She turned her attention to charity work and began to spend time with those in need. She donated large sums of Frank's money to the local orphanage and spent long hours with the children, making certain the sick were cared for, that the children had clothes and shoes and food on the table.
She went for long walks, she shopped in the finest stores, she went bicycle riding in the park. She had tea with Mattie Smythe. But no matter how she filled her days, Frank was always there at night.
She was welcomed in the finest houses now, and Mary thought it odd that her being half Indian had ceased to be important now that Frank was rich. The ladies in town bent over backward to make her feel welcome. They invited her to their teas and bazaars, included her in every party and social affair of the season, sought her advice about fashion, gushed over Katherine. Mary was always polite and agreeable. She returned their calls and invited them to her home, but all the while she was remembering how they had snubbed her before. And she knew she was accepted now only because Frank was in a position to help their husbands in their various occupations.
She had been back in Chicago for about five weeks when she began to feel nausea in the morning. At first she shrugged it off, thinking she might be catching the flu, but then, in a blinding flash of insight, she knew she was pregnant. Her joy at knowing that the baby had to be Cloud Walker's soon turned to anguish. How could she tell Frank?
And then, out of despair came a ray of hope. Frank would not want her when he learned she was carrying another man's child. Surely now he would give her the divorce she so desperately desired.
Frank Smythe swore under his breath when Mary told him the news. So she was pregnant and that Cheyenne buck was the father. His first impulse was to put his hands around her lovely little throat and strangle her. Bitch, he thought, lifting her skirts for that savage. . . . Jealousy followed anger. She had never been particularly interested in the intimate side of marriage. Perhaps he had treated her too gently. Perhaps she liked it rough. His rage grew as he thought of Mary submitting to another man, and then he laughed grimly. She submitted to her husband because it was her duty, because it was expected. She had not submitted to that damned savage, he thought bitterly. No, she had gone to him willingly enough. By damn, he would kill her.
But then the cool hand of caution overcame his anger. A divorce would not suit his plans at all. He would just swallow his pride and pass the brat off as his. Everyone knew that Mary was part Indian. No one would suspect that the child was not his.
Frank rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Sometimes it seemed that his life was a mess. Lila was pestering him to divorce Mary and marry her, but the thought of divorce did not sit well with Frank. People of good breeding did not divorce each other. They simply put up a good front in public and went their separate ways in private. Lila was a beautiful woman and a veritable tiger in bed, virtually everything a man could want in a mistress, but he was not certain she could make the grade as the wife of a wealthy man. She was too crude, too earthy. Frank had high ambitions. He was well-liked in Chicago, respected in business, and it was in his mind to go into politics. That was where the power lay. But a man needed a good reputation for that. A lovely wife and children at his side. A clean bill of health, so to speak. Divorce always caused a certain amount of ugly gossip and speculation. Yes, the baby must appear to be his. After all, he thought with disgust, it could not look more Cheyenne than his own daughter.
Frank eyed Mary sternly. "No divorce," he said curtly. "Don't mention it again."
Mary stared at her husband in disbelief. Why was he being so stubborn? He didn't love her. He didn't love Katherine. Why wouldn't he let them go?
"Frank, please."
"I said don't mention it again. You are my wife, and you will remain my wife for as long as it pleases me. Perhaps in a few years when my reputation is solid enough to withstand the scandal, I might let you go, but not until then. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Frank, quite clear."
"Good." Frank smiled magnanimously. "It's almost time for dinner, my dear. We mustn't keep my family waiting."
With a nod, Mary left him and went to dress for dinner. Only in the privacy of her own bedroom did she let the tears flow.
She tried to run away the following week, and it was then she discovered that Frank had suspected she might try to go back to Bear Valley and had hired someone to keep an eye on her. She was standing in line to buy a ticket on the first train West when a tall man appeared at her side.
"Shall we go home, Mrs. Smythe?" the man said, taking her elbow.
