Noah Spotted Eagle rose to answer. “This is not a class. We come to honor you.”
Abby looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“The ladies came to us saying they want to give you thanks for how you helped them. We decided that since you came to the school, many of us were helped by you. You make our children ready for the world outside this place, so they can meet others eye to eye. You teach them what they must know, and you give them pride in who they are. When they leave here they will be equal. No one will spit on them, or call them names, or drive them out from where they want to be.
“You took on the job of teaching the ladies on your own time and asked no reward. You teach us, young and old alike, both the white man’s way and the traditional way. You bring dignity to one of us who has been lost. You light a spark in a young man that moves him to seek the ways of his grandfathers. You help redeem a broken spirit and bring him back to his people.”
He looked from side to side and motioned with his arms. “In a few months you have stamped your image upon this school. Now we make things complete.”
He turned to the back of the room, and two men came forward with a long slab of wood, which they propped against the blackboard. Already thoroughly confounded by Spotted Eagle’s speech, Abby stared silently at the sign, seeing, yet unable to accept, the words burned into the wood: “Abigail Colton School.” Her mind struggled to accept the tribute, but its enormity overwhelmed her, and tears filled her eyes.
“What is wrong?” asked Spotted Eagle. “Have we offended you?”
“Of course not,” she replied unsteadily. “It’s only that this is too great an honor. I don’t deserve it.”
“Your modesty is most becoming, but unnecessary. You have done what no one else in your place has. You see bad things here and try to change them without changing us. You say, ‘Be yourselves and be proud. Remember all that has gone before. Take from the white man only what you must to protect yourselves and leave the rest to him. Love the land. Love this place, and your brothers and sisters.’ Now your name will be on this building long after you leave here, long after we are gone, and all who come after will know that this was the place of a good person.”
As Abby tried to speak Noah held up his right hand to stop her. “We have taken and will continue to take what you have to give. Accept with grace what little we have to offer in return.”
Finally the ceremony was over. Everyone filed out, leaving Abby alone. In the now-empty room, the words, the images, the faces, weighed on her, and her knees went suddenly weak. She leaned her head against the blackboard and let the feelings wash over her. Alone at last, she let the tears come, and they flowed silently down her cheeks. Finally she’d achieved the acceptance she’d always craved. She’d found a place to belong, a home, but the honor they had bestowed upon her was one she did not deserve, and by bestowing it, they had made it impossible for her to stay. “Don’t cry, Abby.”
The familiar, soft voice sounded behind her, and a hand smoothed her hair. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a split second that seemed an eternity, and she sighed as she realized that the weeks of struggle to put him out of her mind, if not her errant heart, had just been undone by the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand.
“You don’t have to cry,” she heard him say. “You’ve got all the love a person could want.”
Abby turned and watched his face. She saw pleasure and pride there. A tiny hope set her pulse to racing and she touched his cheek lightly. “Do I? Do I have yours? Does anything that’s happened tonight win me yours?”
The light faded from his face, and with it her moment of hope. He looked at her sadly and said only, “Congratulations.” Then he was gone.
Chapter 13
About three weeks later Sherri called. “The stuff you and the kids sent me is fantastic. I mailed out a check for eight hundred dollars. That’s their share of the sales, minus twenty percent as my commission. Is that all right?”
“Y-yes,” Abby stuttered. “Everyone here will be ecstatic. Can you use more?”
“Hell, yes. I sent you a breakdown of who gets what cut of the take, and a list of which items we’ve taken advance orders on. Or maybe I should call them special requests--if they can be filled, that’s fine. If not, just let everyone do what they want. We’ll be able to handle it. And let me know when the next shipment is going out.”
“It’ll be a while. They have less free time with school in session.”
“No problem. We’ll hang in there.”
“This is great news, Sherri. Thanks for the call. And for all your help.”
Excited about the success of the venture and needing to share it with someone, she went over to Terry and Nita’s house and knocked on the door. The house was quiet and dark, and no one answered. She thought for a moment, then squared her shoulders and walked over to Martha’s. Cat answered her knock, and as he stepped aside to let her in, she sensed a problem.
“Watch yourself,” he warned.
He grabbed her elbow unexpectedly, and she looked down as he steered her clear of the luggage that sat on the floor blocking her path.
“What’s going on?”
Martha sat on the couch, her two daughters beside her, their faces drawn, their eyes puffy.
“What’s wrong?” Abby pressed.
“Jared was killed in an accident in the oil field. We’re leaving on the early plane for Oklahoma.”
“Can I help?”
Martha looked at her sadly. “There’s nothing you can do, really. Except maybe check on this house and the girls’ place, maybe water my plants. That’s all.”
The room was quiet for a long time. Then Abby rose, hugged each of the women and said to Terry, “Take as much time as you need. We’ll be fine.”
She watched Martha rise and move off with her daughters. “Is she okay?” Abby asked, turning to Cat.
