"I love you, Vickie," Hawk said in a voice that was thick with emotion. "People will say I married you because of the baby and for no other reason, but it isn't true. I married you because I love you very, very much."
"And I love you," Victoria murmured fervently. "Very, very much."
"If you were an Indian girl, your male relatives would have put you on a blanket and carried you into my lodge," Hawk said, smiling wryly. "But since we were married the white man's way . . ." He shrugged as he swung her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold of the lodge. "Welcome to your new home, wife." He lingered over the last word, savoring the sound of it.
"This is all new to me," Victoria said, gesturing at the lodge and its meager furnishings. "But I'll try my best to make you happy. I promise."
"You've already made me happy," Hawk said quietly. His breath was warm on her neck as he carried her toward the buffalo robes spread at the rear of the lodge. Gently, he placed her on the soft robes, his eyes caressing her face. She was his now, truly his. He could hold her and love her without feeling guilty, without fear of discovery. He could enfold her in his arms all night long, kiss her sweet lips at the beginning of each new day. A fierce surge of possessiveness swept over him. She was his woman, his wife, and he would live and die for her.
Victoria smiled up at Hawk, feeling unaccountably shy. They had been alone before, but never like this. She was Hawk's wife now, and he could do to her whatever he wished. She could not go running home if things did not work out. Her father's words rang in the back of her mind: "You've made your bed," he had declared spitefully. "Now lay in it."
Suddenly apprehensive, she gazed around the lodge. It was large, roomy and alien. There was a firepit in the center of the lodge, a pair of willow backrests, a wooden crate that held a blue enamel coffee pot and several iron cooking pots, as well as some mismatched silverware, towels, and glasses. A large trunk held her clothes and a few personal belongings. Hawk's rifle was propped against one of the lodgepoles, his clothing was stacked in a neat pile beside his rifle.
Victoria glanced down at the furry robe that would be her bed until they could afford a regular one, then lifted her eyes to Hawk's face. The love in his eyes reached out to her and her doubts evaporated like morning dew. She could endure any hardship, any deprivation, so long as Hawk was at her side.
How tenderly he made love to her that night, his hands gentle as they pleasured her in ways only he knew. He treated her as if she were a fragile flower that might wilt and die if not handled with the utmost care, and Victoria was deeply moved by Hawk's tender concern. His gentleness, his patience, made her feel as though they were making love for the very first time, and surely no one else in all the world had ever known such bliss.
The next few days were paradise. They made love and slept and made love again. They bathed in the stream. At first, Victoria was shy about bathing in front of Hawk, embarrassed to stand naked before him in the full light of day, but she soon overcame her modesty. She liked having Hawk admire her, liked the way his dark eyes moved lovingly over her bare flesh. And she liked looking at him. He was tall and lean, sleek and muscular as a panther. Looking at him as he emerged from the stream shaking the water from his long black hair, she could easily visualize him as a warrior, for he was very Indian in his appearance and beliefs. Each morning, he went alone to the stream to meditate. He was respectful of all life: the animals that lived in the hills, the fish in the streams, the squirrels and jays that sang in the trees. He was a very religious man in his way, but he refused to go to church with her on Sunday, declaring Heammawihio could not be found within the four square walls of the white man's house of worship. However, he did not object to her going, and Victoria went to church on Sunday with Hannah.
Hawk's love for Victoria grew with each passing day. She was cheerful and good-natured, a little embarrassed because she did not know how to cook over an open fire, or how to skin the game he brought home. But she was eager and willing to learn. She never complained about living in a Cheyenne lodge, or lamented the fact that they sat on the ground and slept on a pile of furs.
Often, he placed his hand over her abdomen, his heart swelling with love for the child she carried beneath her heart. He refused to let her do any heavy work, insisted she take a nap each afternoon.
They had been married less than a week when Helen and Porter Sprague came to offer their congratulations. The Spragues gave them a pair of silver candlesticks as a wedding gift.
They did not stay long, and Hawk knew it was because, even though they wanted to be friendly, they were uncomfortable visiting in a hide lodge.
