Tonight she was reading from 1 Corinthians, Chapter 11. “For the man is not of the woman, but the woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman, but the woman for the man…Nevertheless, neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man, in the Lord…”
Neither is the man without the woman… How had he fallen in love so quickly, he who had vowed never to love at all?
He thought of her son, living in Noche’s lodge. Noche had not taken the boy as an act of vengeance or to replace a child who had been lost. To the contrary, Noche had taken the child because he thought both of its parents were dead and he did not wish to leave it behind. But both parents weren’t dead.
Toklanni gazed at Sarah. She was sitting in front of the hearth with the Bible in her lap. The lamplight danced in her hair, turning the yellow to gold. Should he tell her where her son was? Would she find comfort in knowing he was well, or would it cause her more pain to know her son was nearby when she could not go to him?
He thought about it all that night and the next day, wondering what to do.
The following evening, after dinner, he went into the parlor and laid a fire in the hearth, then sat on the sofa, staring into the flames. He had heard her weeping again last night and he knew he had to tell her that he knew where her son was, that the boy was being well cared for. He couldn’t spend another night listening to her sobs.
He glanced up as Sarah entered the room, her full skirt making a soft swishing sound.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Better every day, thanks to you.”
She smiled, her cheeks flushing a becoming shade of pink. Taking up her mending basket, she sat on the other end of the sofa.
Toklanni watched her thread her needle. He had come to enjoy the evenings they spent together. Often there were long silences between them, but they were not uncomfortable silences.
He listened to the crackle of the flames, to the rush of the wind as it swept across the land. Winter was coming and he had to make a decision, whether to stay here, with Sarah, or return to the rancheria. He had been gone too long already. Noche might already be looking for him.
“Sarah.”
She looked up at him and smiled expectantly.
“Sarah, I…”
“Yes?”
“I know where your son is.” He spoke the words in a rush, afraid he’d change his mind if he didn’t blurt it out and be done with it.
She sat up, her body suddenly tense, her gaze riveted on his face. “You know where Danny is? Is he all right? Why didn’t you tell me before?” She lurched to her feet, the dress she’d been mending falling, unnoticed, to the floor. “Where is he? Can you take me to him?”
“He’s fine. He’s at my village. With my brother.”
Sarah stared at Toklanni. His village. His brother. That meant… “It was your people who attacked us. Why? We’ve never done anything to you.”
“You’re on Apache land,” he said defensively, inadequately.
“We never bothered your people, yet they killed Vern and took Danny…” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Sarah jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill Vern?”
Slowly, Toklanni shook his head. “I was sent to burn the house.”
“You! It was you in the cellar, wasn’t it?”
Toklanni nodded. He could feel her withdrawing from him, feel her friendship turning to disgust.
“How could you? You’re white.”
“Half white.”
She stood with her hands on her hips, her expression fierce with anger. “Half, whole, what’s the difference? How can you go around killing your own people?”
“The Apache are my people.”
“I want to see my son.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Why not? How could he explain it to her? How could he explain it to himself?
“Please, Devlin.” There was no anger in her voice now, only a soft note of entreaty.
He winced at her use of his white name. “Sarah, my people think you’re dead. That day in the cellar, I was supposed to kill you.”
She remembered that day vividly, the awful fear, the certainty that she’d been looking death in the face. “Why didn’t you?”
He couldn’t sit still any longer. Gaining his feet, Toklanni walked to the window and looked out at the night. His voice was low when he spoke to her.
“I might have killed you if you didn’t look so much like my mother.” He turned to face Sarah again. Like his mother, Sarah Andrews had fine bones and delicate features and a way of looking at a man that made him feel he was invincible.
Toklanni gestured at her hair. “My mother’s hair was blonde, like yours. You look like her in other ways, too.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I couldn’t do it. I burned the barn instead so the other warriors would see the smoke and think it was the house.”
Sarah wrapped her arms around her waist, chilled in spite of the heat from the fireplace. Would she be dead now if her hair had been brown?
She gazed at him through the dark fringe of her lashes. “What would happen if your people found out I wasn’t dead?”
“I don’t know. My people are still angry. A few days before we raided this place, our village was attacked. Several warriors were killed and Noche’s wife was badly wounded. The young men are eager for bloodshed.” They’d been on the warpath for the last five months, Toklanni mused, and each victory seemed sweeter than the last. Only the coming of winter would put an end to their raiding.
“I want my son back. I’m willing to take the chance.”
He crossed the room, silent and graceful as a cat on the prowl, until he was standing in front of her. “I’m not.”
The tone of his voice touched her like a caress, telling her without words that he wasn’t willing to put her life in danger.
She gazed into the depths of his eyes and saw her own loneliness, her own longing, mirrored there.
“Please, Devlin. I miss him so much. He’s just a little boy. He needs me.” Two large tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. “And I need him.”
