by Kaki Warner
Until finally, the only solace Thomas could find was in a bottle.
That’s how Declan had found him, under that pile of thrashing bodies in the saloon in Heartbreak Creek. Being the sheriff at that time, he had done his duty and had locked Thomas in jail for thirty days.
Hatred had kept the battered warrior alive. Hatred for the world he no longer fit into or understood—hatred for Declan for locking him up and depriving him of his alcohol—and especially, hatred for the trapper who had killed his family. Eventually the alcohol left his body. The rage didn’t. But by the time Thomas’s monthlong sentence ended, he and Declan had formed a wary friendship, which was tested a year later when Declan’s dark time came.
So to Declan’s way of thinking, he and Thomas had saved each other.
“There is no debt,” he said again, then smiled. “But if it will make you feel better, I’ll let you watch my back until Lone Tree is stopped.”
Thomas nodded solemnly. “Nia’ish, my white brother. Your goodness is as ever flowing as the great waters.”
Declan laughed. “And your compliments are as lasting as buffalo chips in the rain.”
Grinning, Thomas rested a hand on Declan’s shoulder. “Come,” he said, steering him toward the makeshift corral where Amos and the boys waited. “We will finish torturing your cattle, then we will ride to your tipi for a fine meal. And on the way, you will tell me about the dark-skinned woman.”
“Have your eye on her, do you?”
“She is a fine-looking woman.”
“And a hell of a cook.”
“Ho! That is a good thing, nesene’, because your new woman needs to eat. She is too skinny.”
“Maybe. But she’s mean, and with my kids to contend with, that counts for a lot.”
Thomas nodded sagely. “Nehetome. I know this to be true.”
Eight
“Those were his exact words, Pru. ‘I want to know her.’ ” Edwina mimicked Thomas Redstone’s deep, monotone voice. “That can only mean one thing.”
Pru shot her a look of exasperation in the mirror over the washstand in the water closet. “It can mean several things. Don’t make a simple statement into something it’s not. Can you spare any more pins?”
Edwina pulled a pin from her twist, passed it over, and watched her sister struggle for the umpteenth time to force the unruly curls at the back of her neck into her tightly wound bun.
Pru sighed. “This is hopeless. I should wear a scarf.”
“It’s fine. And anyway, what does it matter? He’s just an Indian.”
Her sister whipped toward her. “And what’s wrong with being an Indian, might I ask?”
Delighted to have pierced her sister’s calm façade, Edwina smiled sweetly. “Why, nothing at all. Except that he speaks a different language, lives in a house made of animal skins, has hair longer than yours, and wears trousers that don’t even cover his . . . upper legs.”
“They don’t?”
Having finally gained Pru’s full attention, Edwina happily expounded. “I saw it with my own eyes. When he walked up, I could actually see the muscles move in his”—she leaned closer to whisper—“fanny.”
Pru reared back to blink at her. “You saw his fanny?”
“His hip, anyway. Both sides. Right here.” Edwina poked at her own hip, which was discreetly covered by drawers, two petticoats, a gabardine skirt, and a calico apron that was only marginally tattered. “I tell you, Pru, I was horrified. Utterly horrified.”
“Horrified” might be an exaggeration. More like shocked. So much so that she had scarcely been able to look away. “He had very nice muscles,” she added, wondering if Declan’s would move and bunch and stretch in the same way, and if the skin there would be a paler hue than the sun-browned shade of his face and that shadowed V where his neck met the open collar of his shirt and where occasionally a few very black stray hairs would—
“How odd,” Pru mused, interrupting her imaginings. “I didn’t notice that before. Well, no matter.” One last pat on her hair, and she turned and headed toward the stairs. “It’s getting late. We’d best finish supper.”
“You just keep an eye on him,” Edwina warned, coming down behind her. “It’s apparent he has designs on you.”
“Oh, pshaw.” Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Pru cocked her head toward the voices beyond the back door.
“Lucas!” Brin shouted from the backyard. “Pa brought Thomas!”
