by Becky Lower
"You are fortunate to have had children."
"Yes, they are a blessing, and have been such a tremendous help to me. The only bad times, up until now, have been when some of my children died."
Raoul raised his eyes to her. "You had more than one die?"
"Yes, I'm sorry to say. My first-born, a son whom we named William, Jr., died at three months. I despaired at ever getting pregnant again. I didn’t want to live through the experience of having a child again, and then losing him, having him snatched away so soon. But Hannah came along, and then Jacob, and I thought all was well. But it happened once after that. Lydia was born with a twin, but only Lydia lived. The other twin, Mary, was stillborn."
Raoul glanced over to where Lydia was sleeping, slumped over the table. "Lydia has never talked in front of me yet. The girl enjoys being by herself more than with others. Perhaps her twin is still by her side."
"I've often thought so. That Mary and Lydia are still tied together somehow. And, don’t take it personally that she won’t talk in front of you. She hasn’t yet said a word to anyone in all her four years on this earth." Susannah spoke softly, then rose to clear the table.
When he dared to gaze directly at Susannah, she took his breath away. The face of the woman from his vision quest stared back at him, making him uneasy. Her hair was spun silver, her eyes blue as Lake Gitchi-Gummi. She belonged to another man. He did not wish for another woman. Any attraction he carried for her could be written off because she had appeared in his dreams. But there was a higher purpose, more of a reason for him to be here than what had been revealed yet. He could not let his guard down completely. He shrugged his shoulders to relieve the tension that crept into his body each time he thought about his vision.
One morning in early September, they were finishing breakfast when Susannah raised her head and cocked it toward the narrow wagon path that wound up the mountain.
"Someone's coming up the pass. I hear the harness bells, so it must be Sully." She glanced quickly over at Raoul. "We must hide you."
"It is a good day for me to go hunting, anyway. I will be back at dusk."
"That will be more than enough time, Raoul. He’s probably only delivering some staples from the general store. Sully doesn’t tend to dawdle, especially with me. Come back at noon."
He nodded and hurried from the house to the barn, where he grabbed his bow and arrow and exited through the back door. Even though there was nothing untoward going on, both Raoul and Susannah were smart enough to accept how their arrangement would look to someone on the outside. It would be far better for Raoul to become Lone Wolf again, and stalk deer through the forest today. If Sully wondered how the work on the farm was getting done, he would have to continue to wonder.
A few hours later, Raoul was back at the farm, dragging a doe. He had recited an Indian prayer of thanks over her carcass before he gutted her. Although the deer was on the small side, they'd have some good venison stew for a week or more. Before he hauled the deer into the clearing, he surveyed the area, and found it empty. Sully, or whoever had come up the pass that morning, had left. Raoul hung the deer in the smoke house and washed his hands in the trough before heading indoors for the noon meal.
Susannah bustled about the kitchen, piling meat onto slabs of bread, and set a plate in front of him, along with a cool glass of milk. The children were all at the table, talking nonstop as they shoved food into their mouths.
"What is everyone so excited about?" Raoul asked.
"Mama got another letter from Daddy. She's going to read it to us after we eat," Hannah said, with a smile on her face and pride in her voice.
Raoul glanced at Susannah, expecting to see the same excitement exhibited by her children. Instead, he could see sadness in her eyes. He wondered what news the letter contained.
"I will leave you, then." Raoul picked up his plate and was surprised when Susannah reached out and placed her hand on his.
"You'll do no such thing. That deer you drug into the smoke house will keep my children fed for a week or more. The least we can offer you is to have you break bread with us. The letter will wait."
Raoul settled back into his chair. Susannah might wish to wait, but the children were eager to find out what their father had to say. He'd finish up as quickly as he could and head to the barn, leaving Susannah and her children to have their family moment.
Hannah would fill him in later, but it was with great reluctance that he finally pushed away from the table. He admitted to as great a curiosity about the contents of the letter as the children had.
♥•♥•♥
Susannah wondered if she'd ever get past the feelings of anger and abandonment she harbored. Yes, there was pride, too, in what William was doing, and how he had been among the first to willingly put his life on the line for the sake of the country, but still, abandonment was her constant companion, especially at night. She sat alone at the table in the kitchen, rereading her husband's letter for the third time and running her finger over the familiar handwriting as she did so. William was full of news about their most recent skirmish and how the Union Army had the Rebs on their heels in short order. Now, he was on some reclusive mission to waylay a supply train headed south, convinced the war would end soon and he'd be back home, victorious, with all kinds of stories about his adventures.
The children were all asleep, so Susannah put her hand to her mouth, in an attempt to control the sobs that threatened to escape. She clutched her stomach, which only now was expanding with the child William still had no knowledge of. Her body convulsed with the tears she could no longer hold back. She needed to leave the house. Her children must never pick up on the fact she was worried, or fearful, or angry.
She made it halfway across the clearing before she fell to her knees, and let herself go. There was still a chance her sobs could reach the house, but she lacked the stamina to go any further. Her skirt puddled around her as she bent over in the yard, her braid dragging in the dirt.
