“Ah, Kirk, you have a lot of living to do yet. You can’t spend the rest of your life in those mountains.”
“Sure I can. I’ll build myself a little cabin and go get myself an Indian woman when I’m in need of one, live off bear meat and deer, cut wood for fires. What’s wrong with that?”
Red shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. I just happen to believe a man’s got to do more than that with his life, that’s all. And I think civilization is going to move in and take over your prairies and mountains, my friend. Men like us, we have to be ready for that. You’ve got to flow with the tide, Kirk. My father used to always tell me that. I thought he was just preaching then, but I’ve come to realize he was right.”
Kirk met his gaze. “I don’t call marching off to war flowing with the tide.”
Red laughed. “Maybe not. But it will be an adventure, and we love adventure.”
“Fighting Indians and bears is plenty of adventure for me.”
“I don’t see anything good ahead for the Indians, either. More and more whites are coming out here. You know what that will mean for our red friends. It won’t be like the days of the rendezvous, when all we wanted to do was trade with them and share in games with them, buy their women for a night. It’s a new breed of whites coming out here, Kirk, and they’ve got no feelings for the Indians, no understanding of them, no desire to be friends and share the land with them. They’ll want the land for themselves, and to hell with the Indians.”
Kirk shook his head. “I’d fight on the Indian’s side.”
“Maybe. Depends on what is at stake at the time.”
“What do you mean?”
Red drew on his cigar. “Well, what if you settled, had a family—married a white woman; and then Indians attacked you. A white man settles, he starts thinking the land belongs to him. He changes.”
“Not me. I’ll never change, and I’ll never settle.”
Red grinned slyly, and Kirk scowled. “You trying to tell me something, Red McKinley? What did you mean about that remark earlier—that I’d need a drink? Seems to me like you’ve been skirting around something ever since we came in here.”
Red took the cigar from his mouth. “Well, I offered to have you come with me to Mexico. You’d better give it some thought, my friend, or you might find yourself more settled than you’d like. You see Fast Runner when you came in?”
“I saw him. He jumped up and ran off before I could say a word to him.”
Red nodded. “He and the rest of his clan have been camped here for a week, hoping you’d show up like you usually do this time of year. You dumped Gray Bird Woman off here last year before you went to Kansas City, remember?”
Kirk sighed. “I didn’t ‘dump’ her. She wanted to come back. She missed her people. I would have gladly kept her. What difference does it make?”
“I think I’d better let Fast Runner and Gray Bird Woman tell you. She’s married to a Cheyenne warrior now—Standing Bear.”
Kirk nodded. “He’s an honored man among the Cheyenne. She picked herself a good husband, and Standing Bear chose a good woman.”
“I expect so. But I don’t think he figured on inheriting a couple of half-breed pups along with her.”
Kirk paled. “What?”
Red poured him another shot of whiskey. “You’d better take another slug of this stuff,” he told the man. “You’ll need it.”
Kirk shoved the glass away. “Gray Bird Woman had my baby?”
Red sighed. “Not just one…two. Twins. I’ve been here about a week, but I haven’t seen either one. All I know is what Fast Runner told me when he was asking if I knew where you were. Standing Bear wants to keep the boy. You know how the Cheyenne are about children, especially sons. But he thinks a half-breed daughter is worthless. Nobody else in the tribe wants her. They want to give her to you. Fast Runner says she’s about four months old already. They’ve been waiting here, hoping you’d show up.”
Kirk stared at the man in astonishment. He reached for the glass he had shoved away. “You’re right,” he told Red. “I do need this.” He slugged down the hot whiskey, his mind whirling with indecision. A child of his own flesh and blood! It was a strange feeling. He had never given much thought to having children of his own, never thought he would care one way or another. Yet suddenly, the knowledge that such children existed gave him a strange, warm, almost proud feeling. He caught Red’s look. “What the hell would I do with even one baby, let alone two?”
“One is all you’d have to be concerned about. Standing Bear wants the son. I wouldn’t go demanding to have the boy. You’ll get yourself in deeper than you can handle.”
“Hell, I don’t even know if I want the girl, let alone both of them!”
