by J. R. WRIGHT
“Pearl?”
“A beautiful thing created by nature. Like you, White Bird.”
“Please and thank you, Tom.” She came in for a quick kiss. “Cola tell I must always say that.”
Luke laughed. “Well, Cola is very wise. It was her that had the foresight to bring us together.”
“Yep,” she said and toyed with the pearl again. All the while a smile formed that deepened the dimples on her cheeks.
“Will you take it back someday, Tom?” Her big brown eyes were suddenly locked on his, begging for an answer.
Luke knew the taking back of gifts was often done among Indians. “Never!” he took her hands and locked them around the claw and pearl. “This is yours to keep, forever.”
“For-ever?”
“Forever!”
She came in then with another kiss, this one with more sincerity.
The following morning when Luke arose, he went looking for White Bird. He knew she had gotten up earlier than usual, but figured she would return after relieving herself and washing up, down the hall. But she hadn’t. Once downstairs, he heard voices coming from the kitchen and headed in that direction.
However, in the spacious kitchen, he saw nothing. The smell of bread baking came from the oven, but no one was there to tend it. Then he heard the voices again.
“This is oatmeal. Sometimes I cook some of it for breakfast. Sometimes I make cookies from it.”
“Oat-meal!” White Bird repeated what Mary had said. “Cookies!”
“And this is flour. You know what flour is for, don’t you?”
“For making bread?”
“Yes. Good. These are brown beans…”
“So there you are,” Luke appeared at the pantry room door. “I was wondering where you went, White Bird.”
“Mary teach White Bird, so can cook for Tom Hill,” she said happily. “Just like Cola cook for Bordeaux.”
With that, Mary smiled skeptically. “She asked, Tom. What was I to say?”
“Please?” White Bird said, coming to him. “I want to learn.”
“Then you should,” Luke said and looked past her. “I know you’re awfully busy, Mary, with all you have to do, but maybe the time will come when she’ll be of help…”
“I want to teach her,” Mary said, “I just didn’t know if you would approve.”
“I do. And right now I could use a cup of coffee.” He shifted his focus to White Bird.
In turn White Bird, appearing confused, looked to Mary for direction.
“Lesson number one! Always get Tom his coffee first thing in the morning, otherwise he becomes cranky,” Mary said and threw a smile to Luke. “Now the cups are here, honey…” Mary moved her plump body across the kitchen toward the proper cupboard.
“Only Tom call White Bird honey!” she said, even though he never had.
Luke knew Bordeaux called Cola that often. It appeared White Bird wanted the life her sister had, and as it seemed, she was determined to get it. Luke saw nothing wrong with that. Cola was a fine person in near every way, according to Bordeaux. He was very happy with the wife he had. And, so far, Luke was with his, as well.
“Oh, sorry,” Mary put on another smile. “It won’t happen again, okay?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Quite by surprise, James and Cola Bordeaux showed up on Christmas day. Mary and White Bird had just put out a big dinner spread for the winter help in the old cabin next door and were preparing to do the same in the big house, when the carriage pulled by two black horses came to a stop out front. Seeing them arrive through the dining room window, White Bird went screaming to the door and soon had them inside.
“Sorry to intrude,” Bordeaux said upon entering, “but I got a letter from Thomas Twiss that I thought you might be interested in, Tom. It came all the way from Washington.”
“If good news is what you’ve come with, James, I’ll take that anytime,” Luke said and put out a hand to greet his friend. “Cola,” he greeted her as well. He then took Bordeaux by the arm and led him into his office nearby.
“Well, I don’t know yet how good the news is, but just getting the letter gave us an excuse to come. Cola was dying to know how you and White Bird were getting on.”
“It hasn’t been all that long, as you know, but so far it has been great. I have no complaints. Mary is teaching White Bird how to cook. Yesterday she made pancakes all by herself, for the first time. I must say they were quite good, even though she made them for supper.” Luke laughed and James joined in. “That was okay; Mary had made us steaks to go along with them.”
