watching, a knot of apprehension formed in his chest. Would what he’d come to say make any difference to her? He had to talk to her before the contest. She would probably go back to her tent to change. Anton stood and towed Nikolaus through the crowded stands.

  “Pa, where are we going?”

  “I have to talk to Rain Shadow.”

  “Now? The show’s still on, and I don’t want to miss nothin’.”

  Away from the crowd and performances, a young voice carried to them. “Nikky! Hey, Nikky! Anton!”

  Anton spotted the slender figure running toward them. Nikolaus yanked his hand from his father’s and ran to meet Slade. The two boys stopped in front of each other, grins splitting their faces.

  “What are you doing here?” Slade asked, and tipped his head back to study Anton.

  “We came to see you,” Nikky answered. “Pa wants to talk to your ma now, and I’m gonna miss the show.”

  “You can watch over here with me. Can’t he, Anton?”

  “That would be fine.” Pleased to see Slade, Anton squeezed his shoulder. To Nikolaus he said, “You stay put until I come back for you, y’hear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Nikolaus grinned and followed Slade to a dozen bales of hay fashioned into makeshift seating. Several children sat, sprawled or tussled on the bundles.

  Anton hurried on. Outside the arena, a line of mounted cavalry soldiers waited their turn. Immediately discovering no safe place to step, Anton realized why Rain Shadow hadn’t blinked an eye at shoveling dung.

  Nearer the Indian encampment, he wiped his boots on the grass and strode purposefully to her tent. He called out and, at the silence, stepped in.

  The interior was just as he remembered, except that the drawers of her trunks were open, clothing, headbands and jewelry spilling in haphazard piles onto the ground. Anton studied the collection and realized she’d played more parts than he’d recognized.

  A rider approached. Mouth dry, palms damp, Anton contemplated the tent opening. Anticipation pounded through his veins.

  The flap flew back, and she entered the lodge, already untying the leather strips behind her neck. In
a split second, she knelt, withdrew the knife from her white knee-high moccasin and leapt sideways.

  Anton raised his palms in the air.

  It took her longer to recover from the sight of him than it had to crouch and draw her knife. “Anton?”

  The sight of her took his breath away. He doffed his hat. “Rain Shadow.”

  “What are you doing here?” She straightened, glanced at the knife in her palm and slid it into her moccasin.

  “Watching the show.”

  She raised a black brow, her amethyst eyes questioning. The white headband she wore made her skin and hair even darker in comparison. Two blue-tipped white feathers dangled near one ear. Face flushed from her run to the tent, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “I came to see you.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Is Nikky here?”

  “Nikky’s watching the show with Slade.”

  “Anton, what is it?” She stepped closer to him. “Is everything all right? Your father—”

  “Pa’s just fine. This is about us.”

  A wary look crossed her features, and she turned aside. “I have to change.”

  Anton manacled her slender wrist with his enormous hand. She stood in silence, facing away from him. “This is something I have to say now. Before the contest. So you’ll know the outcome makes no difference to me.”

  Her lashes raised in a troubled sweep.

  “Rain Shadow, if you don’t win, I’d like you to come home with me.” Beneath his fingers, her pulse quickened. “Why?”