by Connie Mason
The silence lengthened, until Blade could stand it no more. “I have to go, Little Firebird.” His voice was so filled with anguish that it nearly broke Shannon’s heart. “I don’t want to leave you, but it won’t be for very long. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try to talk to Red Cloud.”
“Of course you must go,” Shannon finally said. Blade would never know how much it cost her to say those words. “Will Red Cloud listen to you? I couldn’t bear it if—”
“Nothing will happen to me, love. I’m well known to Red Cloud. Whether or not he will follow my advice is another matter entirely. I can only try.”
“When will you leave?”
“As soon as you’re settled in with Elizabeth Davis. Obviously you can’t stay here alone, and when Mr. Bright told Elizabeth of my mission, she wouldn’t hear of you remaining by yourself in your condition. Cora Allen feels the same way, but I thought you might prefer Elizabeth because her house is larger.”
“I’m not afraid, Blade. I want to stay right here. You said yourself you’d be back in plenty of time for the birth.”
“And so I shall, but I won’t allow you to remain here alone.”
“And I won’t leave,” Shannon returned, tilting her chin at a defiant angle.
She looked so adorable that Blade couldn’t help but plant a kiss square on her mouth.
“What was that for?”
“Because I love you, and you’re magnificent when you vent your Irish temper.”
“Then you’ll let me stay here in your absence?”
“No, I’ll settle you in with the Davises before I leave.”
The corners of Shannon’s slanted downward. She didn’t delude herself into thinking Blade would give in to her wishes, so she pretended acquiescence. “Very well, Blade, I’ll go—but not until you leave. I want to spend every minute alone with you.”
Blade hesitated, fully aware of Shannon’s penchant for doing exactly what she wanted. Although Mr. Bright promised to watch over her, leaving Shannon alone did not rest comfortably with Blade.
“Will you promise to go to Elizabeth’s the moment I’m gone?”
“I—yes,” she lied without a hint of remorse. In Shannon’s opinion, staying by herself for two weeks or less was hurting no one.
The wind whistling across the prairie was cold, biting, and relentless. Blade dug his heels into Warrior’s side, urging him into a gallop as he crested a hill. He reined in abruptly, pausing to scan the horizon. He had been riding for nearly a week searching for Red Cloud’s encampment, and finally his search was over. Stretched out in the valley before him were hundreds of tipis. It was as if the entire Sioux nation had followed their chief from the reservation.
Picking his way carefully down the hill, Blade rode boldly into the village. Those people milling about turned to follow his passing, their eyes dulled by cold and hunger, and something else—hopelessness. The gaunt emptiness of their gazes tore at Blade’s heart. The white man had reduced the once proud Sioux to a mere shadow of his greatness. In his grandfather’s day the mighty Sioux warrior, hunter and superb horseman, ruled the plains. Today, their number greatly diminished, the people faced starvation and extinction. Never was Blade more aware of it than he was today.
As custom demanded, Blade reined in before the distinctively decorated tipi belonging to Red Cloud and waited for the mighty chief to come out and acknowledge him.
Red Cloud looked less than impressive when he finally stepped outside the tipi. A threadbare blanket was wrapped about his gaunt frame, his cheeks were hollow, his eyes bleak. Blade dismounted. A light sprinkling of snow crunched beneath his boots as he planted his feet on the ground.
“Swift Blade, grandson of Yellow Dog, what brings you to my village? Do you come to join the Sioux in their fight to drive the white man from their land?”
“I have come to talk with the chief of the great Sioux nation.”
For several tense minutes, Red Cloud stared at Blade, his face a monument carved in stone. Then he abruptly turned, held back the flap to his tipi and motioned Blade inside. Seating himself cross-legged before the fire burning at the center of the enclosure, Red Cloud waited for Blade to settle himself before taking up a pipe and filling it with tobacco.
“We will smoke and talk, Swift Blade, grandson of Yellow Dog.”
