Naked in the Winter Wind

by Dani Haviland

  Ian stayed outside, just beyond the porch steps. I remembered how it felt to have a roof over my head after being in the open for so long. He probably didn’t have claustrophobia, but I didn’t want him to feel uneasy either. I picked up Leonardo and brought him out to the porch.

  “Here’s Leonardo, he was the first one born,” I said.

  Ian took slow deliberate steps up to the bench and sat down. He held his breath as I handed him the bundle of sleeping baby boy. “He’s got red hair!” he exclaimed in a soft whisper.

  “They all do,” I replied, “just like their Grandpa Jody.”

  His eyebrows crowded together in a frown as he realized that I hadn’t said great-uncle Jody. Then he looked up at Wallace. Wallace cocked his head and shrugged his shoulder as in, ‘Yeah, I found out your Uncle Jody is my father,’ and then brought Judah to him for inspection.

  Ian now had a baby tucked into the crook of each elbow. He looked from one to the other. “These two look jest alike! How do ye tell them apart?”

  Wallace pointed to the cowlicks on their foreheads, mirrored images of each other, and said, “They’ll be a handful, but I think they’re worth it.”

  I came up with the last swaddled infant. “It’s easy to tell this one apart from the others,” I said as I pulled back the clout, “She’s a girl. Our little bonus baby was a big surprise. I thought I was finished, and then boom! There she was.”

  Ian handed off the boys to Wallace, and I gave him Danielle. “Weel, thank ye fer lettin’ me see ‘em. I woulda understood if ye dinna ever want to see me again, here or anywhere else.” Ian’s head was bowed down, his long finger stroking Danielle’s fine pink hair, ashamed of his previous actions, but fascinated with the baby girl, the first living daughter he had ever seen.

  Wallace said to his cousin, “Thank you for them,” he nodded to each of the babies, “and for Evie. She and I will be married in front of a preacher next month. I just thought you should hear it from me.” Wallace said it sincerely, without a trace of malice, and by the blinking of Ian’s eyes as he looked at him, he could tell.

  “Aye, thank ye fer tellin’ me. I wish ye both well,” Ian said sincerely, almost embarrassed at his admission. He swallowed, closed his eyes in deep thought, then opened them again, looking at Wallace as if to ask a favor. “So does this mean I can come see ‘em every once in a while, since they’re my cousin’s children?” he asked.

  Wallace looked at me to see if I had any objection to having Ian back in my life, even if only on a very limited basis. I shrugged my shoulders. It was okay with me. Now that I had seen Ian in the flesh, my flesh was neither craving him nor hating him. That was a relief, and a reaction I hadn’t expected.

  “There’s one more thing,” Wallace said, “If it’s all right with you, Evie. We were talking of middle names earlier today. Wow, it was only today, wasn’t it? Anyway, if it’s all right with you,” he nodded to me, “could we use Kincaid as a middle name for the boys? I mean, he was their protector, and the protector of their parents, too.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me, a very good way to say thank you forever. As long as it isn’t Danielle’s middle name,” I said, giving Wallace an exaggerated scowl wrapped around a grin.

  “How about Wren?” asked Wee Ian. “She has a pretty cry, like a wren, not a crow.”

  Wallace and I looked at each other. “Well, it’s better than Magpie,” he said. “Okay, then her name’s Danielle Wren Urquhart, unless we find another name to throw in with those three.”

  I looked over at Ian and smiled. “Oh, and since we’re saying our thank you’s—thank you for being the sperm donor, Ian.”

  “Sperm donor? What’s a sperm donor?” asked Wee Ian.

  Wallace and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Welcome to fatherhood, Ian. You get to explain that one to him, not me,” said Wallace.

  Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

  I was famished, so decided to bring out the leftover noodles I had set aside for a pasta salad. All I needed were a few more items to stretch the meal. “Ian,” I called.

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the quick response from both of the Ians. They looked at each other and grinned.

  “Okay, Ians, would one or both of you go into the garden and bring me three ripe tomatoes? I saw some turning red a couple of days ago, and they should be ready.”

  “Red already?” and “What’s a tomato?” were the questions from both of the Ians at the same time.

