“It has been decided that you will raise this child until manhood. You will teach him the ways of the white man, and when he comes of an age, I will return to teach him the ways of his mother’s people. He will decide if he is to be white or Indian. Until then, Jake Cantrell, the boy is yours.”
Jake, stunned at the Indian’s declaration, didn’t realize Suzanna, followed by Martha, had come to stand just behind and to one side of him. But every one of his men were aware of it. They were alert to protect her, Pete and the others with their hands hovering above the grips of their guns.
They and Suzanna had heard every word Black Hawk said, and their allegiance shifted from him to her. She was one of them; the best of them. There was not a man among them whose life she hadn’t touched in some way. No doubt they resented him for putting her in this position, and he couldn’t blame them.
Chapter Fifteen
Silence reigned as Suzanna fought for control.
One hand clasped her mouth; the other gripped her waist as if to keep her insides from spilling out. The breath left her lungs, and her chest ached. The Indian’s words pierced her as surely as the tip of his lance.
She couldn’t bear to look at her husband or to think of what he and this woman had shared. Acid burned her belly. She was more hurt than angry, yet surely anger hardened her heart. Her gaze focused on the extremely ill young woman unsteadily clinging to the mane of the horse next to Black Hawk, a small baby cradled in her arms.
She knew it was Jake’s.
Pete came to her side. When he moved, the braves stretched to fuller alert on their mounts. The horses shuffled their feet in the dirt, no doubt sensing the tension thick in the air. There was no trust among this assembly.
Pete nodded to his mother as he came to stand beside Suzanna. Without realizing what she was doing, she reached for her friend. He put his big arm around her and protectively pulled her into his side. The Randall family rallied around her, their loyalty in this situation not in question. Thank God for Martha and Pete. The three stood as one, and Jake growled a warning, but Pete refused to let her go.
Trembling, she fought her panic. This couldn’t be happening.
“Suzanna,” Pete whispered, “Stand tall. Don’t let the Indians see your distress. Let Jake handle this.”
“It appears Jake has handled quite a lot, Pete,” Suzanna breathed, her voice equally low. “Is that Indian girl really his wife? Is the baby my husband’s?”
Pete’s arm tightened around her. Answer enough.
What does that make me? His concubine?
Strange. The morning had dawned clear and bright, the day pristine and beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky, not a care in the world. She and Jake had loved the night away, and the coming day had promised more of what had quickly become an idyllic life. A few short hours ago, she had an attentive, virile husband, was beginning to make close friends, was needed, felt a part of the ranch and the life there. Life was good. She was happy.
And now this.
Her husband spilling his seed into the fertile womb of another woman. Her husband, the man she loved with all her heart, and with whom she had not been able to conceive a child, had fathered a child with another woman. Her husband. Hers.
From the size of the baby, it hadn’t happened too long before he had come to Alabama to convince her to marry him. Bile rose in her throat.
Life had a way of knocking one down when it was least expected. It happened every time. Her parents, Jason, Nathan, her home, her new life—all ripped from her. Was Jake and her life with him next? Was this woman and her tiny baby the end of all her hopes and dreams?
The irony—for months she’d prayed their lovemaking would give her Jake’s baby, and nothing happened. After sleeping with this other woman, this Little Bird, only one night, he’d become a father. The betrayal tasted like bitterroot on her tongue.
Anger at Jake simmered in her soul. Disappointment. Disgust. He should have kept his trousers buttoned.
The woman wavered on her mount. In grave distress, she struggled to hold the baby. Without realizing what she was doing, Suzanna shook off the supporting arms of her friends and hurried toward the girl.
Jake noticed her movement. “Suzanna, get back into the house. Pete, you and Martha get her inside.”
Ignoring him, no one moved but Suzanna.
The Indian watched her approach, his expression inscrutable. She spared him only a single glance as she made her way to the side of the horse and stared intently into the fevered face of the girl.
“Little Bird, you are unwell?”
There was no reply.
Black Hawk spoke quietly, and the girl sought Suzanna’s eyes and nodded. Barely more than a child herself, she trembled with the effort to hold the baby.
“I have some experience with healing,” she said softly. “I will help you if you let me. May I take your baby and give him to my friend to hold? She is very kind and will care for the child while I see what I can do for you.”
Black Hawk turned in the blanket-covered saddle and directed the awesome power of his gaze upon her. To her amazement, his face softened as he observed her interaction with his sister.
She heard a grunt from one of the other braves and glanced his way. The Indian’s gaze bored into her. He lifted his chin toward Black Hawk, his expression hostile and questioning. The chief gave an imperceptible nod. Permission? Approval?
Suzanna took a deep breath and paused. Moments ticked by. The woman uttered a soft moan and nearly swooned.
“Take the child,” Black Hawk said and nodded to the mother. She reluctantly relinquished her hold on the baby.
Suzanna carefully took the sleeping infant from Little Bird’s arms. As soon as she held the fragile bundle, her heart melted. Dark hair, chubby cheeks ruddy from the exposure to the wind… Then he opened his eyes.
My God. Silver—they sparkled like diamonds. Her husband’s eyes stared back at her in the tiny innocent face and a dismayed cry burst from her throat.