"I don't want to go home just now," Mary said. She clutched Katherine to her breast, her nervousness transmitting itself to the baby, who began to cry.
"Mr. Smythe wants to see you at home," the man said. "I don't think it would be wise to cause a scene, do you?"
There was nothing to do but go with him. At home, Mary railed at Frank.
"How dare you set a man to spy on me!" she raged angrily. "How dare you have me followed! I'm not your slave, Frank Smythe, I'm your wife, and I won't have someone following me everywhere I go."
"My pet, you are my wife," Frank replied coldly. "That makes you my property. Everything you do reflects on me. I will not have you running away every time I turn my back. I would remind you once again that if you do not behave yourself, I will give you the divorce you want so badly, but I will not let you keep Katherine. I will drag your name through the courts and have you branded an unfaithful wife and an unfit mother."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Indeed I would.
"And what about that mistress you keep on the side?" Mary flared, her voice bitter. "Lila, I believe her name is."
Frank shrugged. "A man is allowed an indiscretion now and then. Besides, I have enough money to hush up any scandal you might try to create."
Dismayed and discouraged, Mary turned on her heel and went to the nursery, but even playing with Katherine failed to lift her spirits. Why should she have to stay with Frank until he decided he no longer wanted her? she wondered bleakly. Oh, it was so unfair!
That night she wrote a long letter to her mother, pouring out her unhappiness, telling her how Frank had threatened to take Katherine away from her if she tried to leave him again. She begged her mother for help, signed the letter with love, and gave it to Manly to be posted with the other mail.
The next evening, Frank returned the letter to Mary. It had been opened.
"I think you might want to rewrite that," Frank suggested. His voice was mild, but there was a hard glint in his eyes.
Mary nodded. There was no point in arguing.
The following week, Frank announced his intention to run for the United States Senate, and Mary felt the chains growing tighter. Frank would never divorce her now. It wouldn't look good to the voters.
Another month went by, and Mary spent most of the time locked in her room or in the nursery playing with Katherine. She used her pregnancy to decline the invitations to parties and socials that came her way. It was a valid excuse and no one questioned it. Many ladies did not appear in public from the time they suspected they were in the family way until after the baby was born. Naturally, Frank did not let his wife's affliction keep him at home. He attended every social function, exuding charm and wit, lamenting the fact that his dear wife was indisposed.
Mary wrote another letter to her parents, advising them she was expecting another baby the first of January. She wrote about how big the house was, about how well Katherine was walking now, and how she had cut two teeth. She made no mention of Frank, or the fact that they now had separate bedrooms, other than to say he had decided to run for the Senate.
When she finished the letter, she handed it to Manly, unsealed.
It did not come back.
28
I frowned as I read Mary's letter for the second time. ''There's something wrong," I remarked to Shadow. "Something she's not telling us."
"She is unhappy in Chicago," Shadow replied w
ith a shrug. "She does not want to be there."
"It's more than that," I insisted. "Mary's letters have always been cheerful and spontaneous. This one sounds like . . . oh, I don't know, like she was afraid to say what she was really feeling. I think we should go to Chicago."
"Chicago!" Shadow exclaimed.
I grinned triumphantly. I had his attention now. "Yes, Chicago. I know how you hate cities, but I think Mary needs us."
Shadow frowned thoughtfully. "I think it would be a waste of time. She is Frank's wife. She must do as he says."
I looked at Shadow, one eyebrow raised in consternation. "Aren't you the same man who was going to break his son out of fail if he didn't get a fair trial?"
Shadow's lips twitched slightly.
"The same man who defied the soldiers when they said all Indians must go to the reservation?" I went on. "The same man who made sure Hawk could participate in the Sun Dance even though it had been outlawed by the whites?"
Shadow was chuckling now.
I pressed my advantage. "The Shadow I used to know wouldn't let his daughter remain in an unhappy situation just because the law said it was the thing to do."