After the pipe was lit, Red Cloud took several long puffs, then passed it to Blade, who did the same before handing it back. Then Blade waited patiently for Red Cloud to begin the conversation.
“Do you speak as a white man or an Indian, Swift Blade? You chose the white world many years ago. You fought in their war while the Sioux waged their own war.”
“I speak as one who respects whites and Indians alike. The blood of my mother flows proud and strong through my veins. Yet I cannot deny the blood of my white father who sent me into his world so that I might learn his culture.”
“And you made your choice,” Red Cloud contended stonily.
“Yes, I chose to live as a white, but I haven’t turned my back on my Sioux heritage. I care for my mother’s people. That is why I have come.”
“Speak what is in your heart, Swift Blade, but if you come to plead for the White Eyes you speak in vain.”
“What I say comes from the heart, Red Cloud. I know the white man. They are as numerous as the blades of grass on the prairie; step on one and two more spring up to take its place. Nothing will stop them in their westward migration. The railroad stretches from coast to coast bringing more and more people into Indian territory. You cannot stop them, Red Cloud. Unless you take your people back to the reservation, none will survive the terrible onslaught that is sure to follow. Three forts are prepared to ride against you.”
“All the things you speak of are already known to me, Swift Blade. I know the day when the Sioux and other Indian nations ride free on the prairie is long past. Do you think I want to see my people wiped rom the face of the earth?
“But we are a proud people,” Red Cloud continued. “Old ways die hard among a people steeped in tradition. We fight when we know we cannot win. We make peace only to have treaties broken. My people starve because the white man kills the buffalo that once were more numerous than stars in the heavens. How can we stop that which we don’t understand? We fight, even though it means our death.”
“You don’t have to fight, or die, Red Cloud. Go back to the reservation and live in peace. The governor has promised meat and grain and warm blankets to see you through the winter.”
Red Cloud snorted in derision. “They have been promised before.”
In the interest of peace, Blade went out on a limb, hoping the branch wouldn’t break behind him. “I personally guarantee that once you lead your people back to the reservation, you will receive the supplies I spoke of. If they fail to arrive as promised you may hold me personally responsible.”
Red Cloud studied Blade’s face with great interest, waging a battle inside himself. Swift Blade’s words indicated that he was trusted and respected by the white chief of the territory. But did he speak as a friend to the Sioux or as a white man with a forked tongue? Swift Blade’s grandfather had been a respected chief, but the grandson had lived as a white man long enough to adopt white ways. He looked like a white man and obviously thought like one. Yet Red Cloud genuinely liked Swift Blade and wanted to believe him, wanted him to be right about the food and supplies.
“Your promise is of little use to me once I return to the reservation and the supplies fail to arrive,” Red Cloud said sourly.
“I do not lie. I am as much Indian as I am white.”
“That is what I fear,” Red Cloud muttered, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he stared at Blade. “Nevertheless I have come to a decision.”
“You’ll take your people back to the reservation?” Blade asked hopefully. His easy victory surprised him.
“We will return to the reservation,” Red Cloud conceded.
Elation seized Blade, unt
il he heard Red Cloud’s next words. “And you will accompany us. When the supplies arrive, you will be free to leave. If they do not arrive …” His sentence trailed off ominously, his omission more potent than his words.
“No,” Blade refused quietly. “I cannot go with you. My wife will have our first child in a few weeks. She needs me.”
“Your wife is white,” Red Cloud said with a hint of censure. “Her own kind will see to her safety in your absence. You say you care for the Sioux and are concerned about what happens to them. I say you are more white than Indian, that you care only for your white friends.”
“I have few white friends,” Blade said with bitter denial.
“Nevertheless, you will make the journey with us to the reservation,” Red Cloud declared, his words brooking no argument. “We will see if your white chief is a man of honor.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Shannon didn’t regret her decision to remain by herself in the small house she shared with Blade during his absence. She felt closer to him in the place where they had been so happy, and Lord knew she needed that small comfort at a time like this. With her baby due in a matter of weeks, it was an effort just dragging her heavy body from place to place, and she rarely left the house. Fortunately, she did not lack for company. William Bright and his wife called on her often during the weeks of Blade’s absence. Elizabeth Davis and Cora Allen were also frequent visitors.