The ground shifted beneath her feet. There was no longer any doubt to whom this child belonged, and no way to ignore the need of this woman and her child. Regardless of how the baby had been conceived, or to whom he had been born, she would do all she could for him and his mother. She and Jake would settle their differences later.
“Pete? Martha? Please take Little Bird and her baby into the house. Put her upstairs in the bedroom next to our…mine.”
A quick glance at Black Hawk. The Indian made no move to stop her, his eyes reflecting gratitude and compassion. With one swift move, he swung his leg over his horse and walked to stand next to her.
Jake shifted, took a step in her direction. Pete restrained him.
Softly, quietly, for her ears alone, the Indian spoke. “You are shaman—healer.”
In the background, she heard Jake’s smothered objection. She saw him shake off Pete’s hand, his fingers loosening the snap of his holster, but one of the men grabbed his arm and stilled him. They were outnumbered. Like a match held to kindling, danger permeated the atmosphere. One foolish action could ignite a firestorm.
Black Hawk tenderly cradled his sister in his arms and started toward the house. Not the act of a savage at all but that of a man suffering and concerned for one he loved. With dread, she accompanied him, certain the high fever and pale color of Little Bird’s face indicated a serious and sometimes fatal condition. Afraid for the mother, she pushed aside her personal feelings and determined to do her best to save the woman’s life.
Suzanna tore her gaze from the Indian as Jake watched, rooted to the ground, staring hollow-eyed at the tableau of Black Hawk, Little Bird, Suzanna…and the baby. Red-faced and sweating, apprehension widening his eyes—she’d seen similar expressions on the faces of the wounded and dying she nursed during the war. Shell shock.
If she weren’t so angry, she would feel sorry for him. But disgust and pain erased her sympathy.
He went from Little Bird’s bed to mine.
&
nbsp; The thought sickened her. The image of his beautiful muscled body coupled with Little Bird ran through her mind like the ruffling pages of a book. Front to back. Back to front. Over and over as she made her way to the house, following Black Hawk and his sister. The betrayal broke her heart.
The images tormented her with their inevitable tragic ending, and her bottom lip quivered as they danced though her mind. She felt her safe, love-blessed life fall away, the book finished, falling to the floor from the grasp of the reader. Perhaps she should have expected this outcome—hadn’t everything she’d ever valued been stripped from her? Jason, her parents, her homeland. Her spirit railed at the unfairness of it all. Why should Jake and their life together be any different?
Except this wasn’t war or death or illness. This happened because of Jake. The fault was his.
Suzanna stumbled over a stone, and her knees buckled. Pete took her elbow. Where was her husband? This was his child. As its father, he should be the one at her side.
Pete answered her unspoken question. “Give him a minute. He has his hands full with the Indians and the men. This may not be wise—taking her into your home.”
“Hush. This woman needs my help. I don’t know if I can save her, but God knows I’m going to try. I have nothing to fear from Black Hawk or his men. Go back to your boss,” she commanded. “He’s the one who could use your help.”
The girl’s body hung limp in Black Hawk’s strong arms as he strode to the house. One of the men stepped up to block the Indian from entering. Suzanna drew herself up to her full height and glared at the drover.
“Remove yourself this instant! This is my home, not yours!”
“But he’s an Indian, ma’am,” the ranch hand argued.
“I don’t care if he’s Lucifer himself. This is my home. I say who enters and who does not. Get out of my way!”
The man looked over her shoulder, seeking Jake, who must have given his permission, for the man reluctantly stood aside. Anger, resentment, and more than a bit of prejudice simmered below the surface. She stared him down, and he took two steps back, grunting his disapproval.
Suzanna swallowed hard, controlling her anger, and entered ahead of Black Hawk. “Bring her up the stairs, first door on the left.” She led him into a large comfortable room, and noticed him taking in the surroundings as he laid his sister on the bed.
“You will care for her?”
“I will do my best.” She glanced at the unconscious girl. She faced the fierce warrior, needing to explain what she feared was inevitable. He already knew. She saw premonition in the tense set of his jaw, but she needed to say the words anyway.
“Black Hawk,” she began, “sometimes when a woman gives birth, complications follow. You understand what I am saying?” He nodded; she continued. “I think she’s contracted what we call childbirth fever. If it is caught in time, it can sometimes be cured…be made better. But, Little Bird…”
The warrior stared down at the still, silent form of his sister. “I understand. She knows. It was her wish that I bring Jake their son. Our people are dying off like grasses in the winter wind. Where we once roamed our lands and hunted the buffalo, now we live in shame and hunger under the white man’s control, no longer free to hunt and live as the Great Father intended. The Indian way has come to an end. There are too many whites, and more to come. Little Bird spoke with me about this. The boy is half white. He will grow strong in the household of his father. That is why I brought him. She will soon be gathered to our forefathers. It is her choice the child be brought here.”
“I will do all I can for Little Bird.” Suzanna’s soft heart broke, and she watched the already grieving man turn to leave the room. He stopped.
“You are Cantrell’s woman? The one he calls wife?”
“I am,” she replied.
“Yet you would care for my sister?”