“You don’t have a whole lot of choice, my friend. None of these white settlers will take on an Indian baby, and if he doesn’t get rid of it soon, Standing Bear is going to abandon it. The only reason he hasn’t so far is because of Gray Bird Woman. Fast Runner says she puts up such a fuss that Standing Bear gives in to her. But one of these days he’s going to put his foot down. You want a child of your blood to die alone and helpless on the plains, tore apart by wolves?”
Kirk rose suddenly. “Let’s get out of here.” He headed outside without another word. Red quickly followed, hurrying to catch up as Kirk moved to his horses.
“You going to run out on your kid?” Red asked.
Kirk whirled, his eyes angry. “Hell no! I’m just—” He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go off to Mexico with you.”
“Kirk, my friend, I see something in those eyes. A bit of pride, maybe, that you’re a father? I know you, David Kirkland, better than most, I think. You’re a man with a conscience, a firm believer in what’s wrong and what’s right, and a man possessive of what belongs to him.”
Kirk nervously checked his pelts. “Why don’t you just shut up and let me think,” he told Red. “This is quite a shock.” He faced the man. “And how in hell do I know those kids are really mine?”
Red shrugged. “You’re the one who lived with her last winter. Fast Runner says the little girl has light hair and blue eyes. You figure it out.”
Kirk frowned. “Blue eyes?” Red nodded, and Kirk cursed himself for coming here at all, cursed his feelings of responsibility for those close to him. It almost got him killed the day he fought off Indians to save Red’s life. Now he knew he had children of his own blood living among the Cheyenne—a little girl that no one wanted. He knew that feeling well. Bad memories of his life at the orphanage back East would stay with him forever. He looked at Red with a helpless, almost pleading look. “What the hell should I do, Red?”
The man just grinned and shook his head. “I know what I’d do. I’d run as fast as my horse could go. But I’m not you, and—” He hesitated, looking past Kirk toward the fort’s gate. “I think the time has come to decide, my friend.”
Kirk turned to look. Just outside the gate he saw Gray Bird Woman watching him. Fast Runner and Standing Bear stood on either side of her, and Gray Bird Woman held a cradleboard in her arms. Kirk’s heartbeat quickened. “Damn,” he muttered. He glanced at Red, who shook his head.
“I can’t help you, friend. Do what you think is best.”
Kirk scowled at him, then turned and walked across the courtyard to the gate. As soon as he came closer, he realized this was as difficult for Gray Bird Woman as it was for him. It was obvious she had been crying but was trying to be brave.
The noise of activity around the fort seemed to die away into a distant echo for Kirk. What a strange day this had turned out to be. He wished he had not come here at all. To have found out after the little girl was dead, or never to have known at all, would have left him free of guilt. He knew instinctively that although he had never thought of having children of his own, now that they existed, he could not turn away from them.
He stood before the Indians awkwardly, unsure what to do or say until Standing Bear barked a command
to Gray Bird Woman in his own tongue, telling her to hand the child in her arms over to Kirk. She obeyed, keeping her head down to hide her tears. Kirk just stared at the infant for a moment before finally taking the cradleboard.
“It is a girl child,” Standing Bear told him in the Cheyenne tongue. “We have waited here for you. You are the father. You have first right to her. I do not want this girl child with white blood.”
Kirk didn’t look down at the baby. He kept his eyes on Standing Bear. “What about the boy?” he asked, speaking in Cheyenne. “I have first rights to him, too.”
“No!” Standing Bear said. “We keep the boy!”
“He’s my son!”
Gray Bird Woman raised her eyes then, and Kirk was stunned by the sorrow in them. “Please,” she begged. “Do not take both my babies from me, Kirk. To say good-bye to just one is more than my heart can bear. Do not try to take Yellow Eagle.”
His eyes met hers, remembering nights of passion. Kirk had respected her, taken pleasure in her, but he had not loved her. He was a man who knew little of what love was supposed to be, but now that he held his baby daughter in his arms, he was beginning to understand it better.
“That’s his name?” he asked. “Yellow Eagle?”
