“Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you want me to stay”
He asked so tenderly she started to say yes. She hated that she would never see him again, never hear his laughter or hear his stories. Or feel his lips on hers. “I’m fine. But I don’t understand him.”
He frowned and turned his horse. “I do.”
She had to stop him if only for a minute more. With him and John Eagle she felt warm and watched over. After only a few days in Bacavi, her own world seemed alien. “I already miss you,” she said with haste. “And John Eagle, too. I wish I could do over so much.” Where had she found the courage to say that? To her relief, he grinned back at her.
“I think we’ll be seeing you again, Maire. Sooner than you think.” With that, he, too, turned and rode off.
Maire had little time to think. Her colleagues gathered around, all asking questions. Hannah pushed her way through. “Leave her alone, everyone. She needs rest and to warm up.” She took Maire’s arm and tugged her to their tent.
Once out of the wind, Maire felt warmer, but suddenly tired. She dropped onto the cot she had used for several weeks. Hannah shoved a cup into her hand and the smell of coffee—the first she’d had in a week—infiltrated her brain. She sipped and sighed as though she’d arrived in heaven.
“Let’s get these clothes off you and get you into something warmer. The weather seems to have changed quite suddenly. Where have you been? How did you find those two men? The white man is really handsome, isn’t he? But the Indian, oh my. He makes me quake with fear and desire all at the same time.”
Maire sputtered a laugh. “Hannah, really!”
Her friend sat beside her and helped Maire off with her coat. “I only said what all of us women were thinking.”
Their troupe was composed of six men and three women—four, with Maire—each working with her own ethnologist. She struggled to take another taste of coffee while Hannah tried to remove her dress.
“This is next to impossible,” her friend complained. She jumped up and retrieved Maire’s wool dressing gown. Maire couldn’t help comparing the robe made of the finest fabric available to her in North Carolina to the finely woven blanket John Eagle had loaned her. She didn’t doubt that he had done the work himself, using wool from their own sheep. The warp and weft were as tight in his blanket as on the machined material. The men of the Hopi had extraordinary skill.
She removed her damaged dress and wrapped herself in the robe. The other two women clerks entered the tent and took seats on the two bunks.
“Now, tell us everything,” Hannah demanded. “I wanted to come to you when that white man—”
“Gus,” Maire supplied.
“Well, when he came to tell us where you were, but he wouldn't let me.”
“He was right not to bring you back. They didn't really like my being there.”
Maire related the bare facts of her story, stopping frequently for questions or exclamations. “And today Gus and John Eagle brought me back,” she finished. She told them nothing about Bacavi. That was her time, her bond with the two men. She didn’t want to share what she’d heard or seen with anyone.
For a change, the women were quiet for a few moments. “We searched for hours when you weren’t back by dinner. The next day, too. You almost died, Maire,” Hannah said in a low voice. “Suppose they hadn’t found you?”
The full extent of her adventure hit Maire. “I would have died.”
“Do you realize that you’ve spent more in-depth time with the Hopi than any of the scientists here?” asked Minnie, a clerical worker from Illinois. “They’ve interviewed some of the men, but no one has spent more than a few hours in their villages.”
Lillian, one of the clerks in their group, agreed. “You need to write down everything you saw and heard so we can file it. Maybe you should document any sounds you heard phonetically, along with its meaning. You’ve gathered a wealth of information, Maire. And you did it in the best way—by being part of their everyday life. This is really exciting.”
“Really,” Maire insisted, “I spent most of my time in bed, trying to heal.”
“Just wait until your boss, that stuck-up prig Dr. Sampson, hears what you’ve seen and done. He’ll be furious that he didn’t fall into a hole up in the mesa.” Lillian chuckled.
“He’ll probably go out looking for a hole,” Minnie agreed.
“I wouldn’t advise that plan for meeting the Hopi,” Maire said.
“So you’ll record your adventure?” Lillian stood, ready to take her leave. Minnie joined her.
“I’m sure they already know more than I.” Funny, but telling the lie didn’t even stir a dark corner of her soul. It felt right.
“We have to get to work, but we’ll check in with you later.” Minnie left, followed by Lillian.
“I have to go, too,” Hannah said. “But you should rest. Tomorrow is soon enough to get back to work.” She pulled on a heavy coat. “Can I get you anything else before I go?”
“No, thanks.” Maire crawled under the blankets.
“I’ll bet it’s good to be back, huh?”
“Yes, of course.” But Maire missed the sounds of the village, the children’s noise at play, the calls of the woman across the courtyard, and the sounds of the sheep, chickens, and cows corralled not far away. Here, the camp was quiet. Almost too quiet.
“I’m happy you’re back safely,” Hannah said, and then she left.
Maire closed her eyes to a kaleidoscope of images. John Eagle’s sharply planed face, Gus’s eyes crinkled in laughter, the toddler in the village being tossed in the air, a coyote’s cry, and a lone eagle crossing the sky.
She felt certain the ethnologists would ask her to document her experiences because as Lillian noted, no one in their group had seen Indian life from the perspective she had enjoyed. She didn’t want to do it, though. The Clan hadn’t invited her there as an observer. Telling all she knew seemed dishonest somehow. And that special time was hers alone.