Though each of her friends tried to talk her out of remaining alone, Shannon was adamant in her refusal to move. She hoped Blade wouldn’t be too angry at her, for she had given a half-hearted promise to go to Elizabeth’s house. Shannon’s thoughts were consumed by Blade. She wondered if he had found Red Cloud and if he was already on his way home. Was he successful or had he failed to convince Red Cloud to return to the reservation?
Heaving a wistful sigh, Shannon gazed out the window at the wind-driven snow that splashed against the window pane. She hated to think of Blade out in this kind of weather, but she was comforted by the knowledge that he was trained to survive the elements. With aimless purpose, she turned from the window and walked to the stove, bending with difficulty to feed sticks of wood into its belly. She straightened slowly, placing her hands at the small of her back to ease the nagging pain that had plagued her these past several days. A knock at the door brought a frown to Shannon’s face. She was surprised that anyone would come calling in this dreadful weather.
A strange lethargy held Shannon captive as she slowly made her way to the door. Something inside her flashed a warning to her brain as she opened the door, but it failed to prepare her for the unwelcome sight of Claire Greer. Claire stood on the doorstep, shivering with cold.
“Claire, what in God’s name are you doing here? I thought you were visiting in the East.”
“I was,” Claire said, rudely pushing her way past Shannon. Shannon had no option but to shut the door behind her as a blast of frigid air rippled her skirt and chilled her ankles. “I returned just yesterday and decided to call on you before going on to Fort Laramie.”
“What is it you want?” Shannon asked with cool disdain. The woman had caused her and Blade trouble enough to last a lifetime.
Claire’s lip curled in derision as she ran her eyes insultingly over Shannon’s rounded form. “So, you’re going to bring another half-breed into the world,” she observed crudely. “From the looks of you, it won’t be long.”
“Just say what you’ve come to say and leave,”. Shannon said tersely. It took all of her willpower just to be civil to the witch.
“I hear you lost your ranch to fire.” Claire’s smirk set Shannon’s teeth on edge.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
Ignoring Shannon’s remark, Claire continued relentlessly. “Rumor has it your husband is off trying to talk the Sioux into returning to the reservation. I’m surprised the governor saw fit to trust a half-breed with so important a mission. A savage like Blade is as likely to join the Indians as he is to persuade them into something they obviously don’t want to do.”
Claire shivered delicately, pretending fear and revulsion, but she didn’t fool Shannon one bit. The avid expression on Claire’s face and the feral light in her violet eyes gave mute testimony to her attraction to Blade.
“I could have had Blade once,” Claire bragged, “but I wanted nothing to do with him. He begged me to—be friends with him, but wisely I refused.”
Shannon knew the woman lied. “I don’t believe you, Claire. If this is what you came to say, you can leave now.”
“The reason I came was to tell you what your interference has done to my life. Ronald Goodman was tried in Washington, found guilty, and sent to prison. I attended the trial.”
“It’s no more than he deserved.”
“We could have had a wonderful life. But for you and your husband, I could have had wealth and power, everything I’ve always wanted in life.”
“I’m sorry for you, Claire, but not for the reasons you think. I’m sorry because you feel no remorse for what Goodman did, because you encouraged him, and because you’re a cruel, vindictive woman. Your parents are good people. I wonder what happened to produce a daughter like you?”
Uncontrollable rage seized Claire and she struck out viciously. Unfortunately Shannon was standing close enough to receive the brunt of Claire’s blow as she reeled backwards. Unable to maintain her balance she tottered dangerously for a moment, then crashed heavily to the floor. Something inside her seemed to snap as pain rippled a path from back to front, tearing her apart. No one had to tell Shannon her baby was about to make its somewhat premature entrance into the world.