“Mercy.” Suddenly all aflutter, Pru rushed across the kitchen. “They’re here already and I haven’t even put the rolls in.”
By the time Declan, the children, and their guest came through the back door—freshly washed and hatless—the table was set with an extra place, coffee was boiling, roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables were waiting to be served, and the rolls were browned to perfection.
As had become their habit, Amos Hicks and Chick McElroy didn’t join them, preferring to take their meals in their cozy bunkhouse because—as Brin put it—all Edwina’s rules “gave them the shivers.” Which was fine with Edwina since it was difficult for her not to shiver, herself, whenever she was downwind of the odoriferous ranch hands.
Luckily Declan had higher standards of cleanliness and regularly made use of the oversized washtub in the laundry shed—or so Brin had informed her with a look of deep disgust. Which relieved Edwina’s mind, since she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be for a man Declan’s size to fit into the delicate hip bath in the water closet off the bedroom. Not that she’d been trying to imagine it, of course. Idle curiosity. Nothing more. Which was surely the same reason her sister’s gaze fastened on Thomas Redstone’s open-hipped leggings as he took his place at the table.
Other than Brin’s prattle about the new barn kitties, and Joe Bill’s recounting of a hawk he’d seen fly by with a snake in its talons, it was a strangely silent meal. Thomas Redstone stared at Pru, Pru stared at her plate, and Declan divided his stares between Edwina and his talkative daughter. Joe Bill and R.D. were too intent on gobbling their food to even look up, and Lucas focused on carving mountains with gravy waterfalls in his mashed potatoes.
Edwina found it fascinating. A family of near-mutes. She should write a book. Maybe Maddie could document it with photographs.
It wasn’t until the edge had dulled on their enormous appetites and Thomas was into his third serving of roast beef that Declan spoke. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
Thomas glanced at Pru. “Yes. She is a fine cook.”
Pru must have seen Edwina bristle. “Actually,” she cut in, speaking for the first time since the meal had begun, “Edwina prepared the meal.”
Declan’s gaze shifted to Edwina. “She did?”
It was a bit insulting that he sounded so surprised, but Edwina remembered her manners and smiled graciously.
“I thought you said she couldn’t cook,” Joe Bill said.
“Apparently I was wrong.” The smile Declan sent her took some of the sting out of Joe Bill’s rude remark. “It’s good, Ed. Really good.”
Edwina nodded her thanks and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin to hide the smile of pleasure she wasn’t able to hold back. How odd that kind words from her own husband would make her blush like a schoolgirl.
Turning his attention back to Thomas, Declan said, “There’s an old cougar prowling the ridge up behind the creek. Already got two calves. Keep an eye out when you’re coming and going.”
Thomas tipped his head toward R.D. “ Voaxaa’e will get him.”
Brin tried to repeat the word but got tangled up in the vowels. “What does that mean, Thomas?”
“It means eagle. Because your brother sees far and true.”
R.D. grinned through a mouth full of string beans. “That’s me. Eagle Eye Brodie.”
“My turn!” Brin shouted. “What am I?”
Thomas thought for a moment. “You are neske’esta. One who chatters like a chipmunk.”
“A chipmunk! I love chipmunks!” Bouncing in de
light at this new game, Brin demanded that he name Joe Bill.
Thomas didn’t have to think long for this one. “He is okom, the wily coyote. The trickster.”
Joe Bill preened, apparently taking that as a compliment.
“Do Lucas!”
Thomas turned to the boy watching him with wide, intelligent eyes. “Lucas is like our brother the raccoon, matseskome, because of his quick hands and curious mind.”
Looking pleased, Lucas ducked his head, hiding his blush behind that flop of light brown hair.
The children delighted in trying out their names, laughing at each other’s garbled attempts at pronunciation.
“And Miss Lincoln?” Edwina asked, watching Thomas closely. If he truly had designs on her sister, this would be the telling moment. If he tried to flatter her, Pru would level him with her steely stare. If he insulted her or said something untoward about her mixed blood or Negro status, Edwina would cut him down like the dog he was.