More, she sensed that John Eagle wouldn’t approve of her sharing the days in the village with her colleagues. And if there was one thing she never wanted to see, it was disappointment in John Eagle’s eyes. Though it was totally unscientific and contrary to the mission she’d agreed to, she had to find a way to avoid telling what she’d learned.
Chapter Seven
“What did you drink while you were there?” Henry Sampson asked. He turned a stern face toward Maire and waited for her reply.
“A tea of some kind. And water, of course.”
“Water, of course, but what else? What kind of tea?” He rolled his eyes and then stared at her, pen in hand. “Come, come. You must have paid better attention than that.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Sampson. I was asleep much of the time. I didn’t help prepare meals or examine their foodstuffs.”
He tossed his pen down. “For two days you’ve said little more than, ‘I was sleeping,’ ‘I don’t know,’ ‘I didn’t see.’ How could such a golden opportunity be wasted on one who paid so little attention?” He shook his fist heavenward. “Why her, Lord, and not me, who could have done so much better?”
Maire leapt to her feet. “May I remind you, I almost died before I was taken to the Hopi village. I wasn’t there to observe, I was there to heal.”
“Well, you could have healed with your eyes open and observant. And your being stranded is another example of your not paying attention. How could anyone in their right mind not see a big, huge hole in a rock?”
She had explained a dozen times how her fall came about, and she wasn’t about to try again. The slot canyon on the mesa was the only thing she had explained in detail. About all else that took place during her time away she had been as vague as possible without seeming to be obdurate.
Before the professor could light into her once more with further questioning, a disturbance outside stopped him. When he pulled back the tent flap, she peeked out from behind him. Gus was just swinging off his horse. Among the
group of clerks and ethnologists, she saw John Eagle. Stunned, she followed her boss out and into the crowd.
Nudging her way to the front, she stood for a moment and took in the sight of the two men who had filled her dreams. They looked well, for which she was grateful. More, they looked sexy and masculine, putting any other man she'd known to shame.
Her breath hitched when Gus turned to scan the group watching them. When he saw her he smiled before turning back to his work. Her dreams flashed through her mind and her pussy moistened so that she could scent the aroma. She hoped no one else could.
John Eagle and Gus lowered a travois tied to the back of John’s saddle to the ground. They uncovered a headless, skinless, four-legged creature strapped to the wooden sledge. It presented a frightening picture.
“What. Have. You. Brought. Us?” Dr. Sampson said very slowly, gesturing as he spoke.
John Eagle looked from him to her, raising his brows. She shrugged.
“Is. This. Deer. For. Us?” The professor tried again, mimicking a four-legged animal with his fingers and then shaping horns on his head. Finally he pointed to the group and then the deer.
John Eagle, solemn as ever, shook his head. He pointed to Maire and then the deer. Then he pointed from the deer to the crowd and pretended to eat.
“Yes, just as I thought,” the doctor said with pride. “He means for us to eat the animal. He’s brought it as a sign of respect for us.”
John Eagle pointed once more to the dead animal and back at the professor before acting as though he was eating. Then he stopped and stared meaningfully at Maire’s boss and ran his finger across his neck.
“What? What is he saying?”
“Professor,” Maire said, “he seems to mean that we can all eat the meat except you.”
“What? But why would he say that? I’ve done nothing to the man.”
“For Christ’s sake, this is annoying,” John said. “Come on, Gus, let’s get this thing butchered.” While the professor sputtered and took himself back inside, John Eagle and Gus carried the carcass to a tree and strung it up between branches.
She came up behind them. She wanted more than anything to throw her arms around them and beg them to take her back to Bacavi. Instead, she folded her hands at her waist. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just ask whoever prepares your meals to tell us where to store this meat,” Gus replied. Knife in hand, he sliced off one of the forelegs, and then cut a neat rack.
“Please don’t tell me you work for that man,” John Eagle said.
She grinned. “In fact…he’s my boss.”
He shook his head and frowned. “Damn. He could have stayed in the East reading penny novels and known as much about the tribes as he does now.” With deft skill, he worked the whole time he talked.
“He would understand a lot more if I told him any of what I learned while I was with the Clan.”
John Eagle looked up, surprise written all over his face.
“That’s good, Maire,” Gus said quietly. “What you saw and did in Bacavi is none of their business.”
Just then, Bill Percy, their cook, bustled over to where the men worked. “This is mighty nice of you,” he said.
“Our pleasure,” Gus responded.
“Is there anything I can give you in return? I got plenty of oil and flour.”
“No, thank you.” John Eagle shot an intimate glance at Maire before cutting two roasts and separating the haunch.
She covered her mouth with her hands lest she say something to embarrass herself. She wished she could kiss him. Even touching his hand might quell the strange feelings running through her.
Bill raised his brows and nodded. “I see how it is. Well, I appreciate the supply.” He slung one of the back haunches over his shoulder and started back to the cooking tent. Others hoisted the rest of the meat and carried it off.