''We have to be getting back," Helen explained as they started for the door. "Porter's mother is living with us now and she doesn't like to be left alone for too long."
"She's almost sixty," Porter added with a shrug. "You understand?"
"Yes," Victoria said graciously. "Thank you for coming, and thank you for the lovely gift."
Hawk grinned at Victoria when they were alone. "Silver candlesticks," he muttered, shaking his head. "What are we going to do with silver candlesticks?"
"Use them," Victoria replied.
And that night, they ate dinner by candlelight.
Later, Hawk made love to Victoria in the dim glow of the candlelight. His hands gently caressed her smooth skin, lingering on her breasts, imagining what it would be like when her breasts were swollen with milk. His mouth nuzzled her sweet flesh while his hands stroked the hidden valley between her slim thighs, and when he could no longer hold back, he plunged into her, giving himself over to the wonder of being enveloped in her warm womanly softness . . .
The next day, Sam and Rebecca brought them a milk cow, a pail, and a stool.
"How are you getting along?" Rebecca asked Victoria while the men were outside building a corral for the cow.
"Fine," Victoria said, making light of the rough housing and lack of creature comforts she had known with her parents. "Come on, I'll show you where we're going to build our cabin."
Victoria was all smiles as they walked through the rooms they had planned. "Here's the kitchen," Victoria said, indicating a large area in the back. "This will be our bedroom, and the baby's room will be here." She moved toward the front of the proposed house. "This will be the parlor.''
Rebecca nodded, glad to see that Victoria was happy. "It's going to be very nice," she said. "I notice the front door faces east."
"Yes, Hawk insisted on it. He said all Cheyenne lodges face the rising sun."
"I'm glad you're happy, Vickie."
"I am. Hawk is so good to me. I love him very much. I only wish . . ."
"What?"
"I wish everyone knew how wonderful he is. We went into town to the mercantile the other day to buy a few things and Hawk almost got into a fight when someone made a nasty remark about white women who marry half-breeds." Victoria's eyes flashed angrily. "Why do people care who my husband is? Hawk is the most wonderful man I've ever known. He's honest and caring and reliable. Why should the color of his skin make any difference?"
"I can't answer that, Victoria. I guess people are always a little afraid of someone who's different. And you've got to remember there are a lot of people living in Bear Valley who lost loved ones during the Indian wars. People are slow to forget that kind of thing. And slow to forgive."
"But the Indian wars have been over for twenty years!" Victoria exclaimed.
"I know. You'll just have to be patient."
"Like Hannah?"
"Yes. Sooner or later, people will realize what a good man Hawk is. Many of the people in the valley who once thought Shadow was a savage have become his friends."
"I guess you're right," Victoria allowed. "The Spragues came to congratulate us on our wedding just yesterday. And when we were in town, Mrs. Turner gave us six quarts of preserves and two loaves of bread." Victoria smiled. "Mr. Smythe volunteered to help us build our cabin. He said he'd bring David, Ethan, Frank, Gene, and Henry out to
help next Saturday morning and they'd have the frame up by nightfall."
"That's wonderful!" Rebecca said enthusiastically. "Hannah and I will bring lunch so you won't have to cook."
Leland Smythe was as good as his word and he had his five boys hard at work by seven o'clock Saturday morning. His two older sons, Benjamin and Cabel, were also there. Ben and Cabel were both married now with children of their own. The Smythe's oldest son, Abel, had gone to California several years ago. He lived in San Francisco and was the president of a bank. His mother was very proud of him.
It was a busy day. The men worked steadily until noon, then broke for lunch. Hawk, usually reserved around everyone but family, seemed happy and relaxed, pleased that some of his neighbors had come to help with the cabin raising. Sam had brought a jug and the men passed it around while the women looked on, frowning. Victoria was pleased when Hawk let the jug pass by.
When the men went back to work, Rebecca, Mary, Hannah and Victoria did the dishes, then sat in the shade, quilting a pink and blue quilt for the baby.
It was a lovely, productive day and as Leland Smythe had promised, the frame was up before nightfall.
