Home by Morning

by Kaki Warner

  And she was right. Indianapolis was a big place. Not as big as the city where the English queen lived and people spoke with a strange accent. But bigger than Schuler. With the girl anchored in one hand, and their bags of clothes gripped in the other, Thomas stepped outside the depot and looked around.

  People rushed along the street as if they had someplace important to be. Many stared at them as they went by. Thomas wished he had brought his war axe instead of sending it on to Heartbreak Creek with Rayford Jessup. But he had his long knife under his jacket, tucked into his belt at his back. That would be enough if danger came.

  “We just stand here all day?” the girl complained.

  She was probably hungry after so much talking.

  “I will find food,” he announced, and led her in the direction most of the people were headed. Before they had walked far, they came to a place that had a strong smell of cooking meat. He led the girl inside.

  A worried-looking woman with fox-red hair rushed to meet them. “Coloreds ain’t allowed,” she whispered, looking around at the other tables and the white people sitting there.

  “Allowed to do what?” he asked.

  “Eat here. Roy, you better come.”

  A big man with hair on his face and angry eyes came from behind a counter where a brass money box sat. “Look here, mister—”

  “Don’t hurt him!” Lillian shrieked, pressing against Thomas’s arm. “He only tryin’ to find my mama ’cause I a po’ little blind girl and cain’t find my way! He mean no harm!”

  The man called Roy looked at her in surprise. Thomas did, too. The white people watching from the tables muttered to one another.

  “We leavin’,” Lillian cried, almost yanking Thomas off balance and into the branches of a plant in a pot beside the door. “Please don’t hurt us, mistuh. We just hungry, is all. Don’t mean no harm.”

  “Roy, let me take them around back,” the woman whispered. “Cook can give them something and send them on their way.” When the man hesitated, she gave his arm a shake. “For heaven’s sake, Roy, the child is blind, and people are looking.”

  “I will pay,” Thomas said.

  A few minutes later, he was carrying the girl with her box of food across the tracks toward a grassy field. “You promised no more lies,” he reminded her.

  “Somebody gotta do somethin’. You jist stand there like a big lump while my belly scream for food.”

  Setting her down beside a stump, he dropped the clothes bags and looked around. In the distance, a big white tipi stood in the middle of a grassy meadow. People went inside. Others hurried to follow. Along the edge of the field, food carts lined up along the street. Soon the smell of cooking hung in the air.

  Perched on the stump, the girl dug through the box of food. “’Sides, it not a lie. We lookin’ for my mama, sho ’nuff.”

  “You said your mother was dead.”

  “That my other mama. You hungry?” She pulled a chicken leg out of the box, sniffed it, then took a bite. “Tasty. Got biscuits in here, too. Want some?”

  Taking a share of the food, Thomas settled beside the stump. While he ate, he watched people go into the big tipi. None came out.

  The girl finished eating and wiped her hands on the stump. “Where we sleep? Not outside. Chilrin ain’t ’posed sleep outside. ’Pecially blind ones.” She suddenly stiffened and cocked her head. “That gospel singin’? There a church nearby?”

  Thomas was surprised he had not heard it, but she was right. From inside the tent came the sound of many voices singing a tune he recognized as one he had heard coming from the Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek. “Yes, there is singing.”

  “Maybe it the tent meetin’.”

  Thomas took a bite of chicken.

  “You Injuns not talk much.” She pulled her coat tight around her thin body. “How long we sit here, Daddy? I gots to pee. And I liable freeze dead we don’t find Miss Pru soon.”

  Thomas tossed his chicken bone into the brush. “We just did.”

  Two

  Prudence Lincoln studied the eager faces singing with such fervor the glorious sound of it filled the tent. There were even a few whites in attendance—other than Marsh, the devil in the shadows—and more came every night. Latecomers stood three deep along the canvas walls, and come spring, assuming they made a return trip to Indianapolis, Brother Sampson would have to hold his gospel meetings outdoors to make room for the ever-increasing converts that flocked to hear him preach the Lord’s Word.

  They wanted so badly to believe things would get better.

  Seeing the joy in their faces brought a catch to her throat. Their hope raised hers, lifting her spirits from the fog of anxiety that had plagued her ever since they’d come to the capitol almost three weeks ago.

  Had Thomas arrived in Schuler yet? Had Friend Matthews given him her note? Would he leave, as she hoped, or try to come here? He was a stubborn man.

  As much as she wanted to see him, she hoped he would go on to Heartbreak Creek. If he came here and Marsh acted on his threats . . .

  With effort, she pushed that unbearable thought away. Nothing would happen to Thomas. More likely something would befall Marsh should the Cheyenne warrior learn of his threats. Thomas was very protective. And lethal.

  “Thank you for coming,” Brother Sampson called as the last notes of the closing hymn faded away. “May the Lord shelter and protect you. Bless you all.”

  Rising from her chair behind the lectern, she came forward to join him in greeting the people filing past the small platform that served as a stage. Despite his twisted fingers, the good preacher took the time to shake every hand offered, and his smile never faltered, no matter how weary he was.

  When the crowd finally began to thin, she turned to him with a smile.

