The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  This seemed to send Joel into deep contemplation. His brow furrowed and he stared off into the valley. “That’s a steep bet.” Lost in thought, he drummed his fingers on his thigh, until an idea seemed to strike him. “What’s two miles from here?”

  “What?”

  “Long Feather said there is a canyon two miles east of the ranch. If I found it, he said to look up.”

  Angela couldn’t stop the mischievous grin that teased her lips. “Let me show you.”

  28

  Joel had never seen anything like it. High over their heads, a small city lay abandoned and hidden in the shadows of a monstrous cave. Towers, parapets, round rooms, apartment buildings—for lack of a better description—and a dozen stair cases, filled the contours of the overhanging cliff.

  But the city was silent. A foreboding darkness leered out from the windows. “What is it?”

  “Ruins. And they’ve been empty a long time.” She dismounted as a single snowflake floated down in front of her. “A few months ago, some cowboys down in Colorado found something like this. Now the world is learning about them. But these—” Her gaze scanned the cliff with awe. “Only a few people living today know about these. Long Feather brought me here when I was sixteen.”

  “And he told me.”

  “Yes. You should feel honored.” She motioned for him to dismount. “Come on and I’ll show you.”

  “I can’t climb up there.”

  “Yes. You can. There’s a path. And trust me, it’s worth it.”

  Yes, it took some work but someone had, over time, found or made a path that wound through the rocks, across the lower half of the cliff, and then up at a relatively gentle angle into the ruins. Still, the ascent worked up a sweat in Joel and his cane saved him from stumbling more than once. Finally, he and Angela stepped over a knee wall of ancient stones and stood where few white men, if any, had trod.

  The dark, vacant windows stared down at them like ghosts. Crumbling walls beckoned to them. He listened for ancient voices, half-expecting to hear them, but only the soft whisper of the breeze in the pines below disturbed the silence.

  His gaze roamed over the empty ruins. Eerie and beautiful. Mysterious and forlorn. Where had the inhabitants gone?

  Angela buttoned her coat against the chill here. “Long Feather told me this was a small band of Ancient Ones that left a bloody war somewhere far south of here. They lived in peace and secrecy for well over a hundred years. No one knows why they abandoned the settlement.”

  She and Joel wandered down narrow halls, and into some of the rooms. Empty except for crumbling rocks and industrious rodents. He picked up a few broken pieces of pottery to examine and was careful to put them back the way he’d found them.

  They stepped outside to the plaza—as he would have called the main area—so they could survey the settlement again. Angela took his hand. “It almost feels like they’re still here.” She closed her eyes. “I can hear a flute. And children laughing. A small dog barking. Women chatting as they cook.” She sniffed the air. “Smoke scented with fry bread drifts around us. A medicine man chants a prayer as he heads down into the sweat lodge.”

  Joel could hear it. And smell it. If he tried hard enough, he would see it.

  People had lived their lives here. Fallen in love here. Raised families. Worshipped their gods. This place was holy. Like a church. Like a graveyard.

  Now they were all but forgotten, lost to time. Life truly was a puff of air and then it was gone. And the legacy of these lives was an empty room tucked into a cave? The apparent futility saddened him.

  “Makes you wonder why we’re here,” she said as if she’d just read his mind. “Just to live and then disappear?”

  He hated to think that. Of course, he knew the most important thing a person could do for himself was give his life to Jesus. But then what? Tell others about Him. Or show them. “Maybe…” He tried reasoning out an explanation that wouldn’t sound like preaching. “Maybe all we have to do is make a difference in just one life.”

  She seemed to ponder the idea for a moment. “Invest in one soul?”

  Of their own accord, his eyes stole to Angela. She gazed back at him with such tenderness, such longing, he almost stopped breathing. A power—or weakness—beyond his control lifted his hand to her cheek…

  And his heart broke over the vow he had made four years ago—to love and to honor his wife.

  Joel did not break vows.

  If he could stay strong, though, perhaps he could at least make a difference in Angela’s life or the life of her child. There had to be a reason he was here.

  God, forgive me, strengthen me, and please make this pain mean something.

  With a Herculean effort, he pulled his hand away and forced his legs to take a step back. “We should head back, Angela.”

  29

  For the first time in more years than he could count, Long Feather was actually glad to visit the reservation, to be among his people, see their faces. Though most were gaunt with hunger, they did light up as he rode by. The people had been coming to him, asking him questions about Miss Laurie, her God, was there hope for the Cheyenne.

  She promised there was, and Long Feather wanted to believe her.

  The sound of hammers and saws drew his gaze to activity on the small butte overlooking the village. Several of the young men and a half-dozen-or-so soldiers were building a log structure. A few of the braves waved a greeting.

  Many of the women stood outside their tipis, cooking meager soups on smoky fires. Surprisingly, they did not smile up at him. In fact, their expressions tightened with what Long Feather read to be concern or disapproval. As he passed the small, white clapboard building that housed the white doctor, the Bureau of Indian Affairs office, and a sparsely filled mercantile, the old Indian sitting out front on the porch rose and went inside.

