Riding Pretty Feather across the open fields in the cold, fall morning, galloping toward the bright pink eastern horizon, got her blood pumping even higher and, as the sun rose and lit the sparkling land, she rode all the way to the boundary of Tay and Emily’s property, the narrow, swift-running Tulli Creek that had to be forded on the way to Tuskahoma. Pretty Feather must’ve caught Cotannah’s exuberant mood—she raced straight on into the water and began dipping and tossing her head the way she always did when she wanted to play, throwing cold water back onto Cotannah every time.
“You silly girl, will you stop it?” Cotannah said, laughing, and began pulling her around.
The mare went back up the sloping bank as fast as she’d gone down it. Cotannah bent to avoid the low branch of a mulberry tree, but it caught her anyway, pulled off her cap, and tore at her hair, sent it tumbling in all directions over her shoulders and face.
“Whoa!”
Pretty Feather knew that tone of voice, and she began to slow immediately, turning easily in a circle as Cotannah’s knees squeezed her, but by the time she’d gotten her hair out of her eyes and gone back, the cap had dropped from the tree into the water, which was fast carrying it away. Cold air swirled around her head.
“Well, I hope you’re happy, Miss Priss. Now my ears are going to freeze!”
In answer, Pretty Feather dipped and tossed her head once more and pawed at the frosty ground. Cotannah sighed and turned the mare’s head toward the house.
“I hope nobody at Tall Pine is sentimental about that cap.”
But nothing could destroy her fine mood on such a morning, and she and the mare began wandering through the woods, Pretty Feather delighting in making the squirrels run for the trees, Cotannah loving the sight of the sunlight hitting the leaves, which seemed to be turning deeper colors right before her eyes.
She wished Walks-With-Spirits was here to see them, too. Talking to him had made her feel as free as she felt this morning, and she marveled again at the fact that she had told him everything in her life. Never, ever, had she done that, not even with Emily, but even more astonishing was the fact that she’d told it all to a man. Never, ever, was she straightforward with any man. But without a moment’s hesitation, she had been completely forthcoming with Walks-With-Spirits.
The desire to be with him again suddenly stabbed through her, so fast and deep that it made her hands tighten on the reins. She took in a long breath of the cold, crisp air, turned Pretty Feather around, and started back toward the house, where she could find someone to talk to, someone to distract her from thinking about him and wondering when she’d see him. She could still taste his kiss.
She slowed Pretty Feather to a walk and gazed into the long line of oak and elm trees growing along the fence line between this pasture and the grounds of the house, stared at their low, leafy branches as if they could whisper secrets to her when the breeze moved through them just right. The frost was brightening them fast and furiously, turning some of them yellow and others all shades of orange and red. They were so beautiful that she filled her eyes with the colors, tried to memorize the way they looked, trembling in the breeze, flashing their frosty sides in the early-morning sun.
A flash of a deeper, golden yellow moved in between two tree trunks, in a different way from the rippling leaves. She blinked and looked again, slowed Pretty Feather even more so she could see through a break in the timber. There it was, farther away toward the house, only a glimpse of a vanishing patch of gold. Low to the ground. Vanishing behind the log smokehouse.
Her heart gave a quick, hard, pounding beat. Could the gold have been Basak? Walks-With-Spirits might be going to Tall Pine to see her!
That thought made her stop the mare and put her hands to her hair, running her fingers through it to comb it as best she could. Oh! She looked awful in these boy’s clothes, with her hair wild and loose.
But she didn’t care. He liked to talk with her more than to look at her, as all the other men did.
What if she went into the house and there he was at the breakfast table? Maybe he would stay around and they could go walking in the woods and talk all day long!
She smiled as Pretty Feather carried her toward the house. After he told her the story of his childhood, perhaps she could get him to explain how he knew everything. Two years ago, he had predicted that she would seek him out one day and she had done so. That boggled her mind—it seemed impossible in one way and in another, totally natural. Ever since that moment when he had looked into her soul out on the Texas Road, it had seemed natural that he would know everything. But how could that be?