  Then froze. A tall, solemn figure stood by the tent opening, his gaze locked on her face.

  Thomas.

  She stared, one hand pressed to her throat, her heart beating like a wild thing. Tears burned in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, not wanting to lose sight of the face that drifted through her dreams every night.

  People shifted, obstructed her view. She started forward, searching frantically until a gap widened and she saw him again.

  He looked different with his glossy black hair reaching barely to his shoulders. Gone were the topknot and eagle feather. If he still wore temple braids, they were tucked behind his ears. Instead of his war shirt and leggings and tall, fringed moccasins, he wore a fine suit of clothes and sturdy boots.

  But he was still her Cheyenne warrior. No matter how he dressed, he would always be that.

  Had he gotten her note? If so, why was he here?

  On trembling legs, she hurried down the open space between the rows of crude benches. People blocked her way as they shuffled toward the exit. Straining to see past them, terrified he would disappear before she could reach him, she pushed through them as best she could.

  When finally the way cleared and she saw him again, she could only stare through tear-blurred eyes, still not believing he was there. He didn’t give her that startling smile that turned heads, but she saw the quirk at the corner of his wide mouth and the warmth in his dark eyes. Suddenly everything else was forgotten—Marsh and his threats—her fears—even the work she was so desperate to finish.

  “You’re here,” she said and reached out with a trembling hand.

  “Me, too!” A small figure darted from behind him, arms outstretched.

  Startled, Pru drew back, her hand hanging in the air. She blinked down at the round face beaming up at her with the familiar gap-toothed grin. “Lillie?”

  “It me!” Giggling, the child clasped Pru’s waist in a tight hug. “Praise the Lawd we find you!”

  “Wh-What are you doing here?”

  “Me and Daddy come fetch you home.” />
  Daddy? Pru looked at Thomas. His face told her nothing, yet his eyes showed amusement. Dark, deep-set eyes the color of strong, black coffee. She could drown in them. “Why does she think you’re her father?”

  He shrugged, as spare with words as he was with his smiles. Pulling Lillie’s arms from around her waist, Pru looked down into the child’s face. “What is this about, Lillie?”

  “We worried.”

  “About what?”

  “Mistuh Marsh. He close?”

  Pru looked around and saw him speaking to Brother Sampson and one of the patrons who had paid for their travel expenses to Indianapolis and their rooms at the colored hotel. “No. He can’t hear us.”

  The girl motioned for Pru to bend closer. “He not give you note to Friend Matthews,” she whispered. “And he not tell him Daddy on his way.”

  So Thomas hadn’t read her note. Pru straightened, a jittery feeling of panic battling a sense of relief. He was here. For now that was all that mattered.

  “Did he threaten you, Eho’nehevehohtse?”—One Who Walks in Wolf Tracks—another fanciful name Thomas had given her, this one referring to someone as smart as a wolf, and able to outwit humans.

  She forced a smile. “He’s all bluster,” she lied. “Nothing to worry about.” Being truthful to his core, Thomas often didn’t see dishonesty in those he trusted. But she dare not let him know the danger Marsh posed. The Cheyenne was capable of great violence when necessary or if someone he cared about was threatened. She loved that about him—and feared the consequences of it.

  Noticing Lillie rubbing her eyes, Pru gratefully sought a change in subject. “Lillie looks tired. Have you found a place to stay?”

  “We stay with you,” the girl said, yawning. “I not sleep outside.”

  “Of course not.” Seeing Marsh shake hands with the patron and fearing he might head their way, Pru motioned Thomas toward the exit behind him. “If you don’t mind staying at a colored hotel,” she said, as they stepped outside, “I’m sure they have room. The Beckworth Arms, two blocks south of the depot on Third. Do you have money?”

  Thomas nodded. “The Scotsman pays well.”

  “I’m in room two eleven. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Go now. I’d rather Mr. Marsh not know you’re here.”

  “Do you fear him?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Come on, Daddy,” Lillie cut in, saving Pru from further explanation. “It cold and I still gots to pee.”

  “We’ll talk later, Thomas, I promise.” On impulse, Pru reached out and put her hand on his arm. Feeling the solid strength beneath the sleeve of his jacket reassured her. Gave her courage. “I’m so glad you’re here.” And she meant it. Despite her worries over Marsh, she was relieved her note hadn’t reached Thomas. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that he was nearby was a great comfort.

  Thomas studied her in that silent, probing way he had. She could almost feel him searching her mind, seeking answers to questions he hadn’t voiced. Then, with a nod, he turned and led Lillie into the fading light.

  * * *

  It was late. And still no Thomas. Had something happened? Or was he not as anxious to see her as she was to see him?

  Rising from the worn chair flanking the bed, Pru paced her small hotel room. After a few laps, she stopped at the window and looked out at the deserted street, her mind spinning with possibilities.

  Could Marsh have waylaid him? She thrust that frightening thought away. Perhaps Thomas hadn’t been able to get a room. Many places barred Indians. Or maybe Lillie was proving difficult and he didn’t want to leave her until she was asleep. But how could he leave her, anyway—a blind child in a strange place? What if she woke up and found herself alone?