Thomas sat back, both palms resting on his thighs. A smile teased the corners of his wide mouth. “She is eho’nehevehohtse. One who leaves wolf tracks.”
Well, that made no sense whatsoever. Edwina glanced at Pru, waiting for her to say something. But her sister just sat there like a ninny, so Edwina felt compelled to jump in. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
Thomas continued to study Pru. Edwina could tell by her sister’s rigid stillness that Pru was as uncomfortable under that probing gaze as she had been. “The People honor the wolf for his wisdom,” he explained in his flat voice. “For a woman to leave tracks of the wolf means she can outsmart men. Some men, anyway,” he added, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Declan made a small noise at the other end of the table. Edwina glanced at him, saw he was fighting laughter, and gave him a reproving look. “Well, she is brilliant,” she defended. “You’re certainly right about that.”
Thomas nodded. “And perhaps soon she will be heme’oono as well.”
This time Declan couldn’t restrain his amusement. “And how do you say ‘one who moves fast like antelope’?”
Edwina looked at him in surprise. “You speak his language?”
“A word here and there.” His grin bespoke mischief.
Suddenly uneasy with where this might be headed, and sensing unspoken messages passing between the two men, Edwina broke in before it went too far. “And what would my Indian name be?”
The warrior turned his head and regarded her for so long with those dark, assessing eyes Edwina wished she hadn’t asked. “You are ma’hahko’e,” he finally said. “Because you are fierce and protective and speak what is in your mind.”
Fierce. Protective. Edwina smiled, liking that. “Ma-ha-ko-e. And what does that mean, Mr. Redstone?”
“Badger.”
As roundup wound down over the next few days, the Cheyenne warrior became a regular face at the supper table. Edwina found it vastly entertaining to watch Thomas watch Pru, and Pru’s unsuccessful struggle not to watch him back. But it also troubled her, not knowing where this attraction would lead, and how her sister would reconcile her confused feelings for the handsome Indian and her deep desire to go back to Heartbreak Creek and start a school for displaced Negroes.
It had become obvious to Edwina why teaching was Pru’s passion; she was quite good at it. By the second week after their arrival, she had begun staying at the kitchen table after the evening meal so she could teach letters to Brin, and help Joe Bill and Lucas with their reading and numbers. R.D. was already a fair reader and had a head for numbers—learned no doubt by keeping the cattle tally for his father.
Edwina, although not as gifted a teacher as Pru, helped after she finished the dishes, and felt a parent’s pride that the younger three were quick learners, if somewhat lazy . . . except for Lucas. He soaked up anything they could teach him and was soon helping Brin.
Most evenings, while she cleaned the kitchen and Pru instructed the children, Declan excused himself to attend his endless chores. But once Thomas became a regular guest, after they had eaten and before he retired to his cot in the tack room off the barn, he and Declan would carry their coffee to the porch and talk in quiet, deep tones as the light faded from the western sky. Edwina suspected they drank more than coffee out there but made no mention of it. However, as the week wore on, instead of going onto the porch or to his cot, Thomas began to linger in the kitchen, watching Pru and listening to the children’s halting recitations with great interest.
Edwina found it curious, and one night as she and her sister prepared for bed, she mentioned it. “Do you think Thomas can read, Pru? The way he hangs about when the lessons are in progress makes me wonder.”
“I’ve wondered, too. Do you think it would be rude to ask?”
“No, but would you feel comfortable working with him? You seem a bit awkward around him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pru retorted, ducking behind the water closet screen.
“Then you’ll ask him?” Edwina pressed.
Pru didn’t answer.
But the next night she mentioned to Thomas that since he spoke English so well, did he also know how to read it? Ever tactful, Pru was.
Thomas shook his head. “When I was a boy, missionaries came to our tribe to convert us ‘heathen savages’ to your Christian God. They also taught letters and numbers to any who would come to their tipi to learn. Only a few children did.” He smiled crookedly. “To avoid chores, I think.”
“Were you one of them?” Pru asked.
