When Passion Calls

by Cassie Edwards

  "Yes, but please hurry back to me. I could not bear it if anything happened to you."

  "Our child will see my face the moment it is born," Shane whispered, burrowing his nose into the jasmine scent of her hair. "I promise you that, Melanie."

  "Shane, if I weren't pregnant, I would go with you," Melanie said, hugging him tightly.

  "I'm sure you would give it a try," Shane said, chuckling.

  "No, Shane, not just a try," Melanie said sternly. "I would go with you."

  Shane nodded. He knew that she would. He tilted her chin upward and directed his mouth to her lips. He kissed her long and sweet, then spun away from her. "Now that ought to hold you until I get back," he said, plopping a heavy, wide-brimmed hat on his head.

  Melanie walked him to the door. They embraced one long last time, then Shane opened the door and the snow that had drifted against it tumbled inside.

  Shane turned and eyed Melanie as snow blew in on her lovely, innocent face. "Go and sit by the fire and rid yourself of the chill," he said, then closed the door, separating them from each other, for days, perhaps weeks.

  Melanie ran to the window and watched Shane

  trudging through the snow toward the bunkhouse. She sighed with relief. He was not going to attempt to travel alone. He was going to recruit help.

  Snow still clinging to her eyelashes and hair like minute crystal pellets, she rushed to the fireplace and knelt down before it. Her eyes blurred with more tears, knowing just how cold Shane was going to be while battling the raging storm.

  Could he, in fact, freeze in the saddle, as some of the cattle had frozen in their tracks in the pasture? Oh, would he truly return to her and their unborn child? Was fate going to take him away from her after all?

  She had fought so hard to win him!

  The snow was deep and blowing, and Shane's breath froze as it escaped his mouth, crystalizing on his chin and lips. But he pushed relentlessly onward. Crouched low over his horse's mane, he looked over his shoulder at the men trailing the cattle behind him, and at the wagon, upon which had been placed many bales of hay so that the cows would have something to feast upon while giving their sweet milk to the Chippewa babiesat least until the snows stopped falling, and grass began to grow in the early spring. The rest of the longhorns would be slaughtered as soon as they reached the village.

  Everyone, even the cattle, seemed to be faring well enough. It seemed as though something or someone were there protecting them. Perhaps the old chief's spirit was watching over them. His people depended on the safe arrival of the steers.

  Turning his eyes back ahead, peering at the snow-shrouded, low-hanging branches of the trees, Shane's gut twisted at the sudden mournful wails wafting through the air. His hair bristled at the nape of his neck, knowing that the village was near. The people were in mourning! That meant that someone important had died, or was near death!

  Nudging his knees into the sides of his stallion, Shane forced his steed to move faster. He could hear his horse's labored breathing as it pushed its legs through the snow, so white it blended in with it. He could see his horse's breath crystalizing on its mouth and the hairs of its chin. He could feel its muscles cording beneath his clamped legs, knowing the effort it was making to please and obey its master!

  "That'a boy," Shane whispered, running his gloved hand over the horse's mane. "Just a little farther and I'll have you beside a fire. Your bones will get warmed." He nudged his knees again into his steed's side. "Come on, boy. You can do it. Just a little bit farther."

  Through the trees ahead Shane saw the communal fire, then the wigwams that sat in the snow in a circle around it. No one was outside their dwellings. Nor did Shane see any horses in the corral.

  Was he too late? Should he have come sooner?

  But the weather had only recently grown this severe. The Chippewa usually stored foods of all kinds to last the duration of the winter.

  The continuing mournful wails pierced not only

  Shane's ears, but his heart. As soon as he was within running distance of the village, he swung himself out of his saddle. He could make better time without his horse. He had to see who was being mourned for! Normally, if the whole village was in trouble, it suffered in silence. The sort of wails that Shane was hearing were only performed when someone of great importance was dying.

  Suddenly Shane saw his friend, Red Raven, step from Chief Gray Falcon's wigwam. Their eyes met and held, and then they began running toward one another. They lunged into each other's arms and embraced tightly.

  "What has happened?" Shane asked, drawing away from Red Raven. He glanced over at Gray Falcon's wigwam, then into his friend's dark, fathomless eyes. He clasped his hands onto Red Raven's buckskin-clad shoulders. "Why are you here, my friend? You departed from this village long ago!"