  She should check with the desk, find out what room they were in—or if they were even at the hotel—then go to him. Resolved, she turned from the window and almost slammed into a tall form standing directly behind her.

  She stumbled back, then felt his hand on her arm, steadying her. “Thomas? I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Then you were not listening.”

  Relief thundered through her. “Oh, Thomas,” she choked out, throwing her arms around him. Now that he was here, all thought of sending him away fled her mind. Later, she would find another way to keep him safe. But for now, all she wanted was the comfort of his arms. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “You doubt me, Eho’nehevehohtse?”

  “No. I would never doubt you. It’s just that . . .” She took a deep breath, drawing in the earthy scent that was his own. It seemed that no matter how many months or miles separated them, the moment she saw him again, it felt as if they had never been apart. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I have missed you, too, Prudence.”

  But he didn’t pull her closer as he usually did. And even though she was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against the top of her head, she sensed a space between them.

  Leaning back, she looked up into his face. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  “Always, Eho’nehevehohtse.”

  Yet he didn’t stop her when she pulled away. “You don’t show it.”

  “No?” Taking her hand, he placed it on his chest. “Can you not feel how you stir my heart?”

  “Then why do you act as if you’re afraid to touch me?”

  “Because I am. I do not want to frighten you like I did when last we were together.”

  She sagged with relief. “You didn’t frighten me. What happened before . . . it wasn’t you, Thomas. You could never frighten me.”

  “Then why did you cower before me?”

  “I was startled. You were angry, and for a moment . . .”

  He finished when she couldn’t. “You thought of the Arapaho.”

  She made an offhand gesture. “It’s nothing.” And why were they even talking about this now?

  “A fear that makes you shrink from me is ‘nothing’?” Taking her face in both hands, he looked into her eyes. “You will banish him from your thoughts, Prudence. He can never hurt you again.”

  She felt walls come up in her mind. To distract herself—and him—she turned her face into his hand and kissed his callused palm. “I don’t want to talk about Lone Tree right now.”

  “You will have to someday, Eho’nehevehohtse.”

  She drew back. “I know.” Terrors she had long suppressed skittered through her mind and sent her moving restlessly about the room. Aware of his gaze following her, she battled a momentary resentment. Thomas would never let fear rule him. He would dance a reel around danger and smile the whole time.

  She paused to straighten a book on her night table, making sure it aligned precisely with the edge, then continued pacing, touching this and that. “It’s just that sometimes, something happens that makes me remember, and I overreact.” And Lone Tree would rise up in her mind, ready to pounce. “But I’m doing better.”

  “He was Indian. I am Indian. But we are not the same.”

  “Of course not. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder. Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Prudence.”

  Just that. Only her name. Said in the low, husky voice of a man who spoke seldom, and not at all to her for the last several months. She pressed the heel of her hand against her brow to stop a sudden sting of tears. She didn’t want to show weakness before this strong man.

  Yet, somehow, he knew. He always knew.

  Moving toward her, he pulled her into his arms. “Do not be afraid to weep, Eho’nehevehohtse,” he whispered against her hair. “It will free your mind of sorrowful thoughts.”

  She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want their first meeting after so long an absence to be filled with sorrow. But with the release of tension, tears broke in a flood. Knowing that he was here and hadn’t given up on her, and that for a
while, at least, she could let down her guard and rest in his arms, filled her with a raw, instinctual wanting that stripped her bare.

  “I am here with you, Prudence. I will keep you safe. You know this.”

  She nodded, unable to speak, pushing to the back of her mind the awareness that Lone Tree wasn’t the only barrier between them.

  Rocking her gently in his arms, he held her for a long time.

  This man was life to her. Hope. He had found her broken with despair and had put her back together again. He was her way out of the past and into a safe and loving future . . . once they got beyond the threat of Marsh, and if they could overcome the obstacles before them.

  But not tonight. Tonight she only wanted to hold him, and love him, and lose herself in his strength. Pulling out of his arms, she laced her fingers through his, and led him over to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. His hand felt rough and big against hers. Familiar, yet alien. That single contact of flesh against flesh made her body tremble with awareness.

  “Why is Lillie with you, Thomas?”

  “The school believed her when she said I was her father. They seemed glad to send her with me.” She saw the smile in his beautiful, dark eyes.

  “What are you going to do with her?”

  He shrugged, his shoulder rubbing against hers. “She chose me to be her father. She needs someone to take care of her. So that is what I will do.”

  Pru knew the loss of his wife and son years ago haunted him still. Was taking on Lillie his way to atone for that? “She can be a difficult child.”

  This time his smile included a flash of white teeth. “This I know. But I admire her spirit.”

  “Will you take her back to Heartbreak Creek?”

  He studied her for a long time, his gaze boring into her in that knowing way that reached so deep inside her mind she felt stripped bare. “You say ‘you’ instead of ‘we.’ Does that mean you are still not ready to come home, Prudence?”

  Dread moved through her. She knew that was the question he had come to ask—the same question he had asked on his last visit, and the visit before that: When would she give up this dream of helping every ex-slave who crossed her path and come back to him?