“Who? Mom? Sure. She’s the strongest woman I know.” Cat paused, thought for a moment, then continued, “There’s only one other I can think of who even comes close.”
Abby ignored the remark, and Cat carried it no further. Instead he asked, “By the way, why’d you come over here tonight?”
“I wanted to share some news with Terry. It’s really not important.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Please?”
“My friend from New York called to tell me that the shipment we sent her sold very well. In fact, the group earned eight hundred dollars. The check is in the mail, and she wants them to send more. I thought Terry would be pleased to hear that. But now it seems so unimportant.”
“You’re wrong,” he countered. “It’s very important. The kids are our greatest resource, and your work with them is our best hope for the future.” He paused briefly and ran his fingers through his hair in a familiar gesture. “In fact, I guess I owe you an apology.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I never thought any of this would amount to much. But it’s changed the air around here, made people feel good, and to top it off, now you tell me it’s turned a profit and there’s an opportunity to earn more. It seems you’ve really started something.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” she replied with mild sarcasm.
“Abby, I--”
She cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t say anything you don’t really mean. We both know where you stand.”
She turned abruptly and opened the front door to leave. She wanted only to end the conversation and be gone, away from him and the anger and pain that his closeness aroused in her.
“Wait! I’ll walk you home.”
She halted on the top step and turned. “Don’t bother.” Her tone was cold and deliberately discouraging. She continued down the steps and out onto the unpaved street, feeling the hard-packed soil beneath her feet, hearing the soft crunching sounds made by the soles of her moccasins. She’d thrown a sweater over her shoulders when she left her house; now she sli
pped her arms through the sleeves and jammed her knotted fists into the pockets.
A sound filtered through her jumbled thoughts, and she turned her head slightly. He was following her home, walking slowly some thirty feet behind. Feeling an urgency she couldn’t explain she quickened her step, hoping to lengthen the distance between them. When she heard him pick up speed to keep pace with her, she broke into a run, sprinting the remaining distance to her house.
Cat caught her just as she opened her front door, and in the light that came spilling out from her living room he saw the tears well up and slide down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, but his hands on her arms held her in place.
“Don’t go in yet. Stay and talk to me a minute.”
She looked up at him, and he was stunned by the pain he saw etched on her features. He could have handled her anger, but her unhappiness was another matter. Pulling her close, he folded his arms around her, whispering against her hair, “God, Abby, I’m sorry for all this.”
She pushed lightly against his chest, and as they separated she asked, “Sorry enough to change anything?”
She watched his face as he struggled with himself until his answer came softly. “I can’t.”
“Can’t... or won’t?”
He hesitated, then, without an answer, turned and walked away.
A few nights later Abby answered a knock at her front door and found Cat leaning against the frame.
“Hullo,” he said simply.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she answered only, “Hi,” wishing fervently for a time when the sight of him no longer brought her pain.
He noticed that she was in a robe and closed his mind to the memories of what lay hidden beneath the turquoise wrap. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was just relaxing.” She’d been about to step into a hot tub for a soak.
“Can I come in?”
After a moment’s hesitation she stepped aside and let him enter. They sat down at opposite ends of the sofa, awkward, silent.
“Would you like some coffee?” Abby asked, needing an excuse to leave and catch her breath.
“That’d be great, thanks.” He heard her moving around in the kitchen and suddenly realized that he had no business being there, that he shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have given in to the compulsion to see her, to hear her voice--
She came back and handed him a cup; their fingers touched and lingered as he reached for it. Finally Abby removed her hand and sat down. “When did you get in?”
“About half an hour ago. I dropped the girls off and came right here. I thought you might want to know how things are.” Liar, he thought, and searched her face, wondering if she could see through his flimsy story.
“How’s Connie?”
“Okay. I didn’t realize how bad off she really was when we first got there. She seemed calm and in control. Finally my mother took her out for a walk one day, and when they came back, we could tell she’d been crying. She seemed different, looser, and it was okay after that.”
“Is she coming home?”
“No. Connie says she’s fine where she is and wants to stay. The company paid off their house, and they’re giving her a job in the office, so my other sister Sharon will watch the baby--she lives quite near. There’s some insurance money, too. I think it’ll work out.”
Abby looked at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He wore a strange expression, and his body was tense, as if he couldn’t decide whether to stay put, or cut and run. She knew exactly how he felt.
“Have you eaten supper yet?” she finally asked.
“No.”
“I’ll fix you something.”
She escaped into the safety of her kitchen, pulling out chunks of cheese and cold meat from the refrigerator, pickles and olives, and some sliced tomatoes. As she began to cut thick slices of bread from a freshly baked loaf, she felt him slip up behind her and put his arms around her waist. The knife clattered down on the cutting board, and she gripped the edge of the counter for support. Struggling for breath as her heart began to pound, she whispered fiercely, “Please don’t do this to me.”
“I need you, Ab,” he murmured against her ear.