"Pack your bags, woman," Shadow said with mock ferocity. "We will leave first thing in the morning."
As it turned out, we made our plans for nothing.
Cloud Walker read Mary's letter twice, his face impassive. "I am going after her," he said, handing me the letter.
"There will be less trouble if Hannah and I go," Shadow remarked.
"Maybe," Cloud Walker said. "But she is my woman. I will go."
"Have you ever been in a big city before?" I asked.
Cloud Walker shook his head. "No. What difference does it make?"
"Maybe none," I said, "but it would be easier if we went along, to help with hotels and the like."
Cloud Walker shook his head stubbornly. "She is expecting a baby in January."
Shadow frowned. "What is your point?"
"It cannot be Frank Smythe's child."
I did some quick counting on my fingers. Cloud Walker was right. The baby could not be Frank's. I glanced at Shadow. "That's what she neglected to mention."
Shadow nodded. "Are you sure you want to go alone?" he asked Cloud Walker.
"Yes. I will leave in the morning."
I sat on the sofa, my heart heavy, after Cloud Walker left the house. Poor Mary, having to face Frank every day. I was sure he was making her life a hell on earth.
"There is nothing we can do now but wait," Shadow said. "Worrying will not help."
"I suppose you're not worried at all?"
Shadow grinned at me. "Perhaps a little."
"Do you think Cloud Walker will be all right?"
Shadow chuckled softly. "I think he will be fine. I am not so sure about Frank Smythe."
Cloud Walker boarded the train to Steel's Crossing early the following morning. It was his first train ride, and he had a moment of panic as the engine roared to life. It was a new experience, being carried along on a vehicle over which he had no control. Gradually he relaxed and began to enjoy the ride. The train was much faster than a horse. It would carry him quickly to Chicago, and Mary.
At Steel's Crossing he was disappointed to learn that the train for Chicago wouldn't leave until the following afternoon. At loose ends, he wandered through the town. It was much larger and more modern than Bear Valley. There was a daily newspaper, several banks, three restaurants, even a theater starring Vivian Dupre, "The Woman with the Velvet Voice." There were telephones in several establishments, and Cloud Walker wondered if Mary had a telephone.
He received a good many curious stares as he roamed from one end of the town to the other. Unlike the people of Bear Valley, the citizens of Steel's Crossing were unaccustomed to the sight of Indians prowling about. A few men made rude comments about Indians who thought they were as good as whites, but Cloud Walker let it pass. As much as he would have liked to show these smug whites what he thought of them, he knew that if he stepped out of line he would likely be arrested and thrown in jail, and trouble with the law was something he could not afford, not now when Mary needed him. He felt a sudden excitement as he thought of seeing Mary again. Mary, who was pregnant with his child.
That night he went to the finest restaurant in Steel's Crossing. At first he thought the owner would refuse to seat him, but the man showed Cloud Walker to a table in the far corner of the room. Cloud Walker ordered steak and potatoes. Then, carefully watching the people around him, he copied their behavior.
After dinner he went to hear Vivian Dupre. She did indeed have a voice like velvet, soft and smooth, but Cloud Walker hardly noticed. She was a striking woman, with long black hair and wide, expressive brown eyes. But it was her outfit that held Cloud Walker mesmerized. She was wearing just enough clothing to remain decent, if you could call a woman who exposed her arms, legs, and a good deal of cleavage decent.
Later he walked down the street, peering in store windows, marveling at the many luxuries and gadgets displayed. Growing weary, he walked to the outskirts of town and settled down on a patch of grass to spend the night. Lying there gazing up at the stars, he thought of Mary.
He had missed her as a man might miss an arm or a leg. He had been able to function. His life had not ended. But a vital part of himself had been missing ever since she left Bear Valley.
His eyes narrowed as he thought of Frank. If he had harmed Mary or Katherine, he would pay with his life.
Closing his eyes, Cloud Walker thought of Mary, only Mary, and in his dreams they lived happily ever after.