“Sometimes.”
“So you know your letters?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “A few. But I do not know how to make them into words. The People do not talk in letters. We use pictures and symbols.”
“Letters are symbols, too,” Pru explained. “They stand for the sounds we use to form the words we speak. Would you like for me to show you?”
Thomas studied her across the table. “It is important to you that I know this?”
“It should be important to you,” Pru hedged. “A man who can’t read and write is more easily fooled into putting his mark on papers he doesn’t understand.”
“Like the white man’s treaties?”
Pru gave a rueful smile. “Sadly so.”
“Then you will teach me this, Prudence,” Thomas announced in his solemn way. “So that someday I can offer my own treaties to the White Father in Washington.”
Thus, the crowd around the table grew, for without Thomas to keep him company on the porch, Declan moved inside as well, taking his place at the end of the table where he made notations in his tally book and studied his catalogs and seed pamphlets.
Edwina cherished those evenings. Sitting in the warm kitchen while she worked on the dress she was sewing for Brin’s upcoming birthday—listening to Pru’s gentle voice as she helped the children and Thomas—stealing glances at the man at the other end of the table. There was a sense of connection she hadn’t felt in a long time. She almost felt part of a family again.
And sometimes he would look up, his dark gaze fastening on hers, and for a moment, strange, sharp currents would move between them, and Edwina would sit frozen, unable to look away, her nerves tingling with a hot surge of emotion that left her confused, and tense, and . . . confused.
Then he would look back down at whatever he was reading and she would be able to breathe again and her scattered thoughts would settle once more. But if he smiled . . .
Oh, that smile.
The weather turned wet and blustery as roundup week drew to a close. The cattle not marked for sale were loosened into the hills to fatten on summer grass, while the culls were held back to be driven into Heartbreak Creek. Jubal Parker, a nearby rancher—nearby meaning only thirteen miles away—sent a couple of ranch hands over with fifty-two more head to add to Declan’s herd so they could all be driven into town together. Once there, they would be auctioned to cattle buyers, then herded to the junction fives miles east of tow
n to be loaded onto railroad stock cars bound for Omaha and Kansas City.
Apparently this year Declan had decided to take the whole family with him to Heartbreak Creek. Only Chick and Rusty would remain behind to tend the milk cow, the chickens, and the mares with their new foals. He didn’t seem to mind. His leg made riding difficult, and sitting in the wagon with the ladies and children for the long trip apparently had as little appeal for him as it did for Edwina. The man seemed to smell worse every day.
Concerned for his health, as well as that of anyone in his vicinity, Edwina gave him a piece of toweling, a bar of strong soap, and instructions to make use of them during their absence. “And do wash those clothes while you’re at it,” she had suggested firmly. “Or I will.”
The night before they were to leave, a warm wind swept down the valley, breaking up the clouds and promising good weather for the cattle drive into Heartbreak Creek. That evening after supper, pretending to give in to the children’s urging, although Edwina suspected it had been his intent all along, Declan promised if the sale went as he hoped, they would stay in town for an extra couple of days.
Edwina could scarcely contain herself.
“Won’t it be grand to see Maddie and Lucinda again?” she asked Pru the next morning as she slipped last-minute items into the valise they would take. “And shop! Look.” She held out a handful of coins. “Isn’t Declan generous? He said to get whatever we wanted.” Carefully slipping the coins into her coin purse, she snapped it closed and dropped it into her reticule. “I’m thinking of getting ribbons for Brin. And I need thread and cloth for new aprons. Perhaps a book for Lucas. And Joe Bill and R.D. could use new shirts. What will you shop for?”
Pru laughed. “I think you’ve already spent more than you have there.”
“Then I shall simply ask for more.”
“And be indebted to him?”
Feeling the beginnings of a blush, Edwina busied herself folding a skirt into the valise. “He should provide for us. He’s my husband, after all.”
“Is he?”
Ignoring that, Edwina swung the valise off the bed. “Come on. We’re running late, and you know how Declan hates to wait.”