  "I am here because I was summoned," Red Raven said solemnly. "I am Gray Falcon's cousin. I am next in line to be chief."

  "You were summoned here toto become chief?" Shane said, his voice shallow.

  "Ay-uh, that is so," Red Raven said, looking over his shoulder at Gray Falcon's dwelling, then back at Shane. "My cousin lies near death."

  Shane paled, his heart sank. "How?" he said, his blue eyes imploring Red Raven. "He is so strong! How could he, of all of the people of the village, be the one who is dying?"

  "He is not the first," Red Raven said, lowering his eyes sadly. "Many of our people were tainted by poisoned animals found dead in traps in the forest."

  Shane was taken aback by this discovery. He exhaled a heavy breath, afraid to ask the next question. Was this not the act of someone as careless and vicious as Trapper Dan? Trapper Dan would be the sort to leave poisoned meat near the traps to lure the forest animals out of their winter shelters. The trapped animals would then poison anyone who ate them! Trapper Dan always only wanted their pelts.

  Shane held his face in his hands. When he had investigated to see if Trapper Dan had finally died from the loss of blood, his body was gone and Shane had surmised that either an animal had dragged it away and had feasted upon it, or someone had found him and had buried him. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought the man would survive his wounds!

  He looked slowly up at Red Raven. "Who is responsible for the poison?" he asked, his voice drawn.

  "The braves are on his trail now," Red Raven said, doubling a fist at his side. "It is the same trapper who paid a high bride price for Cedar Maid! It is Trapper Dan!"

  A sick feeling invaded Shane's insides. He turned abruptly away, afraid that he was going to retch. He cursed himself for being the careless one this time. He should have shot Trapper Dan! The

  proof would have been there for all to see and Trapper Dan wouldn't have had the chance to harm any more innocent people!

  Then Shane brushed aside Red Raven and hurried into Gray Falcon's dwelling. He saw Gray Falcon lying on a raised platform, already decked out in his finest doeskin outfit, colorful beads resplendent across the fringed shirt and leggings. His hair was drawn back and his face was already painted with vermilion, his eyes closed, sunken with death's approach.

  Shane went and stood over Gray Falcon. Tears streamed from his eyes, recalling how his childhood friend had tried to recapture their friendship on Shane's wedding day. Being too stubborn and proud, Shane had forbidden it! Childhood friends had become distant adult friends when jealousy clouded Gray Falcon's reasoning. Then Shane had sent Gray Falcon away. And now Gray Falcon was dying!

  "Gray Falcon?" he said, falling to a knee beside the platform.

  Gray Falcon's eyes did not open, but he reached a shaky hand to Shane. "You . . . have . . . come," he whispered. "That is good."

  "If I had known of your trouble, I would have come sooner," Shane said, unable to stop the trembling in his voice.

  "You are here now," Gray Falcon said, his voice so slight that Shane had to lean forward to hear. "That is all that matters." His eyes opened slowly. He looked at Shane. "Red Raven will now be chief. It is only right.
I have not had sons."

  "Nor have I," Shane said, clasping hard onto his friend's hand. "But I shall. My wife is with child."

  Gray Falcon's lips quivered into a smile. "Even with child is she beautiful?" he asked, coughing.

  "Ay-uh, even with child," Shane said, looking over his shoulder as Red Raven came into the wigwam and knelt down beside Shane.

  "Gray Falcon, Shane has brought good meat to our people," Red Raven said softly. "He has even brought cows to give our children milk. Because of Shane many lives will be spared."

  Gray Falcon nodded slowly. Tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes. "That is good," he said. "Thank you, Shane." He licked his parched lips and blinked his eyes. "Oh, Shane, it is with a sad heart that I leave you! We have missed so much valuable time together because of my jealousy and spiteful ways! Will you ever truly forgive me?"

  "I have forgiven you," Shane said, swallowing back the urge to cry. "Ah-pah-nay I forgive you. Do not enter the hereafter with sadness in your heart." He placed a doubled fist to his chest, over his heart. "You should enter triumphant! Your father and mother will be there to greet you! Tell them I think of them often!"