  “Come on, and I’ll show ye,” said Ian the elder as he led the way to the garden.

  “And ye can tell me what a sperm donor is while we’re out here,” said the younger Ian as he hurried to catch up.

  Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

  Wallace and I, and the babies of course, were alone and not under duress for the first time in hours, or so it seemed. I took a deep breath and strolled up to him, ready for a big hug and a long kiss. He was ready, too. The soft kiss sealed the contentment that we both deserved. I sighed as he pulled away, the dreamy look warm on my face.

  “I have to ask you,” Wallace said softly, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I’ve never heard that word before. What does effin’ mean?”

  “Um,” I stalled and glanced around the room, avoiding his gaze. The blush that had begun on his face was spreading, and was now rising to a full bloom on mine. “I really, really wanted to say another word, but just said the first letter instead. It’s nasty and crude—and I did almost say it—but I wasn’t going to let anyone make me mad enough to use that word.”

  “Oh, I think I know which one you mean,” Wallace said and swallowed a smirk. He reached up and pushed a stray hair behind my ear. “What about Ian? I thought you wanted to—how did you say it—‘punch him out’?”

  “Nah, that would take an intense emotion and, believe it or not, I don’t have any strong feelings for him either way. I mean, I don’t hate him, and I don’t love him. I’m grateful for the babies, and very glad that he at least had the courtesy to leave me with Sarah and Jody. He didn’t just drop me under a spreading chestnut tree or something. No, I think I’m worthy and well, he just blew it!”

  “Blue it?” asked the confused young man standing in the doorway. “And he left ye? And those bairns are my brothers and sister? And, and ye dinna hate him fer leavin’ ye?”

  Wee Ian looked at me, then at Wallace, still very closely linked. I stepped away. “Come here and see the babies again,” I said.

  He followed and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. ‘Lord, give me the right words,’ I prayed silently. Okay, start small and work up to the big stuff.

  “Blew it means he made a big mistake. Have you ever seen anything swell up really big, then bigger still, and then ‘kaboom!’—it blows up? Well, if that occurred in the past, it ‘blew’ is what happened.”

  Wee Ian was listening intently to my explanation. “I saw a raccoon once that had been deid for a long time. Its belly was swelled up real big, and when I poked it with a stick, the belly popped, and there were stinky innards all over the place. Is that what ye mean when ye say ‘blew it’?”

  “Exactly. And if you ‘blew it,’ it’s like a dead raccoon’s exploded bloated belly. It’s kind of hard to, no, it’s impossible to put it back together again like it was, right?”

  Wee Ian nodded that he understood, so I continued. “Well, your Da ‘blew it’ with me, but it’s okay. It all turned out fine. As a matter of fact, if Ian hadn’t left me, he never would have found you or your mother and grandmother. And then you would never have met me or your, um, kin,” I said and pointed to the babies.

  “So are these my brothers and sister or my cousins?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. I paused, wanting to end it there, but the brokenhearted frown made me feel guilty for my short, succinct response. I amended my answer, “Both, but that might be confusing to other people, so let’s just say they’re your kin. Wallace is your kin, too, and he’s their father now, and Ian, well, he kind of gave up the right to be their father, but he’s a co
usin and kin, too. It’s nobody’s business how we’re kin. Kin is a good enough explanation for anybody, all right?”

  “Okay. Does this mean yer my kin, too?”

  “Oh,” I paused to think about it for the first time. “Aye, I am.” I grinned. “Now, where are those tomatoes?” I said, effectively ending the thread of the awkward, but revealing conversation.

  I cut up the tomatoes and tossed them together with some salt, onions, garlic, dried blueberries, and herbs. I threw in a healthy dash of vinegar and oil, stirred, and added them to the leftover egg noodles. It was red, white, and blue pasta salad for our Fourth of July lunch, with forgiveness for dessert. It was turning out to be a spectacular day.

  Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

  After lunch, we passed around the babies for closer examination and appreciation by their new family. Wee Ian couldn’t keep his hands off of his newfound kin. He seemed to know all about babies. He held them correctly, could get the burps out without spit-up, and made funny faces that amused me as much as them.

