by Jillian Hart
He tied the rope around a thick log and whistled to the draft horses to start pulling.
It was too cold for them to meet, and she’d promised her father, as a condition of her staying for a while, that there would be no more unchaperoned visits to Night Hawk’s home.
But she thought of him constantly. She dreamed of him at night when she lay alone in her bed. Watched for him in the settlement or at the stables, hoping for a chance meeting. Her morning sickness lingered, even when her waist began to expand a little more as the weeks passed.
Time was running out. Henry had gruffly spoken to her one evening to say that a teacher had been hired. He’d purchased tickets on the stage for her return to Ohio. Then he’d left before she could argue, treating her as an unwelcome visitor in his home.
It will all work out, she assured herself. It had to. Night Hawk wanted her, she was certain of it. They just needed time together to work out the details. A spring wedding, maybe. Joy filled her at the thought. She laid her hand on her stomach, carefully concealed by a pretty overskirt and apron.
Before she told him about their child, she wanted to hear the words first of how he loved her and wanted her for his wife. She knew for sure now that he would, and she could hardly wait for him to come to her. What a surprise she had for him!
The injured hawk cried in protest as Meka ambled into the stable. The bird and dog disliked each other, and their antics at least filled his lonely evenings.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Night Hawk advised the bird as he tossed a chunk of smoked venison in the air. “You’ll be flying by the end of the month.”
The hawk hopped into the air to catch the meat and nodded his head, as if he understood.
Night Hawk stepped around Meka and opened the cookstove door. Heat stretched the skin on Night Hawk’s face as he loaded wood on the fire. Soon the flames were crackling merrily, and he hoped it was enough to drive away the ice in his bones. It was nearly midnight.
Every muscle in his back, legs and arms burned from exhaustion, but he’d finished clearing away the last of the rubble. There was no more devastation, and he could start over again.
For Marie. How he ached to see her. Soon she would be his wife. Sleep at his side. Fill his life with her joyful presence. I would have no regrets if you asked me, she’d told him and with all his being, he believed her. Finally.
Tomorrow he would start to rebuild. Maybe not the grand house of his dreams, but a large and roomy home. Satisfaction lifted him. Maybe it was because it was a part of his heritage, or maybe it felt satisfying to be simply providing a home for Marie, but he felt good about himself as a man and a Sauk. He would build a lodge for his wife, as his father had done for his mother.
Then he and Marie would fill the rooms with their love. And the children made from that love.
Children. That was an image that pleased him. The thought of Marie cradling his son in her arms filled him with a fierce, protective love.
What a happy life they would have.
The dream came on quiet wings and a stormy sky. Black clouds stretched from north to south and lightning slashed the horizon. The western horizon where the future lay.
The nearly silent beat of a hawk in flight circled overhead. Night Hawk’s moccasins were stuck to the ice—to the thick glistening sheen of ice from the storm—and he could not move. Not west toward the future. Not east toward the past.
He could only tip his head back in wonder and watch as the giant hawk glided over the ruins of his lodge destroyed by the wind. A white man’s lodge he’d built for the woman he loved.
The giant hawk, dark as midnight, glided over the ruins and saw all things. All that the dwelling meant. What it represented. And what would be.
Night Hawk watched, feeling the power of the bird and the wisdom of its spirit. As if in slow motion, the great hawk plucked a white feather from its own wing with its beak, then dove straight toward Night Hawk.
No, this cannot be. Even in dream, he fought the truth the spirit hawk brought him. He didn’t want to take the offering, he would not touch the feather. He steeled himself against the mesmerizing pull of the majestic hawk, but as the creature neared, Night Hawk could see the sorrow in his eyes. The sorrow from a great sacrifice.
The hawk had come to him. There was no one else to accept the offering. Night Hawk held out his hand and the magnificent creature laid the perfect white feather on his palm. The hawk cried once and rose into the sky again, ready to continue its journey.
Ice fell in torrents, chilling him to the bone, freezing him where he stood. On the land where his father was buried. On the land where he’d dreamed of spending his life with Marie.
Thunder clapped, the hawk disappeared at the horizon’s edge. Night Hawk snapped awake, his hand still clutched as if holding a feather.
Sweat dripped off his brow. His pulse drummed in his ear. He sat up, breathing so hard that the sound filled the darkness.
He did not have to ask what the dream meant. Or look at his empty hand where he’d dreamed of receiving the feather. A dream where a hawk sacrifices a part of his body can mean only one thing.
Night Hawk buried his face in his hands. In a place beyond tears, where pain was greatest, he tried to find the strength to do what he must. To do as his spirit guide told him—to sacrifice his love for Marie.
A white woman didn’t belong with him. It was what his own father would have said.
But would his father have asked him to give up the one woman made for him?
No, it cannot be. He wouldn’t believe it. Everything that was Hawk within him rebelled. He tossed off the blankets made long ago by his mother and sister-in-law and stormed across the aisle to the tack room. He pulled on white man’s woolen socks and white man’s leather boots. He tugged a white man’s sweater over his head and grabbed a store-bought wool coat.
