Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance)

by Simons, Renee

  “I’m honored to meet the new teacher. I hear many good things about you.”

  Abby took her hand and smiled. “Thank you. I’ve seen some of your pottery. It’s wonderful.”

  The woman nodded and ushered them farther inside. They sat on a rug covering the hard-packed earthen floor; light from an enormous window shone in on them, warming their shoulders and setting Star Blanket’s hair aglow.

  Martha spoke. “This child has become like a daughter to me. I see that she will be hurt, and that makes me sad. Tell her your story, and maybe she can learn from you.”

  The woman nodded, and Martha left them alone.

  “If she wishes me to tell you about my life it must be that you have loved a man you cannot have. Yes?” Abby nodded. “Now I understand the sadness in your eyes. It is much like mine.

  “I lived in a small pueblo called Santa Ynez. My family lived there for generations, since before the Spanish came and gave it that name. We were pottery makers, and when I was young I watched my elders and ran and fetched and carried for them, and eventually my grandmother sat me down next to her and handed me a ball of clay and taught me to do what she did. Of course, I could not copy her shapes and designs but worked according to my own vision. As I grew I tried hard to make my pieces pleasing to the eye and to have them be true symbols of the world around us.

  “We discouraged strangers from coming to our village because we were afraid of outside influences. This was easy to do, because the pueblo was built on a high mesa, and most people were put off by the long climb. Then, in the thirties, the depression sent travelers drifting across the desert. The depression didn’t touch us otherwise. We had been poor all along and had nothing to lose. We simply lived as we always had, but the condition of these drifters disturbed us. So the elders built a small place at the foot of the mesa and planted corn so the travelers would have shelter and food. And we continued in the protection of our isolation from the world below.

  “One day a man made the climb. His name was Friedrich Rimmler, and he was leading a donkey laden with bundles and oddly shaped packages and asked permission to stay. He was a painter, and the bundles were his canvases and paints. When he showed his work to the leaders they realized he could keep our ways alive with his pictures. There were places he could not go and sacred things he could not paint, but otherwise he was free to come and go as he pleased.

  “He stayed for a long time, and we became close. He wanted us to marry, but I could not violate our customs, so after a while he became discouraged and went away. But it was very sad to be parted. We both cried, and tears stained the letters that went back and forth between us.

  “My family urged me to take a husband, but if I could not have him, I wanted no one. As they became more insistent, I became more stubborn, until I realized that I would have no peace as long as I stayed in Santa Ynez. So I packed a pony with my belongings and took a horse to ride, and I came here. Some Navajo we traded with had told me about this place. I thought the Twin Buttes people might take me in, and if they did, they would not care that I was a woman alone.

  “They let me stay, and even helped me build this house. It was only after I had settled in and made this my home that I found out Friedrich was here, too. He had made Twin Buttes his base, and spent his winters in a small cabin, leaving the reservation after the spring thaw and returning after the first snowfall. He visited other Indians as he had visited us, recording their lives for future generations. People said that his pictures are in a museum back east, but I don’t know if that’s true.”

  Spellbound by the narrative, Abby’s voice was hushed when she asked, “Did you and he ever marry?”

  “No. I could never bring myself to cut myself off from my people. We remained close friends all our lives, and loved each other from a distance.” Abby’s heart thudded in her chest at the familiar image. “Except for one time.” “One time?”

  The woman shifted position, but stayed in place. “Just once I lay with him, hoping a child would result, but though I prayed and prayed, it didn’t happen. And that is my only regret. That I never had a child, that I never had his child. Only his pictures--that’s all I have left--and the memories.”

  “I think the painting in my house may be one of his.”

  “The one with Cat as a young boy?” Abby nodded. “It is one of my favorites, but I gave it to Martha to keep. It seemed fitting to do that.” She looked at Abby, examining her, assessing this young stranger before her. Abby waited quietly until the woman spoke again.