  Long Feather’s good mood evaporated like morning mist. Something was wrong. He kicked his pony up to a trot and hurried to Laurie’s tipi. Immediately he noted the lack of smoke from the smoke hole. Before he even drew his horse up, he sensed the emptiness inside.

  His throat going dry, he dismounted and approached the tent.

  “She is gone.”

  Laughing Deer’s voice startled him, but he did not fail to hear her sadness. He turned his head and asked over his shoulder, “What has happened? Where did she go?”

  “To the mission at Wind River.”

  His horse’s reins slipped from his fingers, as did so much hope. “Why?”

  “Turtle Woman told her I am your wife. I think that is why.”

  The news cut him to the bone. “I should have told her. I should have explained. I just didn’t expect to—”

  Love her?

  He bit off the word. He had vowed he would never use it again after the loss of Possum Woman. The pain of her death had burned his heart from him. Or so he had thought. But, still, he should not have hidden his ties to Laughing Deer.

  “White women—especially the Christian ones—do not share their husbands.”

  “You and I are married in name only, Laughing Deer. I provide for you—”

  “Because you are honorable and loved your brother,” she mocked and the poison in her tone surprised him. “Turtle Woman,” she continued, “told her this as well. Even said the tribe would adopt her and she could be my sister. Become Cheyenne.”

  Long Feather laughed, a deep, bitter sound that came from a dark place in his soul. “She cannot become Cheyenne. Just like I cannot become a white man.”

  Laughing Deer stepped up and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. Her tone gentled. “She told Red Bird she had to leave because she could only love God and she had begun to love the Cheyenne too much.” She sighed and shook her head. “I think now she meant she loved one Cheyenne too much. When she rode out with the soldiers yesterday,” she paused and then added, “she was weeping. And so were many of our people.”

  All the reasons he had to let her go reared up in Long F
eather’s mind. She did love her God more than anything or anyone else. She could not be asked to trade that for a dismal, Cheyenne way of life. She was not a woman who could share a husband. And as much as that grieved Long Feather, he could not betray the promise he had made his brother. Divorcing Laughing Deer was not a possibility.

  He and Laurie simply were not meant to be. Turtle Woman’s medicine had turned out to be stronger after all.

  “You could go after her,” Laughing Deer said. “Divorce me.”

  “You know I cannot.”

  “Mad Coyote would take me, Long Feather. You would be free of your promise to your brother.”

  He did turn then and she withdrew her hand quickly as if he’d frightened her. “Have you been with Mad Coyote?”

  “No. But he was planning on speaking with you. He favors me. And I him. I would have a husband to care for and… be with. I would not be a weight around his neck.”

  Long Feather studied Laughing Deer, seeing her for the first time in too long. Slender, delicate in features, and pretty in that proud, Cheyenne way. Now, hope glistened in the dark eyes that had watched him with so much resentment. Now he understood the sadness that had lived there these last few years. “Why did you not speak of this sooner?”

  “We have never grown close, Long Feather. You and I have always had your brother between us. I know that is why you never came to me as a husband. And I have resented the loneliness even as I tried to honor you.”

  Long Feather sucked in a great, deep breath and exhaled it, wishing it could cleanse his heart from this ache. “All these years…” Wasted. Lost. If he had known, perhaps he would have tried to love her. Or perhaps would have allowed her to divorce him, if that had been her wish. Instead of living in this cold circle. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “Go to Mad Coyote.”

  She nodded with a curt jerk of her chin, then asked, “Will you bring Miss Laurie back? Many hope you will.”

  But she had bucked, like the wild horse who did not want a rider. He shouldn’t even consider going after her. But would he? Could he find the courage to chase after her? Or did it take more courage to let her go? The storm in his spirit made it too difficult to answer one way or the other. For Laughing Deer, at least, he could do one last thing to assure her peace. “I will speak to Laughs-in-the-Snow about us.”

  “I thank you.”

  That should have ended the conversation, but the woman lingered and Long Feather nodded, giving her permission to speak.

  She raised her hand to him. “I was afraid to give you this, but now, maybe it will ease your pain.” She jerked her hand at him. “It is from her.”

  30

  The divide between white and Indian was too great, Long Feather decided. Nothing would ever bring them together. He camped that night by the creek and thought about the fire he’d built for her. How over and over in the night he had awakened and wondered what she would have done if he’d taken her in his arms and claimed her.

  The Indian and the white woman.

  Disgusted with his foolishness, he snatched up a rock and lobbed it into the creek. The splash was swallowed almost immediately by the racing, gurgling water. He had taken leave of his senses and was embarrassed he’d let his heart entangle him like a lovesick boy, like a puffed-up warrior never tested in battle.

  He touched his jaw, still sore from the beating at the ranch. No, he would not go after her. She robbed him of his wisdom. An Indian who lived among whites could not afford such foolishness.

  Besides, there was the plain fact that she’d run from him. If she’d wanted to stay, she would have. He glanced at the note lying on the ground. Her delicate, swirling handwriting tweaked his heart, her words made it bleed.