Strong hands grabbed her upper arms, pulling her up from the ground. Susannah glanced up, her eyes clouded with tears, but she didn't need to see to be aware of who was helping her. Raoul stood in front of her, as solid as granite, holding her arms and not saying a word. She leaned her body into him, rested her head on his broad shoulder and gave herself over to her grief. Her body shook with tears and anger. He wrapped his arms around her as she stood up against him, locking her in place, and let her cry.
After several minutes, she stepped back from his comforting embrace, and wiped her tears away.
"Thank you, Raoul, for giving me the opportunity to let myself cry it out. I apologize, though, for getting your shirt wet."
Raoul smiled slightly. "You and your daughter are very much alike. She did the same thing the day she led me down from the pasture."
She jerked her head up to see him better. "She cried? Hannah never cries."
"I would guess folks could say the same about you. Is this because of the letter?"
Susannah flung her braid over her shoulder. "My husband seems to have left his better sense here when he boarded that damned train. He’s certain the war will end soon. I can tell it will take forever. The only way William will come home soon is if he's killed."
"Hush, Susannah. Do not wish him back home if that is the only way. I will stay for at least this winter, and try to help make things easier for you."
"Thank you, Raoul. That will help keep the tears at bay from both myself and Hannah, at least. But I will still miss my husband."
Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "And I miss my wife."
Susannah glanced up at him again. "You were married at one time? Let's go sit by the barn and you can tell me about her. I’m not ready to go indoors yet."
They moved to some hay bales near the barn door and sat facing one another. In the pale moonlight, Susannah's eyes lingered on the sharp planes in Raoul's cheeks, his dark hair, and his hawk nose. His full mouth. The cleft in his chin. All indicators of his Indian
heritage. She gave herself a moment to simply stare at him and to wonder about the woman who had enticed him enough to marry.
"What was your wife's name?"
He glanced up at the sliver of moon in the sky. "Her name was Pale Moon. A full-blooded Ojibwa."
He closed his eyes, to block out the light from the sky. Susannah caught the tightness in his jaw, and her heart broke for him.
"What happened to her?"
"She died."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Raoul. Here I was, talking about William coming home dead, and you've already experienced the loss of a partner." Susannah brought her hands to her heart and leaned in to get closer to him.
"Can you tell me how it happened, or is it still too painful?"
"It does no good to talk about it."
"On the contrary. Sharing your grief is a very good way to get past it. It's how I managed to continue on after losing two children."
Raoul raised his eyes and locked his gaze on her. Susannah had a feeling she could see into the depths of his soul. And she admired what she was seeing.
She also accepted he would reveal no more secrets tonight. The memory of Pale Moon would remain his, and his alone.
She returned his stare for another long minute, hoping he’d change his mind. Then, she rose.
“Good night, Raoul. And thank you again, for allowing me to shed my tears.”
♥•♥•♥
A few days after their talk at the barn, Susannah turned to Raoul as they were finishing up dinner.
"What are your plans for tomorrow?"
"To go into the woods and find more meat to get us through winter. Why do you ask?"
"Because I wrote to William, and I need to go down the hill and take the letter to the post office.”
"Why did you not give the letter to Sully when he was here?"
“Because Sully surprised me by coming when he did and I didn’t have the letter ready. But it’s time William is made aware of a few things.”
Susannah reached out and placed her hand over Raoul's. "It's time you’re made aware of it, too. I'm with child. The baby will be born around Christmas time. William isn’t aware I'm expecting yet. That he’s about to become a father again. He left before I had any symptoms."
The tightness in Raoul's jaw returned, and Susannah couldn't blame him. Every time she thought about having a baby in the middle of winter when no help would be forthcoming, the knot of tension between her shoulders increased. She rubbed the back of her neck as she glanced at the Indian. Here he was, taking on the responsibility of another man's family, and she was adding to the burden by telling him there would be yet another mouth to feed before spring came.
"Will your husband be able to return once he is made aware of the new baby?"
Susannah shook her head. "He might be able to get a leave of absence for a week or two, but he's committed himself to a three-year stint in the Army. He won't be home anytime soon. I appreciate all you're doing for us in his absence."
"Yet…you feel you must tell him? Will it not place yet another strain on him? I am certain he is worried enough about all of you as it is."
"Of course I must. He is the father, after all."
Raoul rose from the table, stretching to his full height. "In my culture, a man, a father, stays with his wife and children, protecting them against any outside forces, feeding them and caring for them. Your husband is not doing any of that."
Susannah rose, too, and stood in front of Raoul. "Maybe not, but he is protecting the country. There's something to be said for that, isn't there? Don’t make me have to defend William’s choice to you. I struggle myself to find the balance."
He shook his head. "How could he leave all of you alone?"
"In the Indian camp, do you not have men who leave, to go on war raids, or to find meat? How is this different?"
"Because we leave the elder men behind to take care of our women and children until we return."
Susannah drew in a sharp breath. How could she explain something to Raoul that she could barely comprehend?