  It naturally progressed that we began to share stories. Wallace bragged about my stoic composure during delivery.

  “Ye mean she dinna yell or even curse?” asked Ian, eyes wide and jaw slack.

  Wallace beamed as he recalled that day. “She made us all proud,” he said. “She’s a very brave and strong young woman. But you probably noticed that this afternoon,” he added with a gimlet eye to Ian, waiting for, but not necessarily expecting, an answer. Ian gave a brief, embarrassed nod, and Wallace continued.

  “Danielle, Wren,” he corrected as he nodded to Wee Ian, “surprised us with her appearance after her twin brothers’ births.”

  I interrupted at this point, “Yeah, I hollered for the chamber pot because I had thought I had to, well, you know, but realized it was another baby coming out. Wallace got to me just as I yelled ‘catch!’ She plopped right out, into his hands.” I was smiling all over again, remembering that moment when he and I were joined by a little girl and an umbilicus. I glanced over and saw that Wallace was radiant all over again, too. Could it have only been two weeks ago? It seemed like at least a year had passed.

  I looked over at Ian. He was fingering the cloth of little Wren’s clout, pensive, and probably feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there for her birth. Personally, I really didn’t want him to feel bad. I wasn’t mean, and it was in the past. And socially, well, I was still the hostess, and in charge of the good will and comfort of my guests.

  “So what’s been going on in your life,” I asked. I wasn’t just being polite; I was truly curious.

  Ian’s eyes fixed on a distant point in the sky above the barn. He stared off into nothingness as he began an obviously planned dissertation about how after he had left me with Sarah, some unsavory sorts caught up with him. I was only half listening. I was mad that he was lying to me, to all of us. I couldn’t help but glare at him, and would have shot rubber bands or thrown marshmallows at him instead if I had had them.

  “I was injured and so dinna think I should come back…” He looked up as he continued—probably ready to add in the old sympathy lie about getting castrated—but stopped cold at the sight of me.

  My jaws clenched, I shook my head slowly, as if to say, ‘Don’t go there, dude,’ so he didn’t. He knew I didn’t approve of his personal vendetta with the gang that had captured and tortured him and his dog, Rocky. He was a cad for his single-minded vengeance, but he could at least be respectful and not speak of taboo subjects—and certainly not lie—while a guest in my, rather his uncle’s, home.

  I swallowed the bile that was rising with my rage. “How about if you tell us how you found Wee Ian,” I suggested. I didn’t want to hear fabrications, and hopefully there was nothing in this recent event that needed to be distorted or embellished.

  He had gone back to check on Robin—his first wife—he said. He wasn’t returning to the village to reclaim her—he was only going for a short visit to see her. He had heard she had remarried and had a child, and went back to make sure it was true. He thought he had ruined her by giving her two dead babies. The grief at the loss of their bairns was terrible, but the guilt of her not being able to have more children with another man was even worse.

  He found Robin in a Cherokee village three days journey from here. She was very polite, showed him her new home, and verified that she now had three children, but she was also distant. There was nothing left of the relationship between the two of them. As he was leaving the village, a young boy approached him. He said he was Robin’s son. They talked for a short time. The lad knew all about him; he had heard about Sky Walker from his grandmother, his mother’s mother. The boy said his grandmother told him that he had Star Walker’s—Ian’s—spirit.

  “It was too much to hope for—that this sharp and fast young lad,” he said as he looked over at Wee Ian with pride, “was my son, so I dinna ask. I left the village and returned to my...er…um, business, and tried to forget about him.”

  Ian looked away as he continued with his recent history. “I had been hunting,” he glanced over at me to see my reaction to his new word for vengeance, “fer two months when I heard that Robin’s husband had been kilt by a bear. It was a brave way to die, but still hard on a woman with three wee ‘uns.

  “By the time I had made it back to her home, she had found another husband. The man was fond of the two daughters, but dinna want another man’s son in the house. The boy was sent to live with his grandmother, even though she was verra old and in poor health. I went to visit the grandmother,” he paused to take a drink of the whisky I had brought out for the reunion. I recalled that this was the woman who had made Ian leave Robin, her daughter, after the death of their second child.