  Dear Long Feather, I will miss you so much, but I can’t stay here. You make me afraid. Afraid I can’t hear my Lord’s voice, afraid you could drown Him out, make me compromise things in which I believe. And I’ve not come to the Indians to find my own selfish ending. I have come to be the hands and feet of the God Who loves all His children. I can’t love anything or anyone more than Him and I must confess you affect my judgment.

  Our “flirtation” may have meant little to you, but it caused me to do quite a bit of soul-searching. I can’t leave my God. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. Please take care of yourself. I will remember you with great fondness.

  Love and blessings to you,

  Laurie

  He couldn’t help himself. He picked up the note and touched the blotches on it. Tears? Had she cried while telling him goodbye?

  It didn’t matter. Angrily he wadded the note into a little ball. tossed it into the water and watched stoically as the current took it away.

  He’d lost this battle—yet another to the white man’s world.

  Joel and the rodeo loomed in his mind. The image of the young soldier falling from his horse over and over, taking the general’s abuse day after day, yet still trying, practicing, fighting to hold his head up.

  Joel did not fit in the white man’s world either. Long Feather understood the isolation. Always watching from the outside. Never quite good enough. The general figured half a white man was just as worthless as a whole red man.

  A slow, bitter smile tipped Long Feather’s lips. True, the Cheyenne had lost the war, their land, their way of life, but there were still battles to win. Victories would not save his people, but one might save him and Joel.

  31

  Joel rolled his collar up around his ears for protection against a cold November wind and rode toward a straying heifer. “No, you don’t.” He waved his lariat and the cow turned back to the herd.

  He felt good about the rodeo tomorrow. The last three weeks had disappeared in a haze of working, riding, tense but silent interactions with the general, and painful nights with Angela — no, excruciating was the word. He’d fallen in love with her, and wouldn’t do a thing about it. He simply couldn’t. But if he could win one event in the rodeo, then he had a request to make of the general.

  Three weeks ago, he wouldn’t have believed he had a chance, but now, after all this practice, all these hours on horseback—

  Motion caught his eye and Joel looked over to his left. Long Feather was trotting toward him, his arm outstretched, pointing.

  “Rider coming.” He reined in beside Joel and studied the approaching stranger. “That’s Dent.” He sounded puzzled.

  “Who’s Dent?”

  “Evergreen’s sheriff.”

  A few minutes later a young man with dark hair and inquisitive brown eyes rode up to them. He greeted Long Feather with a friendly hello but turned immediately to Joel. “You Chapman? Joel Chapman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good to meet you.” They shook hands across their horses then he openly surveyed the two men. “Everything all right out here? You two look like you had some trouble in the recent past.”

  Joel touched his faded but still-colorful cheek. Long Feather did not move. “Nothing that need involve the law,” the Indian answered.

  Dent cocked his head, seeming to ponder the response. “Long Feather, the general got off on a technicality. What I’d call a bribe. He’s guilty of at least conspiracy to murder Audra’s pa. One day, I’ll get him. I appreciate your help so far. Hope you know that. But I’ve promised her I’ll keep on this case.”

  “He is careful, Dent. If he thought I told you anything, I’d be dead.”

  “Then you be careful.”

  Joel of course wanted to ask about the details but wasn’t sure it was his place. Long Feather had said the general was a dangerous man. Apparently, he’d meant it.

  The Indian turned to Joel to share some details. “Several months back a neighbor got thrown from his horse and died. The man’s daughter, Audra, discovered a piece of glass in the saddle blanket—”

  “Glass from a bottle of rare whiskey,” Dent interrupted. “The kind the general drinks. But it wasn’t enough for the grand jury.”

  “You think he put
it there?” Joel asked.

  “He had a hand do it. I don’t think he meant to kill Audra’s pa, but I do think he considered it good fortune.”

  “He’d still like to get his hands on her ranch,” Long Feather said. “But now she’s got a husband, one who won’t run. Fairbanks goes after them again, they’ll be ready.”

  “And we’ll be watching.” The sheriff abruptly changed the subject back to Joel. “Anyway, Abe down at the post office has been holding a letter for you for a few days. Finally asked if I’d try to track you down.” He pulled an envelope from inside his coat “It’s from San Francisco.”

  Ruth?

  Joel took the letter with more dread than excitement. He couldn’t imagine what would possess her to write him. “Thank you for bringing it to me, Sheriff.”

  “Not a problem.” He touched the brim of his hat in farewell and rode back the way he’d come.

  Joel stared at the letter, puzzled by his feelings. Not dread exactly. Apathy was still the best word.

  “Go ahead and read it.” Long Feather nudged his horse off a few feet, ostensibly giving Joel some privacy.

  Admitting to some mild curiosity, he tore the letter from the envelope. Ruth’s delicate, but overly-frilly handwriting filled the page.

  Dear Joel, I don’t quite know how to say this, so I will simply state it. I have retained an attorney and am filing for a divorce. You are well aware we have not been in a marriage for quite some time, even prior to your injury.

  The Cavalry has always been your true love. As you cast me aside for her, you pushed me into the arms of another and we plan to marry as soon as my marriage to you is dissolved. I would apologize for hurting you, only I dare say you may breathe a sigh of relief at this news. Of course, this is a rather scandalous turn of events, but I know I can always count on your honor and discretion.