  “He is a man worthy of any sacrifice you choose to make, but only you can decide his importance to you. If you must have him in your life, then you will fight for him. If your pride and principles are more important, you will choose the path I walked. I think you are very proud and must love on your own terms, as I did. But you will end up alone--as I did.”

  “And you won’t tell me which path is the right one?”

  “I cannot, and you are smart enough to know that.”

  Abby sighed. “I do know.”

  “You must trust your instincts. Only then can you bear what the future brings.”

  “I think you’re telling me something after all.”

  “I see something in your eyes that reminds me of how I was all those years ago, so I think I know what your choice will be.”

  “Yes, I think we both know. I hope I do as well as you did, that I won’t be defeated by the loneliness, by the emptiness.”

  “You will do what you must, and you will always know that the choice was yours.”

  “But it wasn’t. He was the one who set me aside.”

  “Why? Because you are not his kind?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman nodded. “That is hard to bear. I wish my Friedrich was here to tell you how it was for him. It is really his help you need.”

  “Perhaps, but talking to you was good for me. I’d like to come again. May I?”

  “Of course. You are always welcome here.”

  Abby thanked Star Blanket and left, sad, but content with what she had learned.

  Abby had many occasions to recall Star Blanket’s words during the two months that followed their meeting. Although her days at school had lost some of their zest, at least they were busy. Her nights were hell. The times when she was able to put Cat out of her mind long enough to sleep were marred by dreams of him, and by the tortured reliving of their times together. And the nights when no sleep came were spent cursing him for not loving her, and cursing herself for failing to win his love. But she had Star Blanket’s example to keep her going, and a somewhat tenuous conviction born of her own experience that she would heal.

  The course of her recovery received its first serious challenge on the last Sunday of the month. Richie Lightfoot had chosen that weekend to go up on the Buttes to seek a vision, to, as he put it, “check out this ‘red roots’ business.” He’d gone up on Friday, after taking part in a ritual sweat bath, and she knew he would not be back until late on Monday. She was extremely concerned, therefore, when a frantic knock sounded on her door very late on Sunday night.

  She opened the door to find Richie’s friend, Seth Davis, standing there, his clothes torn, his face and hands covered with dirt and blood and bruises.

  “My God, Seth, what happened?”

  “It’s Richie,” he gasped. “Up in the hills... some guys from town jumped him.. .you gotta do something quick. He’s alone up there!”

  “We’ll go,” she said soothingly. “But we’ll get help first.” They dashed out and ran to Martha’s house, Abby praying all the way that Cat would be there, or that at least Martha would know his whereabouts.

  Martha answered Abby’s deceptively calm knock with a surprised look.

  “There’s trouble, Martha. Where’s Cat?”

  When he heard his name he came to the door, asking, “What’s wrong?”

  Because she’d acted so quickly Abby hadn’t had time to prepare herself, to steel herself for this first en
counter. But she’d had more warning than Cat, whose usually impassive features broke out into a broad smile at the first sight of her, but only for a second, and only until he noticed the battered teenager standing beside her.

  While she explained briefly what had happened one part of her mind registered that he’d lost weight, that his hair had grown even longer and was held in place by a beaded wind- band circling his forehead, and, with a silent groan, that two months hadn’t changed a single thing about her feelings for him.

  When she finished her explanation Cat grabbed his medical bag, saying, “C’mon, we’ll take the truck.”

  They jammed into the cab of the truck, bracing themselves as it bounced over a bumpy side road on its way out to the highway. Abby looked at Seth, seeing his face, battered and bruised, misery and worry showing in every line.

  “Seth, what were you doing out there? And how did you know where Richie would be?”

  Seth told them that he had been up to the Buttes before and had been concerned for Richie’s safety in such an exposed area. Unknown to anyone, he’d stationed himself up there as a hidden protector in case of trouble. When that trouble showed up in the form of a group of drunken campers that the two boys were unable to fight off, Seth had waited for a moment when their attention was focused solely on Richie and escaped to get help.