“Sarah.” Wanting to comfort her, he drew her into his arms. And knew immediately that it was a mistake. The warmth of her body, the soft feminine curves pressed against his chest, drove everything from his mind, everything but the aching desire he’d been holding in check since the day he first saw her.
Sarah had not been prepared for tenderness, or for the sense of belonging, of peace, that filled her heart as Toklanni’s arms closed around her. With a sob, she buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder, crying for Danny, for her own loneliness, for fear that the affection she felt for Toklanni was turning into love. But she couldn’t love him. It was wrong, so wrong.
And yet being in his arms felt so right and as her tears subsided, she grew increasingly aware of the strength of the arms that held her, of the rapid beating of her own heart, of the telltale evidence of Toklanni’s rising desire.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to disengage herself from his embrace. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“Sarah.”
His arms held her loosely, a welcome prison from which she had no desire to escape. “Please.” She kept her head lowered so she wouldn’t have to see the longing in his eyes, so he couldn’t see the hunger in her own.
“Please what?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m still in mourning for my husband and you’re…I’m…please, Devlin, I can’t.”
“I haven’t asked you for anything.”
“You’re asking me now. I can hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your arms tremble.”
“Sarah, look at me.”
Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to his.
“You say you can’t. I believe you, but tell me the truth. Is it because you’re in mourning, or becaus
e I’m Indian?” He lifted a hand to his scarred cheek. “Or because of this?”
She looked at him, stricken by the hurt in his voice, by the anger that blazed in his eyes.
“I…” She shook her head, searching for the right words.
How had they gotten onto this subject, anyway? All she’d wanted was to see Danny.
Toklanni’s arms dropped to his sides. “I guess I have my answer,” he said, mistaking her confusion for revulsion. And pivoting on his heel, he stalked out of the house.
Chapter Eight
He was gone in the morning. Sarah wandered through the house, unable to concentrate on the simplest task. Was he gone for good? The thought that she might never see him again pierced her heart like a shard of broken glass, sharp and painful. And Danny. What about Danny? If Devlin was gone for good, how would she ever find her son?
Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she went outside and walked along the riverbank, oblivious to the cold. Winter was coming. Soon it would be Thanksgiving and then Christmas. How could she endure Christmas out here alone? She thought of the Christmases they’d known back east, the parties, the scent of pine and bayberry that filled the house. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she loved baking pies and cookies and it had always been such fun, with Danny there to help roll out the crust and decorate the gingerbread men.
Even here, in the West, Christmas had been a special time.
They’d decorated the house with pine cones. She and Danny had made the usual treats, filling the cabin with the fragrant scent of fresh-baked cookies. And on Christmas Eve they’d gathered before the fireplace, just the three of them, while Vern read the Christmas story.
She had no appetite for dinner that night. After brewing a pot of tea, she sat in front of the window and stared into the darkness. The days were growing short, the nights long and cold. How would she endure the winter alone? There would be days when it would be too cold to leave the shelter of the cabin, days of heavy rain and snow. Thus far, she’d been able to endure the loneliness because she’d been able to keep busy, to go outside and wander along the riverbank. But to be trapped inside, alone… She shuddered at the thought. Maybe she should leave, try to walk to town. But it was so far, she knew she’d never make it on foot.
She couldn’t sleep that night. With the covers tucked up to her chin, she stared at the whitewashed ceiling more alone than she’d ever felt in her life. She missed Toklanni, missed him in ways she had never missed her own husband. She remembered the desire she had seen in his eyes, the touch of his hands on her arms. He thought she was repelled by his scars, that she had spurned him because she was afraid of his touch, but it wasn’t Toklanni that had frightened her, it was the depths of her own desire, the emergence of feelings and passions she had never known existed. And now he was gone, perhaps for good.
Slipping out of bed, Sarah dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands, imploring a kind Heavenly Father to be merciful, to return her son to her arms. She felt a twinge of guilt as she prayed that Toklanni would come back. She had no business even thinking of another man so soon after Vern’s death, especially a man who was an Indian, but she couldn’t forget the sense of belonging she’d felt in Toklanni’s arms, the peace and joy that his touch had aroused in her. Right or wrong, she was in love with him.
* * * * *
Toklanni sat outside Lupan’s lodge, his arms folded across his chest as he listened to the old medicine man tell the story of how light came into the world.
“In the beginning,” the shaman said, “there was only darkness in the world. There was no sun. There were no stars. No night sun. Only the thick black of darkness. Back then, there were all manner of feathered and four-footed creatures. There were hideous monsters and dragons and all manner of creeping things. The People did not prosper at this time because the beasts and serpents ate the young.”
Toklanni watched Danny’s face as Lupan paused to take a breath. Sarah’s son was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression one of concentration as he tried to follow the story.
“At this time, all creatures could talk and think,” the medicine man went on. “There were two tribes of creatures, the Birds and the Beasts. The Bird People were led by an Eagle.