Pretty Feather ambled to a complete stop. Absently, Cotannah pulled the mare’s head up and stuck her heels to her sides to get her to move on, while her mind clung to Walks-With-Spirits. Where had he come from? What had his childhood been like? She couldn’t wait to hear his story.
And he might be at Tall Pine right now! She smooched to Pretty Feather and lifted her into a trot, rode through the trees, opened the gate, went through and closed it behind her and looked ahead to try to see him. There was no sign, but that meant nothing—Basak and Taloa would lie hidden in wait for him, and he’d had time to go inside already, since he had no horse to tend. Smoke was rising from the kitchen chimney, and Daisy was shaking the tablecloth off the back porch.
A palomino gelding that she knew belonged to Peter Phillips stood tied at the stable hitching post, a light steam rising from his back in the cold air of the morning, a saddle upended on the ground on his off side. Phillips squatted beside it, brushing the horse’s leg.
“Good morning, Mr. Phillips, you’re out early today,” she said, as she rode up beside his horse.
He turned and glanced up at her, smiling.
“Good morning, Miss Cotannah!” he said, sounding especially jovial.
“I see you’re out riding early because you don’t need any more beauty sleep.”
Out of habit, she began smoothing her hair and tucking it behind her ears.
“I lost my hat,” she said, “and I didn’t even have a ribbon with me, so I’m a bit wild-looking, I’m afraid.”
“Not at all, not at all! You’re always beautiful, no matter what.”
She smiled at him.
“And just what are you doing out so early?” she asked flirtatiously.
“Oh, I’m getting so excited about the new mercantile that I can’t sleep, so I decided I’d just as well go on into town and get to work.”
He ducked beneath his horse’s neck and came around to the side of the palomino next to her, brushing it quickly where the saddle would go. Then he hurried to help her dismount.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “If you’ll pardon a personal remark from a tired, sleepless old man, I must say that you’re so lovely that every time I see you I wish I was twenty years younger.”
She laughed as she stood in the stirrup and swung down, accepting the hand he offered for balance as her foot touched the ground.
“I always accept personal remarks like that one,” she said, with the coy glance that was her habit. “You’re looking fine today, yourself, kind sir.”
He did look quite handsome for an older man, although this morning his hair was a bit tousled and wet with sweat around the edges.
“Well, that’s good,” he said. “A merchant who looks handsome will surely have many ladies coming into his store to buy his wares.”
“That’s exactly right,” she said, with a smile. “And as soon as you open your mercantile I’ll be the first one at the ribbon counter.”
They talked and laughed as she insisted on unsaddling her own horse so as not to delay him, and he put the saddle on his own mount.
“Well, Miss Cotannah, I’m off to town now,” he said. “You come and visit my store anytime, even before the ribbon counter is filled.”
He mounted and smiled down at her. Then he sobered as he spoke.
“Don’t you let so much as one fleeting worry about Jacob Charley keep you
away from the mercantile,” he said earnestly. “I can promise you that he’ll never bother you again.”
A chill ran through her at the memory of Jacob’s hot, rough hands tearing at her dress and pressing into her flesh.
“Thank you, Mr. Phillips,” she said. “It’s a great comfort to me to know that.”
“Very well, then, it’s agreed,” he said, in his usual happy tones. “I’ll treat you to a tour of the mercantile on opening day!”
He turned his horse and rode down the driveway toward the road.
Cotannah watched him for a moment, finished putting her tack away, and brushed Pretty Feather quickly, so she could hurry and get to the house. Mr. Phillips was a nice man, she thought, and he didn’t deserve to be trapped in a partnership with a lout like Jacob Charley.
Thoughts of Peter Phillips didn’t occupy her mind for long, however. She thought about Walks-With-Spirits as she finished up with her horse and ran to the house.
“’Tannah,” Emily called, “we’re in the kitchen.”