"We'll be back next week to put the roof on," Frank Smythe hollered as he climbed into his father's wagon. "See you bright and early."
Leland Smythe waved as he took up the reins. "Hey, Sam!" he called jovially. "Don't forget the jug!"
XXVIII
Summer 1897
It was summer in Bear Valley. Wildflowers bloomed on the hillsides, trees and bushes were heavy with fruit, my garden yielded an abundance of squash and tomatoes and beans, carrots and radishes and onions. Eight of Shadow's mares had dropped Appaloosa foals. I could see them romping in the pasture near the house as I hung a load of wash on the fine to dry.
It had been a good year after all. Hawk and Victoria seemed to be more in love with each passing day. Their cabin was almost completed and they were excited about their new home, and about the baby which was due late in September. Pa and Rebecca were thrilled with the prospect of being great-grandparents. Most of the families in the valley had accepted Victoria's marriage to Hawk without much thought, though I knew some of them would not have been so tolerant and understanding if it had been their own daughter who had married a half-breed. There were a few skeptics who predicted dire consequences from such a match. And when it became obvious that Victoria had been pregnant before the wedding, the town gossips had a field day. The couple had only gotten married because of the baby, some said, love had nothing to do with it. Hawk had raped her, others declared with conviction. That was why the Bannermans had been so upset. No, others insisted, Victoria had been all too willing to take up with a half-breed and that was why the Bannermans had been so ashamed, why they had left the valley. Victoria was no better than a harlot, whispered others, and it served her right to be in the family way and married to a half-breed.
Fortunately, no one was foolish enough to say such things when Shadow or Hawk were within hearing distance. Gradually, the gossip died away. Who could possibly believe Victoria had been raped when she looked at her new husband with such adoration in her eyes? Who could find fault with a couple who were so obviously in love, so eager to make a home for their child?
A child. I would be a grandmother before the year was out.
I smiled, amused at the thought. Was it possible I was old enough to be a grandmother? The years had flown by so quickly, yet I still felt the same as I had at twenty. It didn't seem possible that Hawk was a man, married, and about to become a father.
I thought of Shadow. At 41, he was still strong and virile, more handsome now than when I had first fallen in love with him. I remembered the day Elk Dreamer had married us in the Cheyenne way. We had been camped along the Big Bend of the Rosebud River, waiting for Custer. It had been May, 1876. I had worn a white doeskin dress decorated with long fringe and hundreds of tiny blue beads. A single white rose had been my only adornment. Shadow had worn a white buckskin shirt, white fringed leggings and moccasins. A white eagle feather had been tied in his long black hair.
I was not the same girl I had been that day so long ago, and Shadow was not the same man. Time and circumstances had changed us, matured us, strengthened our love.
So many things had changed in the last twenty years. The Indians no longer roamed wild and free, the buffalo were almost gone. Bear Valley had grown into a good-sized town. We had a telegraph office now, a small hotel, a newspaper, a restaurant, even a lawman. Progress was making itself felt. Steel's Crossing had a telephone. Pa and Rebecca had a phonograph. There was talk of the railroad coming to Bear Valley.
So many changes . . . and yet, sometimes at night, I missed the happiness of the old days when Shadow and I had shared a hide lodge in the wilds of Dakota. Our grandchildren would never know the peaceful quiet of a night in the Black Hills, or know the wonder of seeing a herd of buffalo stampede across the open prairie, heads low, tails flying like flags. Our grandsons would never hear the sound of drums, or know the thrill of riding after buffalo, or experience the pain and ecstasy of the Sun Dance. Our granddaughters would never court beneath a big red blanket, or hear the plaintive call of the flute played by a bronze-skinned warrior.
With a sigh, I picked up my laundry basket and walked back to the house. Shadow had left early that morning to help Pa round up some cattle that had broken down a fence and wandered off into the hills. Blackie had gone with his father. Mary had gone to spend a few days with Patience Osborn, who had just had a baby girl and needed help with her other three children while she recuperated from a difficult birth.