"That's Sully's job. He's too old to enlist in the Army, so it's his responsibility to take care of all of us until our men return."
"This is the man who cannot get up the pass in winter?" Raoul raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Susannah sighed. "I understand what you're saying, Raoul. But regardless of how or why William is away, he needs to have the knowledge he'll be a new father in a few short months. That's what the letter is for. I'll leave in the morning, after breakfast, and will be back in time for supper. George will come with me, but I'll leave Hannah, Jacob and Lydia to help you."
Raoul crossed his arms over his chest. "Perhaps there will be some rabbits for dinner, then."
Susannah gave him a tremulous smile as the tension in her body released a bit. "Thank you, Raoul. It's nice that we can count on you."
"You need to be able to count on someone. Your burden is too great for a woman."
She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm a frontier woman, and it's to be expected. I keep being reminded at every turn that I’m a strong woman. Late at night, though, I tend to doubt that. But I do agree with you. Fate has dealt me a strong blow, that's for certain."
"And I am here as a result of that same fate."
They stared at each other for a long moment before Raoul left the house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raoul stood in the forest and stretched his arms out to his sides, palms up. He had killed five rabbits this morning. More than enough to feed the family for a few days. There was plenty of work waiting for him back at the house, yet he was loath to leave the familiar surroundings of the woods.
The sun sliced through the trees, sending shafts of light to the forest floor. Raoul stood in one of them, feeling the warmth of the rays on his face as he closed his eyes and turned his head up. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the bounty the forest had produced for him. Then, he slid to the ground and sat cross-legged for a few minutes, allowing himself to savor the scents of the forest. Moss mixed with wood, overshadowed by the fragrance of wildflowers.
Birds squawked in the trees over his head, small game rustled the leaves of the underbrush as they moved along, in search of food or water. He listened to all of it, as the woods spoke to him. His body tingled as he became one with the wild.
"Grandfather, your vision has come true. For some reason, I am to be part of this family for a while. The light-haired woman is named Susannah. And the woman who was large with child in my vision is she, as well. But the child is not mine. Now, it all makes sense."
He took a few deep breaths, releasing all tension from his body. He touched his hair, which was tied back with a strip of leather into a queue. The sweat was drying on his body as he sat in the sunlight. He ran through a mental list of the chores waiting for him back at the clearing and the barn. He needed to get moving. Yet this was where he was closest to his grandfather. As he moved through the woods, Raoul could feel the old man's presence. His luck at finding so much bounty so quickly was not luck at all, but rather was his grandfather leading the way, helping Raoul fulfill his destiny. He was in no hurry to leave the shelter of the forest and resume the heavy mantle of responsibility that came with walking into the barn.
He finally rose, took up the bag, now filled with rabbits, picked up his bow and arrow and glanced around one last time.
"Thank you, Grandfather. And thanks to the spirit gods for the bounty of the forest. I will only take what is needed for our survival. But there are six mouths to feed."
And soon there would be one more.
Raoul's thoughts were about Susannah as he left the woods. Perhaps she was wrong and her husband would return home when he got the news about a new babe. He could get home before the pass closed off with snow. Then, Raoul would leave, his destiny fulfilled and with the knowledge he had merely been holding a place for her husband and providing for their many children.
But leaving this family behind did not ju
st mean leaving Susannah. It meant leaving Hannah. He continuously was impressed by the young girl, who had put herself in harm's way to bring him down from the pasture, to help her family. She reminded him of Elise, his sister, when she had been younger. Keeping up with four brothers had been a challenge for her, yet she never turned away from any adventure. She must be close to adulthood now, and it had been a long time since he'd seen her.
Wondering about Elise sent a wave of homesickness through him. His heart ached as he thought of his family's homestead outside St. Louis. He'd ridden away from there years ago, when he was coming into adulthood and was an angry young man who had been continually tormented by the townspeople because of the color of his skin. But being with Hannah and her family made him recall the good times he'd had with his brothers and sister. Perhaps when his duty here was over, he would return home for a visit. He was certainly big and strong enough now to take on any who would taunt him.
His thoughts circled back around to Susannah before he cleared the woods, though. The night she had cried on his shoulder stayed with him. He did not allow himself to be reminded of it often, but he did now. He took the memory out and rolled it over and over in his mind. He was only a man, after all, and as she stood there, in his embrace, her breasts brushed up against him and her body melted into his, stirring him in ways he had not experienced since Pale Moon. He was grateful she had finished crying quickly, and backed away. He had taken a seat opposite her, his chest still tingling from their contact. And other body parts had been tingling, too.
It was a dangerous path he was taking, by staying here all winter. He might tell himself it was because of Hannah, but it was really Susannah that made him hesitate. If her husband did not return once he got the news about a new baby, Raoul would stay only until she had safely delivered the child. He would stockpile the smoke house with game, make sure there would be enough firewood to get them through the winter, and he would be gone with the wind, without a goodbye or a backward glance. For his own sake, he had to leave, as quickly and as quietly as he had arrived. To put some distance between himself and this family. William’s family. William’s wife.
