After the Thunder

by Genell Dellin

  Cotannah’s exhausted brain almost refused to take in the information she’d asked for, but she forced it to work. She had to keep thinking to hold her feelings at bay.

  “Can you all look into those two? And I’ll have a visit with Peter Phillips to try to get some more names. He’s bound to have looked into Jacob’s business dealings before he went in partners with him.”

  “But if he does know something, he won’t want to tell it,” Emily said, getting up to start clearing the table. “Remember that he told the Lighthorse he didn’t know of a single enemy Jacob had except for Walks-With-Spirits.”

  “Oh, that’s right!”

  Cotannah considered that.

  “But that was when they first told him that Jacob was dead—he was too shocked to think. And he’s always really gallant and charming to me, so I can get him talking, I’m sure. I get the feeling he likes me.”

  Emily looked up.

  “Be careful. Don’t let him like you too much or lead him to think that you’re trying to …”

  “Don’t worry, Mimi, dear. I won’t go walking alone in the woods with him.”

  “Well, then, you have my permission,” Emily said, and flashed her a smile that was more sympathy than encouragement.

  “Sleep well,” Tay said, and he, too, seemed to pity her.

  She fought back tears as she went on upstairs ahead of them and, though she was growing more and more exhausted by the minute, she managed to keep her mind on puzzling out what would be the best way to approach Peter Phillips. The instant her head hit the pillow, though, her rational mind turned itself off, and her aching heart took possession of her body and her thoughts.

  She had promised herself to be upright and honest and responsible from now on but she had lied to Walks-With-Spirits when she said that she was compelled to save his life only to assuage her guilt. Even if she’d had nothing to do with the dangerous predicament he was in, she would still be just as determined to save him from death.

  The false words ran through her mind, again and again, as she lay there agonizing because she could not call them back. That was the only lie she’d ever told him, and that fact proved how special he was to her.

  She lied to most men all the time.

  At dinner that evening, she started working on Peter Phillips.

  “You must be ready for a good, hot supper and an evening of sitting on the porch watching the lightning bugs dance,” she said, smiling at him as she offered him the bowl of mashed potatoes with butter melting on top.

  He smiled into her eyes as he took it.

  “Do I look that weary?” he said. “It’s just that you’re so young and fresh, my dear. That makes us elders frail and pitiful in your eyes.”

  “Oh, listen to you go on, now,” she said, flashing him an openly admiring look. “You aren’t old at all, and you certainly aren’t frail! I was just referring to the fact that now you must have twice as much work to do since … you have no partner now.”

  His pleasant face fell into mournful lines.

  “That’s so true. I still haven’t fully realized that Jacob isn’t coming back and that I must see to every detail myself.”

  “None of us can realize Jacob isn’t coming back,” Emily said, from her place at the foot of the table. “His death is the most shocking we have had here in the Nation for a long while.”

  Phillips’s only response to that was a heavy sigh. He turned his attention to his food, and although Tay made one more unobtrusive try at getting him to talk about Jacob, he said nothing. The table conversation became general and went straight to the question of Walks-With-Spirits’s guilt or innocence.

  Most of the boarders and visitors expressed a strong belief in his innocence, to agree with Tay and Emily if for no other reason, but Peter Phillips didn’t add his voice to the chorus. When the meal ended, pleading a need for fresh air, Cotannah wandered out onto the side veranda.

  To her delight, Phillips joined her almost immediately.

  “You mentioned fresh air, my dear. May I escort you on a walk through Miss Emily’s flower gardens?”

  She accepted his proffered arm.

  “That’s most thoughtful of you, Mr. Phillips.”

  And it was. She would be within screaming distance of the house, yet they’d have enough privacy that he might say something he wouldn’t say in public.

  But he asked her a question before she could think of one for him.

  “Did you and your shaman friend have a successful trip to McAlester?” he said, watching her narrowly as they descended the steps.

  He saw the surprise on her face and chuckled.