I paused to admire our house as I drew near. It didn't look the same as it had ten years ago. The trees we had planted had grown and now gave shade to the house. There were flowers blooming on either side of the porch. A white picket fence surrounded the front yard. Shadow had built it for me last year just because I had always wanted one. Three cats napped beside the front door. A squirrel, one of Blackie's strays, chattered at me from the roof as I started up the porch steps.
I knew, the minute I opened the front door and entered the house, that something was wrong. I stood inside the doorway, suddenly tense all over as a coldness swept over me.
Chiding myself for being foolish, I closed the door and started for the kitchen.
"Hello, Hannah."
His voice stopped me in my tracks and I felt an icy chill slither down my spine as I turned to face him.
"Hello, Joshua."
He smiled at me, a decidedly possessive smile. He had not changed much in the eleven years since I had last seen him. He was a little thinner, perhaps, his hair was gray, but other than that, he looked much the same as always. And yet he was not the same. There was a hint of madness lurking in his bright blue eyes, and it frightened me more than I cared to admit.
"Are you ready?" Josh asked.
"Ready?" My heart was pounding wildly in my breast. I tried to think, to stay calm, but I could think of nothing except that Joshua was here to take me away. His next words confirmed my worst suspicions.
"Surely you knew I would come for you, darling," he said huskily. "Don't I always come for you?"
"Yes, you do." My thoughts raced, going nowhere. I was alone in the house. Shadow would not be home until late, if at all.
"Pack your things, Hannah, dear. It's time to go."
"Go where?" I was stalling for time, wondering how I could keep Josh here until Shadow came home.
"California," Joshua replied. He came toward me, his hands reaching out to clasp my shoulders. "I've missed you," he murmured, and kissed me, his lips grinding against mine as his hands drew my body closer to his. I cringed as his fingers moved through my hair, down my neck, along my back, over my hips. His mouth moved over my face, kissing my eyes and cheeks, returning to cover my mouth. I longed to push him away, but some inner voice warned me not to fight him.
I smiled at him when he finally let me go. "Would you like something to eat, Josh? I was just abou
t to have lunch."
His eyes mirrored his indecision and then he said, "Sure, why not. You always were a good cook."
I smiled woodenly and went into the kitchen. He followed me, of course. I put the coffee pot on the stove, began to slice some roast beef for sandwiches. Josh sat at the table, his eyes watching my every move.
I served Josh, then sat down across from him. If only Shadow would come home early. If only I could get my hands on the pistol I kept in the bedroom. And yet, even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew I could not kill Josh.
''That was good, darling," Joshua said. Pushing away from the table, he stood up. "Let's go. We've got time to put some miles behind us if we start now."
"I'll just do the dishes . . ."
"No need," he said. "Just pack your things."
"All right. I won't be a minute. Why don't you have another cup of coffee?" I kissed Josh on the cheek. Perhaps he wouldn't follow me if he thought I was eager to go with him. Trying not to run in my haste to get away from him, I turned and walked toward the bedroom I shared with Shadow. If I could sneak out the window, I could run down the valley and stay with the Smythes until Shadow came home.
"I'll help you pack," Josh said, coming up behind me.
I nodded, unable to speak. He wasn't going to let me out of his sight for a moment. Despair dropped over my shoulders as I recalled the days I had spent gagged, bound hand and foot in the wagon. Was that what waited for me now? How would I stand being Joshua's prisoner again? The thought of his hands touching me filled me with dread. Oh, God, please don't let me have to live through that nightmare again.
Taking a valise from the armoire, I began to pack my belongings. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly fold my clothes.
"Where have you been all this time, Josh?" I asked, not liking the silence, or the way he was staring at me.
"Prison," Josh answered bitterly. "I spent over ten years in that damn jail. But I'm here now." He laughed softly and without humor. "I had to kill four men to get out of that damn jail, but it was worth it. We'll be happy now. No one will find us in California." Joshua's blue eyes narrowed darkly as he noticed Shadow's clothes hanging in the armoire next to mine. ''That redskin," he growled. "Are you still shacked up with him?"
Reckless Love Page 27