Gray Bird Woman nodded. “He is a fine, healthy boy.”
“I want to see him.”
“No!” It was Standing Bear who answered. “If you see him, you will try to steal him away. It is easier this way. It is done!” He folded his arms in a proud, determined stance, and Kirk knew the Indians well enough to realize that to argue further would only bring trouble.
Gray Bird Woman watched Kirk a moment longer. “I served you well,” she told him. “We were good friends.”
Kirk nodded. “That we were.”
“Promise me you will keep our daughter. Promise me you will not abandon her or give her to someone who would not love her as much.”
Kirk finally looked down at the bundle in his arms. The moment he set eyes on the little girl, he was smitten. She hardly looked Indian at all, except for her tawny skin. She gazed up at him out of a lovely, delicate-featured face, her eyes the same bright blue as his own, her hair light.
“My God, she’s beautiful,” Kirk muttered. He did not need time to think about whether or not he would keep his little daughter. He looked back at Gray Bird Woman. “I promise,” he told her.
She dropped her eyes. “It is good. My heart will not hurt quite so much,” she told him. “Her name…is Morning Star.” She looked up at him again. “Good-bye, Kirk.” She turned and quickly walked away. Standing Bear and Fast Runner remained for a moment.
“Do not try to steal your son,” Standing Bear warned. “You will die, and I will kill the girl baby! Gray Bird Woman belongs to me now. I let her keep the son so that her heart does not die, and because the boy is stronger and someday will be a warrior. Soon Gray Bird Woman will have more children, and it will ease the pain of giving up the daughter. She belongs to you now, David Kirkland. See that you keep your promise to Gray Bird Woman.”
The man whirled and left. “We leave soon,” Fast Runner told Kirk. “Do not try to see the boy. It is best this way.” He followed after Standing Bear, and Kirk stared after them until Morning Star made a gurgling sound. He looked down at her, overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions.
“What the hell do I do now?” he asked Red, who stepped up for a closer look. The sight of big, rugged David Kirkland standing there with a cradleboard in his arms made it difficult for Red not to laugh and he finally chuckled as he studied the beautiful little face.
“Well, friend, I suggest you ask some of the womenfolk here how to take care of her. Find yourself a bottle and nipple, if they’re to be had around here, and buy yourself a milk cow or goat.” He almost laughed at the helpless look on Kirk’s face. “What you really need is a woman. You’d better think twice about saying you’ll never settle. That pretty little thing you’re holding there kind of changes things.” He shook his head. “You could always leave her off someplace and come to Mexico with me.”
Kirk smiled into the trusting blue eyes. He found it incredible that in an instant all the feelings of pride and possessiveness that came with fatherhood had flooded into him. He looked out at the Indian camp, longing to see his son but knowing it would not be allowed. This little girl he held needed him now, and he could not risk losing his life. Fast Runner was right. It was best if he never set eyes on the boy.
He studied the distant mountains. He had planned on heading back into them soon. Now, all that had changed. But he hardly knew any women. Then he thought for a moment about the young girl called Beatrice back in Kansas City, before little Morning Star started to fuss. He turned to Red. “I can’t leave her with just anybody. I promised Gray Bird Woman. But it’s not just that. Hell, Red, she’s mine!” He looked back down at the baby. “You’re right. I do need a woman.”
Red grinned. “You got one in mind?”
Kirk nodded slowly. “I might, if she’ll agree to take care of this baby like it was her own.”
“You’re talking about settling, Kirk. You going to be able to do that?”
Kirk looked back out at the mountains. “I guess I have to try, don’t I?” He turned to walk back inside the fort, and an eagle circled overhead, casting its shadow over them. Kirk looked up, feeling an odd ache in his heart.
Morning Star fussed more, and he touched her mouth with a knuckle. She began sucking on it. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered.
Chapter Two
Sixteen-year-old Beatrice Ritter looked up from her sweeping when she heard her cousin Cynthia’s voice. Cynthia and her mother had come dashing into her father’s store so that Cynthia could show off her new pink morning dress.