  “You had a tough choice to make, Seth,” remarked Cat, “but you did the right thing.”

  Minutes later he cut the lights and engine, coasting into position at the foot of the formation that loomed ominously above them in the darkness. Seth was the first one out, scrambling up the western slope as Abby and Cat grabbed the medical supplies and, from a rack behind the front seat, a shotgun and a Winchester rifle, then followed behind him. They reached the top out of breath, but quiet, their eyes searching for movement and their ears alert for sounds. Suddenly Abby pointed, and both men turned to follow her gesture.

  A campfire burned on the flat top of the butte, and in the glow of the flames they saw the form of a man spread-eagled between two trees. His head drooped on his chest, and his legs were buckled beneath him. Five figures sat around the fire, with a sixth seated a few feet away. There was a good deal of laughter and gesturing at the unconscious man.

  “Damn!” Abby heard Cat mutter.

  “I’ll kill them,” growled Seth. “When I get my hands on them, I’ll beat the life out of them!”

  “Hold it, Seth,” Cat whispered fiercely. “I want to bring them all in. If you charge in there, some of them will get away. So just chill out!”

  Remembering what she’d said about life on the farm, he handed Abby the rifle, then checked and loaded the shotgun while whispering, “I’m going to cut around to the other side. You stay under cover. When I give you the signal, lay a shot down near the campfire, but don’t hit anyone. I want them to know there’s more than one gun on them.” As an afterthought he said, “You did say you know how to use one of these things?”

  “Yes, yes. Now get going.” Impatiently Abby gave him the smallest shove, and he turned away to run the thirty feet across the clearing and skirt around the circle of men to the opposite side of the campsite. As Abby watched, she saw a bottle passing from one person to another. Seth saw it, too.

  “Damn them, the drunken bastards.”

  “C’mon, Seth. We’ve got to stay calm.” Motioning to the boy, she moved quietly, zigzagging from one huge rock to another, while Seth followed a step behind, carrying the medical supplies and muttering under his breath. Finally she halted almost directly behind the seated men and carefully rested the rifle on the top of the boulder behind which she and Seth hid. She could see Richie plainly now, and just as she was wondering whether or not he was conscious, one of the men made an obscene remark and Richie’s head lifted. Abby bit her lip to stifle an outcry at the sight of his battered face.

  Her fingernails bit into Seth’s arm to restrain him from any rash movement, but she could feel him beside her, aching to attack. She saw Richie’s hands clench into fists, and heard him whisper hoarsely, “I’ll get you, you lousy bastards.”

  The man who had spoken rose from his place with a low growl. As he did so, a voice spoke in sharp command, “Hold it right there. Don’t move a muscle.”

  The man turned to trace the voice, and it spoke again, more insistently. “I said ‘freeze'.”

  The man stopped in mid-motion, half in and half out of a crouch, with his head turned at a weird angle. He remained still as the disembodied voice spoke again.

  “I’ve got you creeps covered with a shotgun, and there’s a rifle at your backs. So don’t any of you move. Ab, give them a taste so they know I’m not bluffing.”

  Abby aimed between two of the seated forms and squeezed the trigger. The men jumped as the bullet bit into the dirt between them, but no one moved from his place. Cat spoke again. “Richie, are you with us?”

  With great difficulty the young man croaked, “Yeah, I hear you. Just get me untied and let me at ’em.”

  “Hold on there. You’ll get your chance later. Abby, keep that rifle on them. Seth, step wide of the circle and get over by Richie with my medical bag. Find something sharp in there and cut him down.”

  Seth did as instructed, propping his friend up until both hands were free, then carefully setting him down with his back against one of the trees.

  “Okay, now dig out the roll of tape and a pair of scissors. Step wide again and round back of these creeps and tape their hands behind them.”