“Anyway, Twiss said he was working on getting us both land grants for the properties we now occupy. The persuader he is using on Congress is that no way could the Indian Bureau acquire enough beeves to satisfy the treaties without the combined ready supply from both our ranch operations. And that, he told them, was of the utmost importance, unless they wanted another Indian war on their hands for non-delivery.”
“Very persuasive,” Luke said. “Do you think it’ll work? I mean, this whole program was Twiss’ doing from the beginning. That first contract from him is what got me started here. Without it, I don’t know what I would have done with all those longhorns that first winter, with no hay to carry them over.”
“Likewise,” Bordeaux said. “I agree. What he’s arguing has to be persuasive. Where else would they get the ready cattle otherwise? It takes advance planning to get regular herds up from Texas. At least a year! And what of the contracts they already have with us? Some of those extend seven years out.”
“They’ll still need to honor them. But how will we supply the beeves without the range land?”
“I guess that’s why Tom Twiss thinks he has a good chance of winning approval with Congress. Let’s hope so!” Bordeaux said, then brightened. “By the way, right after you and White Bird left, maybe a day or two, Red Cloud came to Laramie with his entire tribe. He set up camp south of the fort, five miles downriver from the Brule village.”
“I wonder why he did that. That war he brought was to save the Powder River country for his people. Now he left it?”
“I suppose they’ll go back there for the summer hunts. But the reason for his coming was to be close by when the spring annuities are handed out. He claims he was cheated last fall after the treaty signing. His tribe was promised two thousand beeves. So far they got only half that. Or so he said.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“I blame it on to that new Indian Agent they put in at Laramie following Hagen. His name is Summerville. I wrote a letter about him to Twiss, as well. The man doesn’t even know the meaning of the law. He seems to think he can make up the rules as he goes along. I went out of my way to set him straight, but I doubt it did any good.”
“Is this someone we’ll have trouble with in the future?” Luke asked.
“Hopefully he’ll be gone before any new contracts are issued,” Bordeaux said. “Getting back to the letter Twiss wrote, he asked if you’d ever received the ten thousand dollars as promised along with the Award of Merit issued by Congress back in 1855, over that Harney debacle.”
“It required me to go to Washington,” Luke said. “I never collected the award or the money.”
“I was sure you hadn’t, so I responded to that along with the letter about Summerville.”
“Look, Tom!” White Bird suddenly burst through the door wearing a floor length red cotton dress with white lace at the sleeves and hem, and did a show off twirl for the two of them. “Cola bring from store for White Bird. Like?”
Cola had given several dresses to White Bird before they left, after marrying. Those she wore around the house. But this one was appropriate for the day, and it looked marvelous with White Bird’s darker features.
“I do,” Luke said, and couldn’t help but go to her. “Very pretty!” He leaned in for a kiss and received it wet and warm on his cheek. This caused him to laugh.
“We eat now. Come… Mary say,” White Bir
d said, as if she just remembered why she’d come in the first place.
With that, they all sat down to a bountiful Christmas dinner, consisting of roast beef and all the trimmings. And throughout, much conversation went around the table. All and all, Mary and White Bird had done a wonderful job in preparing the meal, and many compliments were passed on to them as the platters and bowls went around numerous times. White Bird took all of this in stride, returning a smile and a meager “thank you” with each one. And with each, an expression of pride came over Cola’s face, on behalf of her little sister – how far she had come in a few short weeks. Now she could cook, speak passable English, and had married one of the two richest men in the territory. Cola was proudly married to the other. Who would have thought anything like that would come to pass thirty, or even twenty, years ago – two poor Indian girls finding happiness with wealthy white men. And this house, what a palace. But knowing how much White Bird loved that man, she was sure she’d go back to the tepee, if she’d had to in order to keep him.