  "Ay-uh, Gray Falcon will tell them," he said, his eyes closing heavily. "Sleep. I . . . must . . . sleep."

  Shane placed Gray Falcon's hand on his friend's chest and rose slowly to his feet. Tears near, he turned and embraced Red Raven. "My friend," he said thickly. "My friend."

  The muffled sound of horses approaching in the

  snow drew Shane and Red Raven apart. They exchanged questioning glances, then left the wigwam. Shane's insides stiffened when he found himself suddenly eye to eye with Trapper Dan, who was hanging like a sack of potatoes over the back of a horse, his hands tied behind him, icicles hanging from his nostrils and his bare fingers.

  Shane's gaze then moved to the trapper's legs. He should be missing one.

  Shane smiled lazily when he saw a wooden peg in place of the leg that had been mangled in the trap.

  Then he met Trapper Dan's steady stare again, the blue and brown eyes reminding him again of that fateful day long ago past, the day of the massacre.

  "Have mercy!" Trapper Dan yelled. "I didn't mean nothin' by leavin' poison meat for the animals. The Injuns shouldn't have stole the animals from my traps! It's not my fault they did!"

  "But they did, and now even Chief Gray Falcon lies near death," Shane said, taking a step closer to the trapper. "How is it that you are alive? I left you for dead!"

  "A trapper friend of mine came to visit and found me," Trapper Dan said, his voice thinning. "He took me to the doctor and all that I lost was my leg, not my life!" He glowered at Shane. "No thanks to you! I should've come and cut your throat, but I thought I'd best hightail it out of your area. I came to these parts and took my chances with these heathens again! I should've known better! I ain't got a chance in hell of survivin'."

  ''That's correct," Shane said, looking up at the braves who flanked the horse on which Trapper Dan had been tied. "Let him down. I've a score to settle. This time I'll make sure the bastard is dead."

  Trapper Dan emitted a loud shriek as he was cut loose and fell with a thud into the deep snow. He tried to get to his feet, but his wooden peg kept slipping in the snow. He stopped and looked up at Shane, trembling. "What'cha got planned for me?" he asked, his eyes wild.

  "Help him up," Shane said, his eyes narrowing as two braves helped Trapper Dan from the ground. "Take him over there by the fire." He chuckled low. "We shall test his endurance."

  "What?" Trapper Dan gasped, moving clumsily along as he was half dragged to the communal fire. "What 'cha goin' to do? I cain't stand pain!"

  "No one likes pain," Shane said, bending to a knee to withdraw a burning twig from the fire. "Chief Gray Falcon lies near death, his insides eaten up with poison. Do you not think he is in pain?"

  While the men held Trapper Dan in place and forced the fingers of one of his hands open, Shane placed the burning twig in the palm and watched the fire moving closer to the trapper's flesh. "Cry out. Give us cause to call you a woman," Shane said solemnly. "Then comes another test."

  Though Trapper Dan was trembling from the fierceness of the cold, sweat began to bead up on his brow. He watched the twig burning closer, closer. He tried to shake his hand, to remove the

  twig, but his hand was being held immobile by the braves.

  He bit his lower lip as the fire began to burn along the flesh of his hand, sizzling as it blended with the snow and ice on it.

  Then the snow and ice melted away and all that the trapper felt was the burning, searing heat of the fire!

  In one powerful yank he jerked away from the braves. Now balancing himself well on his wooden peg, he grabbed a knife from the sheath of one of the braves. He twirled around and lunged for Shane, the knife poised for its death plunge.

  But Shane was too quick. He had withdrawn his own knife and watched as Trapper Dan fell right onto it.

  The knife completely imbedded in his clothes and stomach, Trapper Dan looked wildly up at Shane, grunting, then fell slowly to the ground, his eyes staring straight ahead in a death trance.

  Shane stared down at the trapper, finding it hard to believe that this was the last time that he would ever have to look into those eyes. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and went back inside Gray Falcon's wigwam with Red Raven at his side. Together they sat down beside Gray Falcon, looking solemnly down at him.

  "Is Trapper Dan truly dead this time?" Shane suddenly blurted, looking over at Red Raven. "I did kill him, didn't I, Red Raven?"