He would build his house. He would have his wife and his family. Nothing, not even the great Colonel Lafayette could stop him.
He’d given up everything else of his people and his past. Why couldn’t he deny the dream and pretend it meant nothing?
And if he did, he would turn his back on his beliefs.
His ax. He needed his ax. Frantically he searched through the dark, but couldn’t find it where he’d left it by the door. Cursing, he grabbed a lantern and struck a match. The single flame tossed shadows across the ax that had fallen on its side into the corner. Next to his mother’s blanket bearing a majestic black hawk.
He nearly dropped the lantern. No! He would not listen to the dream. It was only a dream. If he gave up Marie, he would live without a heart. If he let her go, then he also lost their unborn children. Children whose faces he could almost see in his dreams.
The light flickered over the blanket, caressing his mother’s fine skill. So long ago she had patterned the great hawk into that stormy sky.
He could not turn his back on his family’s memory any more than he could give up his future. What should he do?
He didn’t know. There was no one he trusted enough to turn to.
Maybe he should just go outside, follow his feelings and start building the house for his wife.
But the light caressed the blanket in a way that seemed to make the hawk alive. Night Hawk couldn’t turn his back and walk away.
He went forward instead. Through the door that led to the meadows. Through the meadows that led to the woods. Snow battered him. Frigid winds drove arrows of cold straight to his bones. He didn’t stop until he came to his father’s grave.
There he sat in the darkness, where the forest felt sacred, and asked for wisdom. For the strength to give up the love of his life.
Chapter Fifteen
He felt dead inside, as frozen as the ice at his feet. The pathway to her house had never seemed so long. Never before had he dreaded doing any task so much. How could he do this? How could he say the words that would tear Marie away from him forever?
All he had to do was knock on the door and
tell her it was over between them. Simple as that.
Except what he felt for her wasn’t simple. Giving her up so she would have a better life made jealousy stampede through him. The thought of another man taking her into his arms, kissing her, making love to her—
Red rage burst in front of his eyes. Blood pounded through his temples, and if he could, he would have pushed down the door and done anything to claim Marie as his. Anything.
But that would be the ultimate act of selfishness.
Torn, Night Hawk struggled with the need to step forward and the wish to turn back. But what would that accomplish?
The hawk in his dream had only told him what Night Hawk had known from the start. He knew if he took Marie as his wife now, she would never find happiness with him.
So that is how he pictured her, happy with a white man her father approved of. That is how he found the strength to climb the steps and knock on the door.
The housekeeper answered. The surprise on her face at the sight of him quickly turned to disdain. “The colonel told me not to allow you in if he isn’t here.”
She must know about their affair, too. He splayed his hand on the door to keep her from slamming it in his face. “Is Marie here?”
“You are not allowed—”
“Thank you.” He strong-armed the door open and stepped inside. “If you do not want me in her room, then I suggest you send her down.”
“The colonel will hear about this!” Outrage drew the woman’s narrow face into numerous prunelike wrinkles. She whirled around and marched up the stairs making enough noise to stampede a herd of buffalo.
Night Hawk was not afraid. He’d already lost everything of value. Let Henry do his worst.
Her shoes tapped on the stairs as she descended, and the sound was music. She swept into sight in a flowing gray gown that shimmered when the light touched it. Her beauty to him was the greatest in the world.
“Night Hawk. You came.” She greeted him with a smile, running into his arms as if she’d been waiting forever for him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and held him tight.
My kammeo. He breathed in the sweetness of her skin and rubbed his jaw against her satin-soft hair. For all the lonely nights yet to come, he memorized the feel of her. Her fragile frame and soft woman’s curves, her buoyant energy and the way she lifted her chin to look at him.
Beauty. She was his beauty.
“I can’t believe you came for me,” she breathed, her face alight with a great inner happiness. “Even though I hoped you would. I told Mrs. Olstad to leave us, although she’s probably sent word to Henry. But he’s out tending to some property line dispute. We have time to talk. To say what needs to be said.”
She leaned from his embrace so quickly he was too dazzled to speak. Everything about her seemed different, and yet she appeared the same. “Come to the kitchen. I’ll put on some coffee. You must have had a very cold ride.”
“No,” he said quietly, breaking a little inside. “I cannot have coffee with you.”
“Oh? Are you in a hurry? I told you, Henry can’t be here for a while—”
“It’s not Henry.” He hated interrupting her. He hated the way her inner light faded a bit. What had she said to him? I can’t believe you came for me. Sorrow battered him, but he could not back down. For her sake. She deserved a better life than he could give her.
“Then what’s wrong? If you’re uncomfortable talking here, we can ride out into the forest, even if it’s cold. Or back to your place.”
“No, I do not want you out in the cold.”
What was wrong with him? Marie wondered. He looked so stiff and formal, as if he were a stranger visiting for the first time. Shadows made his eyes appear darker and she wondered what had happened.
Something is wrong and he came to me. She reached out and held him tight. His arms came woodenly around her, and he did not kiss her hair or lean into her comfort.