Bea returned to her sweeping, fighting the hurt and jealousy. Cynthia was only one year older than she, and the girl was so spoiled and pampered that Bea could hardly bear to be around her; but she had no choice. Bea’s parents were dead, and she was too young to be out on her own. Three years ago her uncle Jake had agreed to give Bea a home, but there had been no love included in the offer.
Jake Ritter was wealthy, by most standards. He owned two supply stores in Kansas City, and one of the nicest houses in town, although Bea shared little in her uncle’s riches. For her the Ritter home was nothing more than a shelter where she got fed—slave’s quarters, she considered it. Her room was on the third floor, the hottest part of the house in summer, the coldest in winter. She spent most of her time here at the store, working for Uncle Jake for no pay. She was expected to help him to “earn her keep,” while Cynthia was never expected to lift a finger, not even at home; Jake’s nineteen-year-old son, Charley, was off at college in the East.
Bea glanced up again as Cynthia whirled around for her father. Her mother, Bea’s Aunt Marlene, carried on about how beautiful the dress was, and how pretty Cynthia looked in it.
“Oh, Jake, we must have a party for her,” the woman told her husband. “It’s time Cynthia was socializing more, and meeting eligible young men.” The woman watched Cynthia proudly, explaining to Jake that the dress was the latest fashion. “Don’t the bell sleeves look lovely,” she was saying, “especially with the lace-edged engageantes?”
“I don’t understand your fancy description, but it sure looks pretty,” Jake answered, admiring his daughter. Cynthia’s pretty blond hair peeked out from under her flower- and ribbon-trimmed bonnet in perfect curls. She turned her pale blues eyes to glance at her cousin Bea, who stood at the back of the store, still holding the broom. She smiled haughtily and looked down her nose at Bea’s plain brown cotton dress.
Bea turned away to finish her sweeping, hiding tears and longing to be with her parents again. But that could never be. Her father, Jake’s brother, had been killed in a riding accident five years ago. Uncle Jake had grudgingly taken in Bea and her mother; but two years ago her mother had become gravely ill and had died.
Suddenly Bea was an orphan, and her uncle made no bone
s about the “strain” on his resources, telling her she would have to “help out,” to earn her keep by working at the store, while Cynthia spent her days doing embroidery and taking piano lessons.
Bea swept vigorously in her anger. Helping out was hardly the term for how hard Uncle Jake made her work. He kept her at the store for up to twelve hours a day, seven days a week, sometimes doing work more suited to a man or a slave than a sixteen-year-old girl. Even so, she knew she could bear it if she felt even a hint of love from her aunt and uncle. But she knew she was considered a burden. Uncle Jake never failed to remind her how worthless her father had been, how irresponsible he’d been to leave behind a wife and child and absolutely nothing of any value to help care for them.
Bea’s most treasured dream was to get out from under her uncle’s care and be on her own. Most of all, she wanted her own home, her own clothes, something of value that belonged only to her. She didn’t mind working hard, but she wanted it to be for her own benefit, not someone else’s.
She cringed when she heard Cynthia’s footsteps approaching. She knew what was coming, and she dreaded it.
“Bea, do you like my new dress?” Cynthia asked in the sweetly artificial voice she liked to use to sound more feminine.
Bea glanced at her, then continued her sweeping. “It’s pretty,” she said casually. Too pretty for you, she wanted to add. Cynthia tried her best to be beautiful, but she could not hide her narrow eyes and sharp nose, nor could she do anything about her small mouth.
Bea realized she was no beauty herself, but she was certainly prettier than Cynthia and could be even prettier if allowed the same nice clothes and fancy hairdo. Her own hair and eyes were dark. She had high cheekbones and full lips, and a nicely shaped nose. But she thought she was too tall, her skin a little too dark ever to have the “delicate” look most men seemed to prefer.
“It’s more than just pretty,” Cynthia retorted, pouting slightly as she twirled around. “Mother is having some more dresses made for me. You can have some of my old ones if you want.” She looked Bea over. “Of course, someone will probably have to lengthen them, since you’re so much taller than I am. When will you be finished working? You can come to my room and try them on.”
In the Shadow of the Mountains Page 2