  As Cat spoke he edged slowly forward; in the light of the fire his angular features were thrown into sharp relief, and the effect was fearsome. His dark eyes were opaque and glittering, his mouth grim. As the flames threw shadows haphazardly across his tall, powerful frame he seemed immense, and each lithe and careful movement was menacing. When he spoke, the picture was complete; his voice was pitched low and even in a hard, controlled way that sent a chill through Abby and, she hoped, through Richie’s attackers as well.

  Seth worked quickly. Abby was alert to every movement, but the once boisterous tormentors were now silent and almost motionless. In short order Seth stood up and signaled that the job was finished. Cat directed the young man to the medical kit once more and instructed him to find a roll of bandages with which he was to make a series of large slipknots about two feet apart. Seth then lowered one noose like loop over the head of each of the six men, but held on to the loose end. Pointing the shotgun at the still-seated men, Cat moved over to where Richie sat and lifted the younger man to his feet. Richie groaned, but managed to stand with Cat’s arm supporting him. Motioning with the gun, Cat spoke.

  “I want you guys to get up...very slowly. We’re all going down together. There’s just enough slack in that rope so you won’t stumble over each other, but if anybody makes a move to run he’s going to strangle himself or his neighbor on either side, so I suggest that you take it nice and easy. Seth, you hold tight to your end. Abby, scramble down to the pickup and keep us covered from down there. You’ll drive us to town after we’ve loaded up. Go on down now and holler when you’re set.”

  Abby followed his instructions, positioning herself behind the far side of the truck, propping the rifle on the hood and sighting along the barrel to a point about two-thirds of the way up the slope. Then she called out, and the men began their descent. By the bright light of the full moon she could see that it was rough going, with the shackled men stumbling and cursing every step of the way. Cat had changed places with Seth, who now supported Richie. As he held the end of the bandage, Cat kept his gun poised and ready for any suspicious move.

  Abby and Richie rode in the cab, while in the open bed of the truck Cat and Seth, who was now in charge of the rifle, kept the men covered. Forty minutes later they rolled into Crossroads and pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office. While the group was hustled inside for booking, Seth and Abby took Richie to County Hospital. Fearing a concussion after the severe beating, the doctors wanted to keep him at the hospital f
or observation, but he refused.

  “I just wanna get back home,” he insisted. “Cat can keep an eye on me. He’s a paramedic. He’ll know what to do.” While the doctors tended to Seth, Abby spoke to them and promised to see that Richie had the proper care and rest, and urged them to allow him to return home with them, pointing out that he would probably be more relaxed in familiar surroundings and more likely to get the rest he needed. The doctors agreed.

  Just as they were walking to the parking lot a patrol car drove up and Cat stepped out. He joined them at the truck. “What happened at the sheriff’s?” Seth asked.

  “Well,” Cat replied, “it seems these guys had gone up to the Buttes to booze it up. When they saw Richie, I guess they thought it would be fun to do some Indian baiting, and it got out of hand. The sheriff booked them for assault with intent to kill, malicious mischief and drunk and disorderly.” Turning to Richie, he added, “After the arraignment there’s going to be a hearing before a federal judge. Will you testify?”

  “Damned straight. Those guys aren’t getting off the hook, not if I can help it.”

  Seth had called his parents to tell them he was staying over at the reservation, so Abby handed Cat the keys and they started for home.

  Abby and Cat rode silently in the cab and heard little conversation coming from the boys in the back. Cat gripped the wheel tightly as his thoughts wandered to the woman sitting inches away from him, and the cool way she’d handled herself up on the Buttes. He shook his head, thinking, as on other occasions, that nothing seemed to frighten her. Or if she felt fear, she simply never let it get in the way of what needed to be done. She was strong, but then, he’d sensed that about her at the very beginning, and nothing had happened since to change his mind.

  Abby watched his hands on the wheel and could only remember how they had felt on her bare skin, how they could find every sensitive spot and bring it alive. Stop it! She ordered herself. Just stop! She looked out the window and tried to forget.