She slid out of his arms and left him standing in the kitchen as she walked back into the front room. Kneeling before the grate, she laid the makings of a small fire, then touched a match to the wood. There was no need for the added warmth; her body was already ablaze with a different kind of heat, but she wanted a distraction, and this was as good as any. Straightening up, she leaned her hands against the mantel, watching the flames grow and take hold until a modest fire crackled in the hearth.
Send him home, a strong inner voice admonished.
No, came the reply. I want to be with him just once more.
To what end? One more memory?
I won’t need tonight to remember him.
She shrugged off the internal dialogue as she heard him behind her.
“Abby?”
His arms were around her once more. She turned within the circle they made and looked up at the man she loved, still loved, would always love. She saw the raw desire, the longing, reflected in his face, and melted against him. His lips found hers, and their need for each other, held in check for too long, consumed them. Her arms went around his waist, and she groaned against his mouth as her legs went weak and an ache for him swept through her. She moved against him, fitting her body to his. Their hearts beat as one; the heat from their bodies fed each other; and the breath flowed one to the other as their mouths joined.
“Damn you,” she whispered fiercely against his lips.
“And you,” he countered.
She eased away and went to a far corner, taking a fur lap robe from a small storage chest in the corner. She moved around the room, turning out first one lamp, then another, until the only light came from the fireplace.
She pointed to the fire and said softly, “Add some wood, won’t you?”
She shook out the fur and laid it down on the floor a few feet away from the hearth, feeling her heart fluttering wildly inside her chest, then moved to the windows, drawing together the cafe curtains, shutting out the view. She turned back to him again, her mind suddenly blank, as though feeling had shut off all thought.
As if in a dream she moved toward him and undid her robe, allowing it to slip to the floor behind her. His eyes traveled over her body, drinking in every lush curve, remembering how her firm breasts had felt in his hands, how the nipples had hardened beneath his lips.
Am I still beautiful to you? She wondered, knowing her body had begun to change. But she watched his chest rise and fall as he took a long, agonized breath and slowly exhaled, and she looked at his eyes and saw the longing and the familiar look of defeat that said, I couldn’t stay away any longer, and she had her answer.
Taking two throw pillows from the couch, she knelt to place them under one end of the fur rug, improvising a bed for them. When she glanced up he was looking down at her, as naked as she. Her eyes examined him, taking pleasure in the beauty and feline grace of his muscular body, rejoicing in the obvious power she still possessed to arouse him. Her hand reached up and touched him. His eyes went soft as velvet, and she knew that he remembered the last time they’d been together.
He dropped to his knees and took her in his arms, claiming her lips, feeling her body pressed against his, warming him, calling him back out of the loneliness that had plagued him since their separation. He lowered her gently to the floor, and they lay facing each other. He touched her hair, her lips, her shoulder. His touch was tender despite the intensity of feeling Abby could sense lying tightly leashed just beneath the surface.
His dark eyes smoldered, and a vein beat in his temple, and she knew what his control was costing him. She kissed his hand as it lingered beside her cheek, then buried her face against his neck. She heard him murmuring soft words to her, words of love and yearning, words asking for forgiveness, asking for her tru
st, words spoken so quietly they seemed hardly more than the rustle of leaves in a lazy summer breeze.
He turned her face toward him and kissed her again, then eased her onto her back. She felt his bare body against the length of hers and forgot everything except the feel of his lips, his hands, the torrent of emotion they aroused in her. He was gentle with her, holding back because he was afraid for her to know just how badly his body craved hers. But Abby wanted the heat, wanted the sweet torture. She raked her hand through his coarse black hair, grabbing a handful in her fingers and slowly pulling, until he moaned and closed his mouth around a turgid nipple. He pulled gently and rolled his tongue around it, sending a bolt of heat to the very center of her, starting a silky burning that made her shudder with pleasure and shift her body impatiently beneath him. But he took his time, caressing, laving, kissing, leaving not a fraction of an inch of her unloved or dormant.
Neither time nor the outside world existed as he explored, discovered, rediscovered, the passionate beauty he had only dreamed about during four months of long, awful nights without her. As he caressed her body, touching the warm, smooth flesh, arousing the heat in her, feeling her quiver and tremble from his ministrations, he knew why his life had seemed so empty, why he could find no comfort in the things that usually gave him pleasure, why he had forgotten how to smile.
As he filled himself with the taste, the scent, the feel of her, the sound of her husky whispers in his ear, he knew contentment such as he’d never known before, had not found with any woman he’d ever known, that he’d never thought possible. And recognizing the gift she’d given him, he made love to her, slow, leisurely love, gentle love, demanding love, time and again bringing her to the brink of fulfillment, only to pull her back and love her in a new way. He loved her in as many ways as he knew how, and for as long as he was able to contain his driving need to find his own answers in her warm, silky depths.
Finally he shifted, parting her legs and slipping his hand beneath her warm, smooth bottom to ease his entry. He looked into her eyes, and though he had never said the words himself, and had no right to seek them from her, he asked, “Will you love me, Abby, though I have nothing to give but this?”
Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) Page 19