“As time went on, the Birds wished to have light in the world, but the Beasts refused and after a time, the Birds made war upon the beasts. The four-footed Beasts were armed with clubs, but the Eagle had taught the feathered beings to use bows and arrows. The Birds had to be careful who they killed, for when they killed a bear, more bears rose up in his place; the dragons could not be killed at all.
“After many days, the Birds won the battle and that is how light came into the world.”
Toklanni watched Sarah’s son as he went off with some of the other boys. Though Danny had been among the Apache for only a few months, it was easy to see that he had already absorbed much of the Indian language and Toklanni thought he had probably understood most, if not all, of the simple story the aged shaman had told.
Later, he watched Noche trying to teach Danny how to use a bow and arrow. Sarah’s son was a good-looking boy, with light blond hair, fair skin and deep blue eyes. He’d been living in Noche’s lodge for over four months now. He no longer cried in the night or begged to go home and he was learning to speak Apache. Just now, his brow was furrowed with concentration as he drew back the bowstring.
Toklanni watched the lesson with interest. Danny had a keen eye and on the fourth try, his arrow hit the outer edge of the target. Danny flushed with pleasure as Noche gave him a pat on the back and a broad smile of approval.
In time, Toklanni knew the boy would accept the Apache way of life completely. He’d already made a place for himself with the other boys, he was quick to learn and quick to obey Noche.
As he grew older, he would learn that the Apache way of life was hard and well-disciplined. Anyone who was not Apache was considered the enemy and the Apache displayed no pity where an enemy was concerned. A true warrior excelled in battle and thievery, though he would never steal from his own. He was generous. He loved his family. Truth was a virtue held in high regard. Soon Danny would learn to hunt and to track. To fight. And to kill.
Toklanni took a deep breath, remembering how hard it had been for him, growing up as a mixed blood. Though he was accepted as an Apache, he’d known he was different from the other boys and the difference had become more pronounced as he grew older. Now, watching as Danny continued to practice with the bow and arrow, he wondered how the boy would handle the situation when the time came.
Toklanni shook his head, knowing Sarah would be appalled at the direction of his thoughts, mortified if she knew the harsh lessons of life and death that awaited her son.
Sarah. He’d left because he wanted to make sure Danny was all right and because he had to get away from her, because he couldn’t think clearly when she was so close and he wanted her so badly. He realized now that he had pushed her too far, too fast. She needed time; time to mourn her dead, to face her own warring emotions, to come to terms with the ever-growing attraction between them.
Sarah. He had been away from her for two days and he missed her more than he’d thought possible. It was inexplicable, how rapidly he had grown to love her, how deeply ingrained she’d become in his life. He’d known her such a short time, yet he felt as if he was missing a vital part of himself. He longed to hear her voice, see her smile, fill his nostrils with her sweet, womanly scent.
He shook her image from his mind. She was not for him, no matter how much he desired her.
He waited until after the evening meal before he took Noche aside. It was time for truth, time to discover what his chances were of returning Danny to his mother.
“So, brother,” Noche mused as they walked away from the village, “what is it that you have to say that must be said in secret?”
Toklanni took a deep breath, then plunged in head first.
“I did not kill the white woman or burn
her lodge.”
Noche came to an abrupt halt. “She still lives?”
“Yes.”
In the moonlight, Toklanni could see the contempt on his younger brother’s face. “I should have known you were too weak to kill her. I should have done it myself. I will do it.”
“No.”
“You dare to tell me I cannot?”
“The woman is mine.”
“You have scorned every maiden in our village and now you take a white woman?” Noche shook his head in disgust. “It is as I have always said, in your heart you are not Apache. You are weak, like the white eyes.”
“I am strong enough to keep what is mine,” Toklanni retorted sharply. “And the woman is mine. To harm her is the same as harming my family.”
“I hear you, brother,” Noche said, sneering. “Will you leave us now and make your home in the woman’s square house?”
“I don’t know.”
“You will not bring her here.”
“You dare to tell me I cannot?” Toklanni challenged, flinging Noche’s words back in his face.
“I tell you to think carefully. The blood of our dead is still warm. My woman’s scars cry out to me for vengeance. I tell you our people will not accept a white woman in their midst.” Noche took a step forward, his gaze intent. “And the boy is mine, chickasay. Do not forget that.”
“My woman wants him back.”
Noche shook his head. “The boy’s place is in my lodge. Keep the paleface woman if you must. Plant another child in her belly to dry her tears, but do not think you can take the boy.”
Toklanni nodded. There had been bad blood between himself and his brother ever since they were children. He had been a fool to think Noche would surrender Danny without a fight.
Toklanni studied his brother closely, wondering what the outcome of such a fight would be. As children, they had competed almost daily. It had all been in fun, at first, but as they grew older, their games of skill and strength became more earnest until they weren’t games at all.
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