Just after noon Cloud Walker boarded the train that would take him to Chicago. Face impassive, he sat staring out the window watching the countryside fly by. The train went across land that had once known only the Indian and the buffalo, and he felt an old anger stir to life. The Army had driven the Sioux and the Cheyenne and the Arapahoe from the land so that settlers and pioneers could travel unmolested across the plains on their way to California and Arizona and Oregon. Miners had swarmed over the Black Hills in search of gold, polluting the streams and scaring away the game. The great herds of buffalo had been hunted to near extinction. Often hundreds of the big shaggy beasts had been slain for their hides alone. Now the land stretched away for endless miles, and as the train swept by, it seemed to Cloud Walker that he could hear the land weeping softly, mourning for the loss of the red man and the curly-haired buffalo.
A great sadness filled Cloud Walker's heart. No longer did the Cheyenne raise their lodges on the banks of the Powder and the Rosebud, no longer did the Sioux ride wild and free in the shadow of the sacred Black Hills. No longer did the squaws pick the wild roses that grew along the banks of the Rosebud River. Never again would the children play in the valley of the Little Big Horn. There was only stillness now, a great silence broken only by the churning wheels of the iron horse as it raced along the narrow twin ribbons of steel.
Cloud Walker arrived in Chicago on a late afternoon in July. He had no luggage, only a change of clothes wrapped in a blanket. He wore a pair of black trousers and a buckskin shirt, and the color of his skin and his long black hair instantly set him apart from the other men strolling along the sidewalk. Many people turned to gawk at him, their eyes registering surprise at seeing an Indian in their midst.
His first stop was at a livery barn where he rented a leggy bay gelding. Mounted, he felt more at home, and he rode down Chicago's main street taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the big city. He saw people with black skin and people with yellow skin, and he wondered why an Indian should cause such consternation when Negroes and Chinamen did not.
Eventually he found the Smythe mansion and he rode past at a slow walk, his eyes hardly able to take in such luxury. He tried to imagine Mary living in such a monstrous dwelling, but instead he saw her lying in his arms inside a snug lodge. The thought made his blood warm, and he rode to the end of the street and tethered his horse to a tree in a broad grassy expanse
. On foot, he returned to Mary's house and took a position across the street, staying out of sight behind a large hedge. He stayed there for two hours, not moving. He saw Frank Smythe arrive home in a large black carriage; saw him leave again an hour later.
Cloud Walker lingered in the shadows until all the lights went out inside the house, and then he padded noiselessly across the road and made his way to the back of the house. It was no trouble at all to climb the fancy trellis to the second-floor veranda, and he sidled along, peering in windows, until he found Mary's room. She was in bed, her eyes closed, her dark brown hair framing her face like a silken cloud. Noiselessly he opened the bedroom window and crept inside.
On quiet feet he moved to her bedside and laid his hand over her mouth. Her eyelids flew open and fear shone in her eyes for an instant. Then she recognized him, and joy danced in her eyes and curved her mouth into a smile of welcome.
"Cloud Walker!" she exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "What are you doing here?"
"I have come to take you home."
"I missed you," Mary murmured. She reached out to stroke his cheek, to assure herself that he was really there and not just a dream. "I missed you so much."
"I know," Cloud Walker replied. "With me it was the same." He gazed at her intently. "Did he . . . did he hurt you?"
Mary hesitated before replying. "No."
"Do not lie to me."
"I don't want to talk about Frank," Mary said. "He didn't hurt me. Not in the way you mean."
"I would like to kill him," Cloud Walker rasped. "With my bare hands!"
"Don't talk that way, please," Mary begged. "It frightens me."
"Mary." His dark eyes grew warm and tender as he gazed at her lovely face. He wanted her so much, yet he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid his desire would rage out of control and he would do something to make her hate him or, worse, fear him.
Mary frowned up at him, her eyes searching his as she felt him tremble. "What is it?"
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