She gazed up at him, at the implacable set of his jaw and the sorrow that drew harsh lines around his mouth. Something was tearing him apart, and she ached for him. If Henry had spoken to him and put that anguish on Night Hawk’s face, he was in serious trouble.
“Come.” She took his big hand in hers. “If you’re not in the mood for coffee, we can sit here in front of the fire. You’re as cold as ice.”
“Yes, we should talk.” He sounded odd and distant, yet when he looked at her, his eyes were not hard or cold but shone with great tenderness.
He sat on the footstool in front of her, which was lower to the ground, so they were eye-to-eye.
He’s going to propose to me. Excitement zinged through her when he took her hand in his. It was there in his dark eyes and in the gentle affection of his touch. He loved her. And now he would honor her by asking her to be his wife.
Giddiness bubbled through her. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the baby.
“Marie.” He said her name as if he cherished it. He lifted her hand and pressed it against his jaw and cheek, an endearing gesture that made the whole world tilt.
She took a breath, certain she was about to faint. She’d waited for this moment all her life. The moment when someone loved her truly and without end.
“I came to say goodbye.”
“What?” No, that didn’t make any sense. He wanted to marry her, right? He’d practically promised to ask her the last time they’d spoken—
“I don’t think we should be together,” he said quietly. “I’ve thought it over, and I want to end this love between us.”
“End it?” What was going on? She wasn’t hearing him right. He wasn’t making any sense. Didn’t he want to marry her?
“It was good, Marie. Very good.” He kissed her hand gently but without passion. “I do not think we will suit.”
“No, you can’t be saying this. You can’t mean this.” She jerked away from him. He reached out to stop her, but she darted around him. No, something was wrong. This didn’t make any sense. “We love each other, Night Hawk. That’s all it takes for a future together.”
“I disagree, shaylee.” He was behind her.
She could feel her skin crackle with his nearness. He was going to touch her, to comfort her in a polite passionless way and she sidestepped him before he could do it.
“Marie, listen to me. This makes sense.”
“I don’t care about sense.” Everything within her screamed this couldn’t be true. One minute they were talking of forever and now—
“I am like the bird who catches a star. They both live in the sky, but the star is greater and she burns with her own light. When she flies, she touches the heavens, but when the bird flies, he does little more than skim the treetops.”
“Henry threatened you, didn’t he? He broke his promise to me like he always does, took his musket and probably half his battalion to convince you not to marry me.”
“That’s not what happened—”
“Don’t lie to me. I can tell that you’re lying.”
His head shot up, and he was all warrior, all fight. “I’m telling you the truth, Marie. I no longer wish to see you.”
“That can’t be true—”
“Why not?” Now fury hardened his face. “Because I love you? Love has no part in this, Marie. None at all.”
“Of course it does. I love you and if you—” She hesitated, his words finally penetrating her hard shell of denial. Over and over she heard his words. Love has no part in this.
Shaken, she reached blindly for the nearby chair and sank into its cushion. “Y-you’re saying you no longer love me.”
He did not answer. Towering over her, his face granite hard and resolute, the faintest apology shone in his eyes where once love had been.
She felt her hand cover her stomach protectively. Pain like a lightning bolt seared her. No, it couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t believe it. She’d known Night Hawk’s love. Henry had done this. He’d threatened Night Hawk so he would back down. That’s what he’d done. If Henry had start
ed yelling about his ugly prejudices, then it was little wonder Night Hawk stood before her now, as cold as stone, as if no love burned inside him.
“I want you to know,” she began quietly, “that I do not share my father’s opinions. I see you as a man, Night Hawk, the best I’ve ever known. Henry shouldn’t have threatened you and said cruel things to you—”
“I am a Sauk warrior.” He sounded merciless, like a man she did not know. “No one threatens me.”
“I see.” She started to tremble. If she looked at him, she could see the truth holding him up, proud and noble. He’d come to tell her he didn’t want her, that’s why he was here. Henry had to be behind this. He had to be.
She wouldn’t believe anything else. Her soul cried out for him to admit he was lying. To take her into his arms and hold her for the rest of their lives.
“This is goodbye, shaylee.” He stalked away like a predator who controls the forest, strong and proud and without fear. Without softness.
She couldn’t say the words. She would not tell him goodbye.
The door closed, taking her dreams with her.
Run after him, her heart cried out. She wanted to grab hold of him and never let go. It didn’t matter what Henry said, or anyone else for that matter. She had a child on the way. And she hadn’t even told him—
A chill shivered over her. What if he knew? What if Henry had told him?
She wrapped her arms around her middle, where her thickening waist felt strange but welcome. So very welcome. No, Night Hawk would not walk away from his child. And that only made her angry. Maybe it was the hurt and fear melding together. Maybe it was seeing every one of her dreams shatter. She felt broken, as if the pieces could never be made whole.
The back door slammed hard enough to rattle the windowpanes in the parlor. Henry’s vengeful step struck the floor in a sharp staccato that grew louder. He burst into the parlor, red faced and as furious as a charging bear. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone, Papa.” She lifted her chin, facing him, ready to fight for what she believed in. “He came here and ended our relationship, just like you forced him to do. You broke your word to me again. You threatened him.”