Emily was sitting at the table in the middle of the room, teaching Sophia to feed herself—an especially poignant scene considering the baby’s splinted arm. Rosie stood at the stove, cooking, Daisy was putting jellies and jams, pots of honey and sorghum, and bowls of butter onto a tray to carry to the dining room. Cotannah’s heart fell. Walks-With-Spirits was nowhere to be seen.
“’Tannah!” Sophia cried, in a perfect imitation of her mother, and promptly slapped a spoonful of oatmeal into her hair.
Emily rolled her eyes at Cotannah, then looked at her daughter.
“For a little girl who woke up hours early, screaming for her breakfast, you aren’t getting much of it into your mouth.”
In answer, Sophia dropped the spoon, put her hand into the bowl and scooped a handful of the cereal up and into her mouth. Emily sighed.
“Most of the time I would swear that this child is Maggie’s, not mine.”
Blithely, Sophia waved the spoon at Daisy who was heading toward the dining room with the tray.
“Maggie’s! Child is Maggie’s,” she cried.
All three of them laughed.
“Tay left way before daylight, then Sophia woke up so early I feel as if I haven’t slept all night,” Emily said, her shoulders sagging wearily.
“Where’d Tay go?”
Cotannah asked the question automatically; she didn’t care what the answer was. She only cared that Walks-With-Spirits wasn’t there.
“To Tuskahoma.”
“Why in the world did he start so early?”
Emily hesitated.
“There was to be some kind of a sunrise ceremony on the banks of the Kiamichi south of town, an incantation to drive Walks-With-Spirits away. Tay was determined to try to talk some sense into the ones who assembled for that.”
Cotannah’s stomach constricted as she remembered the hate-filled voices of the men who had come to Tall Pine to talk to Tay.
“I feel so bad about the trouble I’ve caused you and Tay …”
“It isn’t your fault!” Emily said fiercely, and started to say something else when the sound of hoofbeats, rapidly approaching, stopped her.
“Rosie, will you watch Sophia?”
Rosie nodded, and Emily and Cotannah both went toward the front of the house to see who was coming onto the place at a speed that usually meant trouble. They were on the front veranda when three horsemen galloped hard into the yard and rode right up to the foot of the steps.
“Oh, ’Tannah, it’s the Lighthorse!” Emily gasped when she saw their armbands, appliquéd with the bright yellow-and-blue seal of the Nation.
“Has something happened to my husband?” she cried, running to the porch post nearest the steps and grabbing it for support. “Is the Principal Chief …”
“Chief Nashoba’s all right, ma’am,” a tall, broad-faced, glum-looking Lighthorseman said.
All three of them sat their lathered horses for a minute, letting them blow.
“We’re looking for the man called Walks-With-Spirits,” another one said, and flashed a charming smile at Emily. “Seeing as how he’s known to visit at Tall Pine from time to time, we thought he might be here right now.”
“No,” Emily said. “He isn’t. Why are you looking for him?”
The third Lighthorseman, slightly older than the other two, hard-eyed and quick-moving, spoke impatiently.
“Jacob Charley was found dead in the street at Tuskahoma around daylight, without a mark on him,” he said. “There was no signs of a fight, no wound, no reason for him to be dead, and his gun was still in his pocket. He looks to be dead by magic.”
Emily gasped.
“Well, you can’t think Walks-With-Spirits killed him!”
The Lighthorseman made his horse move abruptly.
“Half the Nation heard the medicine man throw a curse on him and saw him take Jacob’s saliva to use when he did it again.”
Cotannah stood stunned in her tracks.
After a moment, Emily said, “Jacob is dead?’
“Yes,” the impatient one said, “and we have to bring in the man who said a death incantation over him Friday night. If he’s not here, we’ll try his cave hideout.”
He began pulling his horse around to ride away.
Emily’s voice stopped him. “Listen to you,” she cried, “talking about his cave hideout! And death incantations! You sound as if Walks-With-Spirits is guilty! Your job is to make arrests and carry out the sentences of the court—the Lighthorse haven’t had the power to try a person or pronounce his punishment for years now, remember?”