Gus and John Eagle released the ropes from the branches and wrapped them in coils. Then, using pine needles from a low-hanging branch, they cleaned their knives and stored them back in their sheaths.
John Eagle swung onto his horse.
“Wait,” Maire said. “Won’t you stay and visit a while? You should at least join us for dinner since you supplied the meat.”
“We need to get back.” John turned his horse north.
Gus removed a deerskin from the back of his saddle. Maire gulped, eyes wide. “This isn’t the skin from your dinner,” he said with a grin. “It’s going to snow tonight and you might need extra warmth.”
She examined the sky. Light clouds dotted a rich, blue sky, though there was a nip in the air. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me.”
“You know I do.” She took the skin in her arms. “Thank you both very much,” she said. “When will I see you again?”
John Eagle shrugged. Gus laughed. “In a few days, I reckon.”
“I’m already looking forward to it,” she responded. Gus climbed into the saddle, and with a last look between the three, the men trotted north.
* * * *
Two days ago, the snow had fallen for hours and then the wind had whipped it into drifts for hours more. It’s too early in the year for this shit. John would say that Spider Grandmother was playing tricks on them, and Gus could half agree.
He stared out the open doorway of John’s mother’s house toward the south where a warmer wind had begun melting the half foot of snow that had fallen. Sihu's admonitions that staying in their tents in the wild weather would be crazy brought them indoors. Now, with a fire nearby and a cup of hot cactus tea, he closed the door on the elements. He only wished Maire was there in the adobe, too, instead of in the tents at the scientists’ camp. Even if they were made of the best canvas the United States government could provide, he knew as well as anyone who made their living in the high country of the Southwest that canvas was no match for nature when it took charge.
“She’s fine,” John said, coming up behind him.
“And how do you know that?”
“I watched her in my dreams last night.”
Gus didn’t need to ask more. John had been dreaming of flying with the eagle again. “Okay, if you’re sure.” He didn’t want John to know, but he sensed her safety, also. He would just feel better if she was with them instead of so far away. At the same time he felt Maire was safe, he had a foreboding that things were about to change.
“We’ll go soon.” John went back to the fire and began sharpening his knife.
Gus joined his friend. “When are you going to do something about her?”
“When are you?”
“Soon. We both should soon. She’s a fine woman, strong and decent,” Gus said.
“I feel that also,” John said. “But with two of us there’s a problem, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know. If the two of us can become friends after the feelings I had about Indians, I’d say any damn thing can happen.”
John’s mother’s mouth formed a thin line. Gus knew the woman understood more English than she let on, but no one insulted her by making an issue of it. However, her thoughts often showed on her face. Her pinched lips and narrowed eyes indicated she wasn't happy with the thought of John with Maire. Or Gus with Maire if it came down to it. The very notion of both of us with Maire must have her insides churning with dread.
The two of them with Maire. Would she even entertain such an idea? She was a civilized, God-fearing, Eastern woman. Could she open herself to the opportunities of the West?
He could imagine it all. John probing her pussy, him exploring her sweet ass. She would be tight and hot around his dick, and she would cry out when they brought her to orgasm. His cock ached, begging for relief. He turned his attention to his knife in an effort to forget the impulse of jumping on his horse and riding to the scientists' camp.
For a while nothing made a noise except John’s and his knives against the sharpening stones, and the omnipresent sound of corn being ground. When hoofbeats pounded on t
he mesa, both men came up short. The hunters had been out for nearly a week, but they wouldn’t come back in a flurry unless something had gone wrong.
John reached the door first. When Gus followed him outdoors, he was surprised to see not Indians, but three Army men standing outside Masichuvio’s home.
“We’d better see what that’s about,” Gus said, but John had already started forward. An Army lieutenant strode toward then, his jaw set.
“Are you John Eagle?”
John’s gaze was locked on the dwelling across the courtyard, where Pavati now argued with one of the other men. “Yes. What’s going on?”
Gus stopped beside John, the hair on his nape standing on end. Was this what he’d sensed, trouble for John’s sister instead of Maire?
“We’re looking for an Indian named Gray Deer. Do you know him?”
“Masichuvio.” John pointed to Pavati. “My sister is going to be his wife.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Why do you want to know?” Gus asked.
The lieutenant shifted his gaze to him. “You must be Augustus Brannigan.”
“If you say so.” Gus glanced at John. “I’ll go see what they’re telling her.” He left, hearing the Army man ask again if John knew the whereabouts of Masichuvio. Frustration came through his every terse word.
By the time he reached Pavati and a private that faced off with her, Gus could tell the lieutenant he’d left behind with John wasn’t the only frustrated person in the group.
“Gus,” she cried, “tell this man that Masichuvio is innocent.”
“Innocent of what?” he asked the Army man.
“Murder,” the private said. “We’re here to arrest Masichuvio for the murder of Private Hank Forbes.”
* * * *
Hannah sidled up to Maire in the work tent where Maire transcribed her notes into formal documentation using one of the new Remington typewriters the Bureau had shipped out from Washington. “Maire, there’s someone here to see you. I put her in our tent.”
Maire [The Sisters O'Ryan 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 6