  “My spies are everywhere, my dear,” he said, teasing with his voice and his twinkling blue eyes.

  She forced a laugh that she hoped sounded natural.

  “My, my,” she said, returning his narrow look, “I had no idea you were that determined to prevent me from shopping anywhere else but your mercantile.”

  He laughed, too.

  “No, I’m not quite that greedy. And I’m not a fortune-teller, either.”

  He gave her a broad smile, but his eyes were assessing her as if to see whether she actually believed him or not.

  “To tell you the truth, Bogue Henry came into town and mentioned that he’d seen you and Walks-With-Spirits riding west onto the McAlester Road, but I had no idea whether that was where you went.”

  She smiled at him, thinking quickly what to say next. Knowing the ubiquitous grapevine that ran through the Nation, he had most likely already heard that she’d been seen in McAlester and soon he’d hear the whole story of the visit to Greentree’s Crossing.

  Suddenly she stopped in her tracks and gripped his arm a bit more tightly, gasping as if a new idea had just occurred to her.

  “You know, I wonder if you could help me?”

  Confiding in him might lead him to confide in her in turn.

  “I would be honored.”

  “Yes, of course you could help,” she said, with her most dazzling smile. “Why didn’t I think of this before? You would know whether Jacob had any enemies, wouldn’t you, and who they are?”

  He patted her hand and smiled down at her in his avuncular way.

  “I don’t wish to upset you, my dear, but in answer to such a serious question I must speak honestly. It seems to me, as it does to many other people, including the Judges of your Choctaw Court and the people who heard the death curse put on Jacob, that your medicine man would fall into that category.”

  “I know it seems that way,” she said, sighing softly and letting her gaze drift off to fix on the middle distance for a moment, “but—not to speak ill of the dead, you understand—I’m sure I’ve heard rumors that Jacob had other enemies of long standing.”

  She glanced up at him quickly, hoping to see his real feelings in his eyes.

  “As an astute man of business, you would have looked into Jacob’s reputation before throwing in with him for a partnership, I dare say.”

  He favored her with a blazing smile and stuck out his chest proudly.

  “You are rather astute yourself, my dear.”

  Then, just as quickly as he had smiled, he frowned.

  “Did you learn anything helpful yesterday?”

  For an instant, his blunt question stopped her heart. He knew. Somehow, she had the feeling he already knew where it was she had gone. Could it be that he and Jacob both had had some connection with the Boomers?

  He quickly explained, as his blue eyes filled with sympathy.

  “I overheard Tay and Emily talking about your mission,” he said. “My dear Miss Cotannah, I hate to see you getting so involved in this ugliness, no matter how much regard you may have for the medicine man.”

  His voice dropped lower and he spoke very gently.

  “You do know that it’s possible his curse killed Jacob.”

  “Why, Mr. Phillips!” she said, forcing a smile. “I would never have guessed that you were so superstitious.”

  �
��I heard the curse with my own ears,” he said solemnly. “It sounded very efficacious to me.”

  A decision leapt, full-blown, into her mind, almost before she knew she was considering it. She would give the Boomer connection one more chance—if Jacob had been allied with them, it would give two possible sources of danger for him, the Boomers themselves and unbending Choctaw patriots like Folsom Greentree. A subscription to the newspaper really meant nothing, but it was all she had.

  “I really do trust your judgment, Mr. Phillips,” she said sweetly, “and your experience. Did you ever hear or see any evidence that Jacob could have been working with the Boomers somehow?”

  His eyes widened.

  “The Boomers? What a preposterous idea! My dear, Jacob was raised by his father, Olmun, who is one of staunchest …”

  “But Jacob didn’t always agree with Olmun, remember?” she interrupted. “Right here at Tall Pine, at the table of the Principal Chief, Jacob would talk about how we need to adopt even more of the white man’s ways if we want to survive. You know Olmun didn’t approve of such talk.”