Finally the men, Calvin Tinkman included, retired to the parlor, while the women went to the kitchen to tackle the dishes.
“What will we do when the Indians are cramped up on small reservations and left to starve? Or driven into the deserts or the mountains? Already the Seminole of Florida have been driven so far into the swamps, no one knows if they are even there anymore. Out of sight, out of mind,” Bordeaux said, taking the whiskey Luke poured for him. “Who will we sell our cattle to then, Tom?”
“You think it will come to that?”
“You know it will, Tom. Perhaps sooner than I think. With each new treaty, the plains tribes lose more land. Sixty years ago the Indians were given everything west of the Mississippi. Now look at what they have. With this last treaty, they’re left with a small patch west of the Missouri. A spit in the ocean, compared to what they once had.”
“Well, we know there is a market in the east. It’s just getting them there,” Calvin Tinkman said. “I heard last time I was in Cheyenne, beeves are being shipped from railheads in Kansas, now.”
“Where at in Kansas?” Bordeaux asked.
“Abilene.”
“If it comes to that, wouldn’t we be better off shipping from Cheyenne?” Luke said.
“No stockyard there,” Calvin said. “No need for one, yet. No cattle from Texas will ever be driven to Wyoming for shipment east, when Kansas is closer. And we’re the only big ranchers in the territory, for now.”
“What’s the possibility of us building our own stockyard, somewhere outside of Cheyenne, Tink?” Luke asked.
“I guess it can be done,” Calvin said, “the railroad will need to put in a spur or siding to accommodate it, is all.”
“I’m game if it comes to that,” Bordeaux said. “We’ve got a growing, hungry nation here that will be in need of more and more beef for the table, as time goes on.”
“I agree,” Luke said. “Well, gentlemen, it seems as though we have a plan, if it comes down to that. Meanwhile, we have to hope we don’t get booted off the lands we now occupy.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Calvin Tinkman said and went to the liquor table to pour himself another. “Mary and I are too old to look for other work. Besides that, we like it here.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Tink,” Luke tossed in. “I’m staying here even if I have to buy the land. And if they won’t let me do that, I’ll cut a deal with the Lakhota and graze my cattle up there.”
“Hey, Tom, you may have something there,” Bordeaux said. “Do you think Chaska will go for it?” He laughed.
“He’d better,” Luke laughed along with him.
“What’s so funny?” Cola came into the room. “White Bird and Mary made a pumpkin pie, if anyone is interested?”
CHAPTER NINE
When Breanne received the letter addressed to Mrs. Anne Budd from a person named Tom Hill, she was momentarily confused. Tea Cup Ranch, she recognized, but why was this man writing to her from there? The Tea Cup Ranch was where Sarah lived. Had she married and used her husband’s name on the return address, as some married women did? Quickly, she opened it – even before closing the little door to her post office box, or removing the small key still in the lock – expecting exciting news from her dear old friend. Maybe all of her nagging, since Sarah moved to that ranch, had caused her to finally fess up about her marital status, something Breanne had suspected for quite some time now.
“Sarah died!” Breanne gathered from the letter near instantly. So overwhelmed was she by what was written there, she said it aloud. Feeling her knees weakening, she shuffled the short distance to an iron bench by a front window, sat down, and continued to read. “Pneumonia! Oh, God!”
No doubt the name Tom Hill was familiar too, now that she thought about it. It had come to mind many times when reminiscing about Luke over the years. The name was mentioned by that clerk at Fort Union back in 1840, when she inquired as to whether a man of Luke’s description had passed through there in previous months. That was while her and Harry waited for the boat, being loaded with buffalo hides at the time, to depart for Independence. Sarah had even confessed to having heard that name mentioned while there, as well. A clerk of the same description had actually called Luke Mister Hill. At least that’s the way she remembered it, after all these years.