  Ian settled back on the porch step and continued. “She was blind, but recognized me as soon as I came to her side.

  “‘I was wrong to send ye away, Star Walker,’ she said. ‘I canna change what has happened, but I would ask yer forgiveness and a favor. Take the boy with ye. Teach him the ways of the Indian, and the White Man, too. Teach him yer language. He’s a fast learner. He will need to ken the White Man’s world, but should ken what is right, too. The world as I kent it will soon be gone. He still needs to be taught more of our ways, the true ways, and our stories. Of how to hunt and fish, he already knows much, but there are things only a father can teach.”

  “I dinna talk while the old woman spoke. I let her finish. She closed her eyes, and I found the courage to ask: is he my son? I looked at her and saw her smile. She was happier than I had ever seen her. But she wasna breathin’. She died givin’ me a young lad to watch over. I could only hope that he was mine.”

  Ian leaned forward, and then looked over at me. “And it wasna until today when ye called him Wee Ian that I kent fer sure that he was mine. But I had no right to claim him after what I had done to ye and the bairns; the leavin’ and all…”

  Now I was uncomfortable, and didn’t feel like I should be, so I changed the subject. “Why were you here today?” I asked. Ian hadn’t expected that, nor did anyone else on the porch, although it was a valid question.

  “I was followin’ those three men,” was all he said, then rose to stand, looking as if he were going to excuse himself.

  “Those are some of the…the…them, aren’t they?” I accused.

  He looked guilty, but didn’t answer.

  I was persistent, though. “And you’re going back after them, aren’t you?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer that I knew was coming.

  “Aye, the last three,” he said almost apologetically. “Come on, let’s go, lad,” he said to Wee Ian.

  The boy looked up at him, and then over at me nursing one of his brothers, and then back to his father. “We can stay here longer, maybe a day or two. I nicked a mark in the horse’s hoof, and then put camphor on it. If we canna smell ‘em, we can see ‘em. It has my mark on it.”

  “Your mark?” I asked.

  “Aye, the lizard’s tongue,” he said sim
ply.

  “The lizard’s tongue?” Then it dawned on me. “You didn’t carve a ‘Y’ into the Captain’s cheek, did you? It was a lizard’s tongue?”

  “Aye, that’s my mark,” he said proudly.

  “Well, I thought it was a ‘Y’ for yellow, as in cowardly.” I popped right back into mommy mode and dared to ask, “Ian, if you want to go on your ‘hunt,’ that’s your business. But it’s okay with me, and I’m sure it’s okay with everyone else in this household, if Wee Ian stays here until you’ve completed your business.” I couldn’t help but add with a black splash of nastiness, “Because you know how I feel about that business…”

  “He comes with me,” Ian said with a coldness that was flat scary. He had his ‘possessed by an alien hate force’ face on. He was back in vengeance mode.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of Wee Ian becoming like his father, callus and jaded about taking another human’s life. I wanted him to retain at least some of his innocence and humanity. “Well, he’s our kin, too, and I think we have a right to want to keep him safe,” I argued.

  “Safe?” Ian yelled. His face was red, and he was breathing so hard, he was almost snorting.

  Well, at least he wasn’t cold and emotionless…

  “Ye call what went on here today, safe? If I hadna come by, ye would be dead…or worse!”

  “And who’s to say that you didn’t drive them here on purpose, huh?” It was a totally irrational question, but I didn’t care. My maternal hormones were raging again; I had a child to protect. I felt Wallace’s hand on my shoulder, his gentle pressure urging me to back down.

  “I’m sure he didn’t send anyone here, Evie. At least, not on purpose,” he added with a stern look at his cousin. “Wee Ian is kin, and he is more than welcome to wait here for you to finish your blood feud. I understand that he is your responsibility, but he is still only a lad.”

  “I’ll go with Da,” Wee Ian said solemnly, his chin out, hands behind his back like a patriarch watching over his family. He stepped next to his father and said, “Someone has to watch out for him so he doesn’t ‘blew it’ again.” He looked right at me as he used the colloquialism incorrectly, but accurately.