  When he made no answer, she pushed on.

  “If Jacob said all that, it could have been preliminary to openly advocating individual allotments, couldn’t it? The Boomers would have paid well for him to do that.”

  “Yes,” Phillips said, frowning thoughtfully and drawing her hand more firmly through his arm as they went down the broad, stone steps that led from the flower garden into the grassy side yard, “but I believe Jacob did love his father, and he wouldn’t ever have dishonored him by saying such a thing openly even if he did believe it.”

  “Jacob dressed in fine fashion, though,” she said, slowly, as if just now thinking the problem through, “and he may have had other expensive tastes as well.”

  Phillips smiled, shaking his head, and gave a low, mirthful chuckle.

  “Jacob was entirely dependent financially on Olmun, you know, and he wasn’t the kind of man to jeopardize that.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I’ll share something with you if you’ll promise not to tell,” Phillips said abruptly. “May I entrust a confidence to you, Miss Cotannah?”

  Her heart gave a quick, hard beat. Would he, could he, finally tell her something that would help save Walks-With-Spirits?

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, yes. I won’t tell.”

  “Well, then.”

  He bent his head so he could speak low in her ear, as if dozens of eavesdroppers surrounded them.

  “I know for a fact that Olmun supplied the money for Jacob’s third of our three-way business partnership,” he said. “Jacob didn’t want it known because he liked to appear independent, but it’s true.”

  For an instant she looked at him in dismay. Everyone knew that, it was no secret at all! But she bit her lip before she said so—maybe he knew other things about Jacob that he would eventually tell her.

  “I promise you I won’t breathe it to a soul.”

  His face took on a mournful expression.

  “Our new mercantile was extremely important to Jacob. He wouldn’t have risked losing his place in it by betraying his father to connect himself somehow with the Boomers.”

  “You’re probably right, Mr. Phillips,” she said encouragingly.

  “Peter,” he said, “please do call me Peter, my dear.”

  So she did, and she kept him smiling and strolling through the grounds with her until the early dusk had begun to fall and the voices of the others who were sitting on the porch, as they often did after supper, drifted out to them.

  “We must go in,” he said, “as it’s unseemly of me to keep you out alone after dark, but before we do, I have one private word of advice, dear Cotannah.”

  She stopped still to listen.

  “I’m fond of you, Cotannah, and I’d hate to see you hurt. Don’t invest your fine heart in trying to save the shaman, my dear, because there’s probably nothing anyone can do.”

  He laid his hand over hers.

  “He must have killed Jacob with his curse, my darling girl—the Judges of your people have found that he did.” He paused significantly. “After all, there wasn’t a wound or a mark on Jacob’s body and he was young and healthy and strong, so how else could he have died?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, biting her tongue to keep from saying anything else.

  She mustn’t alienate Phillips, not yet. He was the only person who had been close to Jacob that she had a prayer of questioning, and he might eventually say something that would help her and Walks-With-Spirits.

  “A young woman like you should be filling her pretty head with thoughts of frocks and flowers and beaux.”

  She bit her lip to hold in a sharp reply. He might help her yet, she told herself. He might help her yet.

  “But, you see, I feel a certain responsibility in this case,” she said softly, giving him a pleading look, “even though it was Jacob’s behavior that caused the famous fight that ended with the curse. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do,” he said, holding her gaze with his blue eyes that gleamed hard like marbles in the dim light, “and I admire you for it.”

  She looked at him trustingly and waited.

  He took her hands in both of his and she prayed he wouldn’t feel the impulse running through her body to pull back from him.

  “Promise me that you will think carefully about what I’ve said. How could a normal, regular human being kill a healthy young man without a weapon? It’s got to be the curse that did it, Cotannah. There’s no other explanation.”

  He frowned at her in the dimming, dusky light.

  “Don’t be running around this countryside alone,” he said. “Promise me that, too. Lots of people hate the witch, you know, and everyone knows you’re his friend.”