What was clear to Breanne now was that Luke had assumed a new name. Probably right there at Fort Union, fearing the law was still after him, over that mess left behind in St. Louis. It only made sense that he would do so, seeing as how he was returning to civilization. But then he disappeared and later was reported dead. But was he? Now she doubted it!
“Oh, God!” Tears began to flow. “Why hadn’t she told me? I would have understood!” Breanne grieved aloud. ‘What could I have done anyway?’ she thought. ‘I was already married… Married and had children…!’ The letter became blotched from falling tears as she read it through a second time.
Breanne now thought she knew when the two of them found each other. Sarah’s mood suddenly changed at one point shortly before the letters started coming with the Tea Cup Ranch as a return address. No longer did she complain about certain aspects of her life. She talked of happier things, the ranch, her garden… So what did they have, a few short years together, after all those years of waiting? And she was sure now that Sarah had waited for him… Why else would a woman of her obvious beauty remain single for so long? Regardless of the way she complained of the scarcity of eligible men in Independence.
Drying her eyes, Breanne gathered the remainder of her mail and left the post office. She knew what she must do now and walked for home. She had planned on gathering some things from the market while on her outing. But now she was so torn between grief and dismay, home seemed the best place for her to be. And once there, she would pen a letter to this Tom Hill, telling him what she surmised.
However, she didn’t write the letter she had planned. The letter from Tom Hill was put on a shelf, taken down, re-read occasionally, and agonized over for months to come. What if this man was not Luke McKinney, as she’d assumed? But then again, what if it was? They could no more be together now than they could have earlier. She was still married to Harry, and she still had two daughters who expected her to remain that way, forever.
At one point Luke had thought her dead. She knew that; she had seen the grave. Apparently he had come across the burned body of the Indian maiden who had taken her boots at the burned out Indian village and mistaken it for her. Breanne had decided at the time that was the most likely scenario. But the question now was, had he discovered she lived? Did Sarah tell him she was alive and where she had gone to? Knowing Luke and the devotion he had always displayed toward her, that was unlikely. Most likely he would have made contact with her long before now, if that were the case.
Of course he didn’t know where she was, or even that she was alive. If so he would have said so in his letter. Why not? He was unattached now that Sarah was dead. Wouldn’
t he want her back? More than likely he would, and that was the painful dilemma.
Now, as God was her witness, she knew what she must do. How could it possibly be a sin to spare a man from the pain of wanting a woman he could not have? The very same bleeding pain she felt in her own heart. Better he continue to think her dead, than know, and agonize over it unmercifully. With tearful determination, then, she sat at her writing desk, took pen to paper, and began to write. Even though it was late at night, and Harry lay sick in his bed, when finished with the letter she planned to affix a stamp and rush it directly to the post office. Hopefully by then, she would still have the will to slip it through the night slot, before weakening.
When Grady O’Reilly returned from the first supply run to Cheyenne of the spring, he again brought two letters. It was the same number of letters as the last run in the fall. But since Grady couldn’t read, he had no idea they were from the same persons as well. All he knew was they were both from New York. The clerk at the post office had told him that much. “Two letters from New York for Tom Hill, Tea Cup Ranch,” he had said in a businesslike manner from under his leather visor, as he handed them over.
When Grady arrived it had just begun to rain, and he burned no time in getting under the shelter of the porch roof, letters in hand.
“My, I haven’t seen you move that fast since coming here, Grady!” Mary came through the screen door laughing. “A little water won’t harm you any!” She snatched the letters from him and looked to see who they were from.
“You ain’t supposed to do that no more, Mary!” Grady snatched them back. “Where’s Tom?” He headed for the door.
“Do what?” Mary followed after him.
“Look at Tom’s mail!”
“Who’s looking?”
“You must be!” Grady halted and turned to her. “I have orders to hand all mail directly to the boss from here on out.”
Mary, with a look of distaste on her face, eyed his bulky body up and down, then marched for the door herself. “Bring in the supplies, Grady!”