  Red Raven placed a hand to Shane's shoulder. "He is dead," he said, smiling.

  A slight moan drew their eyes back to Gray

  Falcon. Shane's insides turned cold as he watched Gray Falcon's body twitch and convulse strangely, then become much too quiet. His fingers trembling, Shane placed a hand over Gray Falcon's mouth. When he felt no breath, he gave Red Raven a look of knowing.

  "I am now chief?" Red Raven said, as though he doubted the truth of this moment.

  "I know that you left the village, never to return," Shane said, rising to his feet along with Red Raven. "And that you never thought Gray Falcon would be the one to summon you back, to declare to your people that you would soon be chief. But it has happened. You are chief! You will carry the title well!"

  "If only you were here to share the future of my people with me," Red Raven said, placing a hand on Shane's shoulder.

  "That is not my destiny," Shane said, sighing. "Melanie and our children are my destiny." He smiled slowly at Red Raven. "Once you have seen your people through these hardships of winter and death, will you come to my house and pay a visit?"

  Red Raven nodded. "Ay-uh, many times I will make a visit," he said.

  "There is someone I would like you to meet," Shane said, in his mind's eye seeing Daphne and how she looked all swollen with child. Like Melanie, she was even more beautiful. Red Raven would make a wonderful husbanda wonderful father!

  "Oh?" Red Raven said, forking an eyebrow.

  "We will talk of it later," Shane said, swinging an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Let us now join in mourning with your people."

  "The burial rites must be swift," Red Raven said, walking from the wigwam beside Shane. "We have much meat to prepare. We have milk to feed my people's children!"

  "Milk from a black cow is more healthful than that from a cow of any other color," Shane said. "I have brought only black cows to your people."

  Red Raven hugged Shane fiercely. "Thank you, my brother," he said thickly. "Mee-gway-chee-wahn-dum for everything. Because of you, much is now possible for my people." He swallowed hard. "For our people, Shane. For our people."

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Four Years Later, Mid-June

  The day was delightful, soft and bright, with a brisk wind from the southwest. The air was heavy with rich, earthy scents.

  Shane loaded a huge picnic basket at the rear of his buggy and offered Terra
nce a smile as Terrance helped his wife, Daphne, up into their buggy. After giving birth to two children already, Daphne was heavy with child again.

  As far as Shane was concerned, things had not worked out as planned for Daphne. She and Terrance had fallen in love. Their courtship had been brief. Before Red Raven even had a chance to meet her, she was already married to Terrance.

  Surprising to Shane, however, the marriage was working out. Terrance treated Daphne's first child as though it were his own, and he could not be more attentive and caring to a woman as he was his wife. She had seemed to change him into a gentle man overnight, into a man of heartmost definitely into a man who now had compassion for all Indians, since his wife was a full-blooded Chippewa.

  Puffing, pregnant again, Melanie waddled down the front steps of her home, balancing her round ball of a stomach between her hands. She was perfectly content to be a wife and mother, having long ago left her tomboyish ways behind her. Her four-year-old daughter, Sara, came skipping down the steps beside her, carrying her baby doll wrapped in a blanket. Sara would be no tomboy.

  Sara giggled flirtatiously when she saw Daphne's four-year-old-son, Jonathan, peeking at her from behind his parents' buggy. Oh, how she adored his copper complexion, his devilishly brown eyes and high cheekbones. He looked so Indian, and Sara was intrigued by all Indians. She loved to travel to the Chippewa village to visit her "uncle" Red Raven and "aunt" Blue Blossom. Married now, they had the tiniest baby girl named Sunshine!

  "Come along, Sara," Shane said, sweeping his daughter up into his arms. "You and Jonathan can play hide-and-seek later. Right now we must take ourselves for a ride into the forest for that picnic your mother and I promised you."

  "Is Jonathan's sister, baby Elizabeth, going?" Sara chirped, placing a hand to her father's freshly-shaven cheek.

  Melanie, eight months pregnant, went to Sara

  and smoothed some of her golden locks of hair back from her brow. "No, she's not going, honey," she said softly. "Daphne and Terrance thought it best to leave their baby home. Jonathan tests their patience enough on these outings."