Another contraction caused Shannon’s face to contort with pain. Claire stood over her, gloating, making no effort to help.
“Claire, help me up,” Shannon pleaded, extending a hand. “The baby—the pain—”
“Your pain is nothing compared to the agony you caused me,” Claire sniffed unfeelingly. “I refuse to lift a finger in your behalf. It’s no more than you deserve.”
“Then get Doctor Clarke, or stop by Elizabeth Davis’s house and tell her I need her.” Another strong contraction prevented further speech.
“Do it yourself,” Claire returned with careless disdain.
“For God’s sake, Claire, the life of an innocent child is at stake. Forget what you feel for me.”
“The world doesn’t need another half-breed. Goodbye, Shannon. I’m glad we had this little chat.”
Claire opened the door and the force of the wind took it from her hand and banged it against the wall. She didn’t bother closing it, vanishing swiftly into the swirling snow that blew unhindered inside the house, chilling Shannon to the bone.
Dragging herself painfully across the floor, Shannon found the strength to pull herself up, using the wall for support. With great difficulty she forced the door shut, the wind nearly defeating her. The weather had grown bitter, and Shannon realized that it would be a grave mistake to venture out in search of help now. She also knew the birth of her child was mere hours away, and no one was likely to come calling to check on her in such foul weather. Nor could she depend on Claire to send help.
Marshaling her meager strength and pacing herself between contractions, Shannon gathered towels, sharp knife and twine and took them into her bedroom. Then she filled a basin with water, dropped the knife into it and set it to boil on the stove in her bedroom. With several younger brothers and sisters, Shannon wasn’t ignorant of the birthing process—was quite knowledgeable, in fact, having watched Callie Johnson give birth. She prayed for an easy birth, for beyond simple procedures she knew nothing. Then she prepared for a long wait. At times the pain caused her to grit her teeth and cry out, but fortunately it was still bearable.
Surprisingly, she found time to change into a gown and robe and build up the fire in the stove. Truth to tell, Shannon was amazed at her presence of mind despite such crushing pain. She hadn’t expected the pain to be so overwhelming and
tried desperately to be brave. But she was inexperienced, alone, and afraid. Morning turned into afternoon, and a lowering sky and murky snow brought on a strange twilight. By late afternoon, Shannon’s pain was nearly constant and the need to push urgent within her. Intuition told her it was time and she couldn’t do a blessed thing to stop it.
Carefully she carried the basin of hot water to the bedside table, then removed her robe and lay down. She had expended the last of her endurance, accomplished more than she thought humanly possible given the circumstances. Only the knowledge that Blade expected her to deliver their child safely kept her sane. Then she offered up a short prayer, placing herself and her child in God’s hands. She hadn’t lost the deep faith instilled in her since birth and now she relied on that faith to see her through this ordeal.
The pain was terrible now. She was bearing down and grinding her teeth in agony. Though the room was warm, cold sweat dotted her brow and soaked her gown. She strained, and was rewarded with more pain. From deep in her throat a scream formed, bursting past her white lips in a shrill explosion of sound. She had no idea that the sound carried above the whine of the wind, echoing through the house to two people who stood just outside the front door, braving snow and ice to bring Shannon a message.
“My God, what is that?”
William Bright looked at Elizabeth Davis with something akin to horror.
“Shannon!” Elizabeth cried with growing alarm. “Something is wrong with Shannon!”
Bright pounded on the door, calling Shannon’s name.
Receiving no reply, Elizabeth turned the knob, surprised to find it give beneath her fingers. She rushed inside, Bright close on her heels. Shannon was nowhere in sight. Then a strangled cry coming from the bedroom sent Elizabeth rushing in that direction. Bright hung back, unwilling to enter Shannon’s bedroom unless he was needed. Elizabeth took one look at Shannon, saw that she was in the last stages of labor, and called over her shoulder, “Get the doctor, quick!”