  “All right. Thank you, Peter. Thank you very much.”

  Her heart was hammering in her chest as they began walking back toward the house and the gathering on the porch. She had not accomplished anything with this little charade—not one bit more than with the long ride to the Star and to Greentree’s Crossing.

  Walks-With-Spirits held on to the low branch of the tree that sheltered him in its shadow, pressed his hand around it until the rough bark’s pattern imprinted itself in the skin of his palm. It did no good, though. The bitter feeling of jealousy ripped him loose and he clicked his tongue to Basak and Taloa, the three of them started walking through the gloomy dusk toward Cotannah.

  Phillips was taking her to the house, to Tay and Emily and their guests. Therefore, the older man wouldn’t be alone with her anymore. However, knowing that didn’t slow him one bit. It didn’t lessen the strange, intense disquiet in his spirit and in his body that had gripped him, sharp as eagle’s talons, the minute he had come into sight of the two of them strolling and talking alone in the dusk. How dare the old lecher hold both her hands in his!

  He walked up behind them, heard Phillips say, “… so I never knew of any real enemy Jacob might have made …”

  At that moment Cotannah sensed his presence and whirled to look behind her. She laughed, a light, tinkling sound of delight.

  “Shadow!” she cried. “I should’ve known it was you.”

  Phillips turned, too.

  “What the hell are you doing, Boy,” he shouted, “trying to scare us to death? Lord! You’re sneaky enough to be a killer, that’s for damn sure …”

  A thrill of mean satisfaction ran through Walks-With-Spirits.

  “Didn’t you hear me coming? Are you having trouble with your hearing, Old Man?”

  “No! Who could hear you? And you’d better take those animals out of here before they hurt somebody!”

  And Phillips raved on, talking only to himself now.

  For Cotannah was looking at Walks-With-Spirits with her huge dark eyes luminous in the purple twilight, and he was looking at her. His heart began to beat against the cage of his ribs like a rabbit in a snare.

  He had been achin
g to run to them and wrench them apart since he saw Cotannah looking up at the man and his head bent close to hers. Now it was as if Phillips had vanished into thin air. At the moment he was longing to bend over and kiss her full lips, still parted in surprise. Or just to touch them, even, with his fingertips instead of with his mouth would be enough to ease his yearnings. Perhaps.

  A deep, ragged breath sighed through him like a whispering breeze.

  “Sneak up behind a man with those yellow-eyed monsters at heel, will you?” Phillips shouted. “I ought to smash that solemn face of yours to smithereens!”

  Walks-With-Spirits spared him a glance.

  “You’re welcome to try,” he said.

  He could hardly believe the belligerent words as they came out of his mouth. What was happening to him? His spirit and his body both were swirling in turmoil, and the prospect of a fight fired his blood, felt like a coming relief.

  But Phillips was all talk.

  “Well, uh … uh,” he stammered, and took a step backward, his hard, pale eyes flicking from Basak to Taloa and then back again, “I wouldn’t want to distress Cotannah. I won’t fight with a lady present.”

  “That’s very unselfish of you,” Walks-With-Spirits said, taunting him.

  And observing him. Closely.

  The man was afraid of more than Basak and Taloa. He was hiding something—that was clear in his anxious, erratic movement as he turned his face away.

  Walks-With-Spirits’s blood rushed through his veins, flamed hot as the sun. Did the slimy white-eyes have designs on Cotannah? Had his appearing here so suddenly thwarted some nefarious plans?

  He forced himself to take a long, ragged breath.

  This must be a full-blown attack of jealousy, he knew of no other name to put to it. This tormenting selfishness must be jealousy, and he was helpless against it.

  “Come, my dear,” Phillips said, offering his arm to Cotannah. “Let me get you back to the others now.”

  Cotannah didn’t even glance at him. Her eyes were on Walks-With-Spirits. “I need to talk with Walks-With-Spirits,” she said.

  “Very well.”