Suzanna walked to Black Hawk’s side and looked him full in the face. “I promise you I will give her my best care. I don’t know if I can save her, but I will try.”
“It is our way that a warrior can take more than one wife. It is not so in the white world, yet you care for my sister and the babe. You are a healer. A white shaman. It is a gift from the Great Father. I will send out the word. Whether Little Bird lives or dies, from this day forward, you will be welcome in the lodges of my people. You will have our protection and a place among us. You will be one of the People. This is my word. I have spoken.”
“Thank you, Black Hawk. You do me a great honor. Go now, and I will see what I can do for Little Bird.” Amazed, she watched him leave and saw him not as an Indian, but as a man—proud, strong, a leader. The manner in which he touched his sister, cared for her, and carried out her wishes revealed a person of character—one she could respect.
She stripped the clothes from the girl’s figure and washed her fever-stricken body. Dressing her in one of her own gowns, she sat by her bedside, running cool cloths along her limbs and face. The foul odor of infection assailed her senses. Her abdomen was discolored and distended; Little Bird would not be saved.
Suzanna felt a small hand reach out to her. There was little to be done but give comfort. She poured a teaspoon of laudanum. At least she could ease her pain.
“You are Jake’s woman?” Little Bird whispered in English. “I did not know he had taken a white wife. I would not have come. I am sorry.”
“You speak our language?”
The Indian woman nodded weakly. “Yes, a little. My brother and I. Our mother was white… My baby?”
“The woman who cares for our home has him. Nearby there is a mother who has recently birthed a child of her own and can feed your son. You shouldn’t worry. I will make sure he is well.”
A frown appeared between her brows. “You will take him as your own?”
“Shh… Don’t worry about that now. You must concentrate on getting better. Can you drink some more water?” Suzanna held a cup to the young woman’s parched lips and helped her drink a small amount of the liquid.
“Thank you. What may I call you?” the girl asked.
“My name is Suzanna. Have you been ill since the birth of your baby?”
“Yes. I bled much. It would not stop. Then the fever came. The older women tried to help me, but still I grew weak. Now I have little strength left. You must listen to me. There is little time.”
Little Bird struggled to speak. She gave her another drink of water laced with laudanum, and held her hand.
“Jake must take our son and raise him as white. Most of our people have been sent to the reservations, but Black Hawk takes our tribe north to the place called Ca-na-da. We are a small tribe. The soldiers will not follow us. We can live as our fathers lived. There is no longer a place for us here. That is why our son must become white. It will be best for the boy—” She coughed, and fought to get her breath.
“This is all I ask of his father. That he rear our son. Love him. Teach him to be a man. And you…that you try to love him as a mother loves her son. Forgive him his birth. I give him to you. You must not be angry with Jake. He was so beautiful, and I wanted him. It was not his fault…”
Her voice began to fade. With what little strength she had left in her body, she gripped Suzanna’s hand. “Promise…promise…”
Her eyes slowly closed. The medicine had taken effect.
The woman slept, sick and exhausted. Suzanna didn’t know if Little Bird heard her murmured promise. As much as she loathed the thought of the baby’s conception, she knew she could never turn her back on an innocent child. Regardless of the circumstances of his birth, the boy was Jake’s, he was here now, and he needed her love. All children deserved to be loved.
Suzanna left the room, went down the stairs, and stepped out to the porch, glancing around for her husband. Jake was nowhere to be seen. Black Hawk stood watch by the steps, facing the house. A lone figure stoically waiting for death. Her heart bled for him.
Alarm leapt to his eyes when he saw Suzanna, the si
lent question visible on his face.
“She is resting,” Suzanna assured him. “But I think you should go to her room. You should be with her.”
“She is soon to leave us?”
“Yes, soon. I will only be gone a minute. I need to find Jake.” The words tasted like bitter fruit on her tongue. The last person she wanted to speak with was her husband. But there was no avoiding it.
Important matters had to be addressed.
Chapter Sixteen
She found him in the barn, his refuge and hiding place. Tossing large bales of hay into an empty stall, he paused as she entered. For a moment they merely stared at one another. After a while he dropped his gaze, staring at the ground.
“Have you nothing to say?” Was that her voice so full of rage and humiliation?
“I’m not sure what to say,” he replied.
“Well, for the first time in his life the mighty Jake Cantrell is speechless before a woman. What’s the matter, Jake? Can’t think of an excuse? Nothing? Let me see. You could start with ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I slept with another woman and made her pregnant. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I had another wife before I married you!” Her voice was a study in repressed fury. She quelled her shaking and waited.
“There is no other wife,” he shouted. Then, “Have I lost you?” he asked, controlling his temper.
Suzanna picked up a brush from a table by the stall, and threw it with all her might. She missed him, but looked around for something else to throw and growled in frustration when she found nothing.
“She. Is. Not. My. Wife. You are my wife!” Jake yelled and heaved the brush at the side of the barn. He took a step toward her but stopped as she backed away.
“She’s dying, Jake,” Suzanna spat, watching the color leave his face. “You rutted like an animal and made a baby with her, and now she’s dying. It makes me sick to think about it. About you and her together.”
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