Cotannah felt she ought to help her. She ought to help Emily, who was trying to defend Walks-With-Spirits. But she just stood there frozen, body and mind, unable to form a sentence.
“We met Jacob Charley’s partner, Mr. Phillips, in the road right back there,” the glum man said, “and he tells us he doesn’t know of any other enemies Mr. Jacob Charley had.”
“Well, he does! I’ve heard he has plenty of enemies!” Emily shouted at him.
Gentle Emily was shouting at a person in authority.
“Go and arrest some of those other enemies and leave Walks-With-Spirits alone! He would never kill anyone, he didn’t mean that incantation!”
Cotannah didn’t know that she would—or could—move, but the next thing she knew she was standing at the top of the steps beside Emily. She didn’t recognize her voice when she spoke, but she knew it was hers.
“You’d better leave Walks-With-Spirits alone,” she said to the Lighthorsemen. “He’s an alikchi, you know, and you don’t know what he can do … to you.”
All three of the Lighthorsemen turned to look at her, fast.
“Alikchi or witch, we know he’s dangerous, sure enough,” the charming one said quickly. “That’s why we’re moving in on him before he can get word that we’re coming.”
The man’s smile had vanished completely, and his companions shifted nervously in their saddles, began pulling their horses around.
“Don’t let anyone go from here to warn him,” the older, impatient one ordered, looking straight at Emily. “We would get there first, anyhow …” then he added grudgingly, “… ma’am.”
“He didn’t do it,” she said stubbornly. “Leave him alone. And don’t try to tell me where and when people can go from this farm.”
“We’re only doing our job, Mrs. Nashoba,” the charming one said. “We must investigate him because of the magic and all. Believe me, we’d rather not, with him having such powers as he has.”
“You don’t know he’s guilty,” Cotannah said. “So don’t treat him as if he is.”
“We know what everybody in the Nation knows, Miss,” the older one said sharply, “on Friday, Walks-With-Spirits was yelling at Jacob Charley that he didn’t deserve to live and putting a curse on him, and today, Monday, Mr. Charley is dead. From no visible cause.”
They circled their horses around and tipped their hats. Then they were gone, l
ong-trotting fast in the direction of Walks-With-Spirits’s cave.
“If he should come to Tall Pine before we find him, tell him he’s under order of the Lighthorse to wait for us here,” one of them yelled back over his shoulder.
“They’re part of the faction that believes Walks-With-Spirits is a witch, aren’t they?” Cotannah asked. “I think they are.”
She was still talking in that stranger’s voice and it was because she already knew the answer to her own question. The horror of it made her hands begin to shake.
“Quick, Mimi, we’ve got to warn him,” she cried.
She turned and grabbed Emily by the arm, pulling her toward the door to the hallway that led to the back of the house and the horses.
Emily dug in her heels.
“No, it’s too late, they’ve got a start,” she said frantically, “and even if he ran, they’re determined to hunt him down.”
Desperate, she glanced from the Lighthorsemen to Cotannah and back again.
“Tay!” she cried. “We’ve got to get to Tay. He may not know they’ve already found him guilty. He can talk to the judges and tell them the Lighthorse are biased.”
Then she took a deep, shuddering breath.
Cotannah wished she could do the same, but she couldn’t breathe at all. She couldn’t think, and she couldn’t breathe.
But somehow she had to get hold of herself because she had to help Walks-With-Spirits. She might not be able to see into his heart the way he could see into hers, but she did know one thing about him and she would stake her very life on it: he would never kill anyone. He had said the black magic charm out of fury and anger; he hadn’t meant it.
And she’d been with him until almost dawn. He hadn’t used Jacob’s saliva in another incantation. She would stake her life on that, too.
“What if a lot more of the people are thinking he’s a witch now, because Jacob is dead?” she managed to say.
“We have to change their minds,” Emily said tersely.
They rushed into the house, asked Ancie, who had just gotten up and come in search of the baby, to watch Sophia all day, told her and Rosie the news, then ran for their horses.
After the Thunder Page 14
