by Bobbi Smith
"But Lance is lonely and frightened. . . ." Rosalie was saying, not realizing what damage his last statement had done to the child she was trying so ardently to protect.
"I don't want to see him or talk about him!" The agony in George's voice was apparent. "Every time I see him . . . every time I hear his voice, I think of Shining Star!" Despite the liquor's insulation, pain still ripped through his vitals at the thought of his beloved wife's death.
"You should cherish him. . . ."
"Cherish him? When the very sight of him brings me nothing but pain."
"But he is suffering Shining Star's loss, too."
George brushed past her and dropped wearily into the chair at the desk. "Close the shutters," he directed in a tired, defeated voice as he guzzled from the bottle.
Frustrated, she moved to draw them closed once more.
"Now, get out of here. I want to be alone," he told her when the room was dark again.
"Shall I bring you something to eat? You haven't eaten for several days. . . ."
He stiffened at her continued intrusion and pointed toward the door. "I said get out! If I want anything, I'll call you."
"And what shall I tell Lance? He keeps asking for you."
"I don't care what you tell him! Just keep him away from me!"
Heartbroken and defeated, Rosalie nodded. "Yes, Señor George. I will do as you wish."
George looked up as he heard the door close, and he stared at the closed portal with unseeing eyes. How could it have happened? Just a short time before his life had been perfect, and now . . . In agony he buried his face in his hands and wept. His beloved Shining Star was dead, and without her by his side, his life held no meaning. She had been everything to him, and now she was gone. Sobs wracked him, and it was a long time before the storm of his turbulent emotions subsided.
When the tears were spent, George sat up and grabbed for the bottle once again. Silently he cursed Rosalie for her intrusion. He was sure that, given time, Lance would be all right. The boy was a Barrett. He was tough. He would handle it. Beyond that, George didn't want to think about his son, for he was too vivid a reminder of Shining Star. Tilting the whiskey to his lips, he drank deeply, and as the fiery liquor burned a trail to his stomach, he prayed that forgetfulness would soon follow.
Ignoring the direction of Sam, the elderly stablehand, to stay close to the ranchhouse, Lance put his heels to his mount's side and, leaning low over the horse's neck, gave the mare her lead. As one entity, they tore away from the stables and out across the low, rolling hills of the Royal Diamond. Lance was unmindful of the scorching heat of the afternoon sun beating down upon them as they raced across the countryside. Instead, he concentrated solely on the freedom of the ride, forcing from his mind all the wretchedness that had become so much a part of his life and pretending just for a short time that nothing had really changed.
Time ceased to exist for the pair as they continued their desperate escape, and at long last, only the scent of water tempered the mare's breakneck pace. Slowing to a brisk trot, they altered their course and headed toward the stand of cottonwood trees that bordered the creek some distance ahead. Lance reined in on the tree-shaded bank and then dismounted, dropping the reins so his horse could drink her fill.
The creek had always been his favorite place to play. Lance had hoped that returning there would ease his pain, but to his great disappointment, it did not. As he stood beside the sparkling, gurgling waters, all he could think of was his mother. She had often accompanied him there and taken as much delight in the fresh babbling brook as he had.
At the memory, his denied agony returned full force, and Lance felt completely overwhelmed . . . totally lost. The desolation he had fought so long and so hard to control finally won out, and he dropped to his knees, surrendering at last to his need to cry out his sorrow. In wretched despair, he gave vent to his anguish. As he grieved alone there in the wilderness, he ached for the warm, loving arms that had always hugged him when he'd been sad, and he longed to hear the soft, gentle words of comfort that had never failed to soothe his hurts and take away his pain.
The sun was low in the western sky, and darkness was just beginning to extend its possessive grip across the Royal Diamond as Lone Elk stealthily approached the ranchhouse. He had instructed his companions to await his return at a secluded rendezvous point some distance away and had traveled the last miles by himself. Lone Elk knew that it would be far easier for him to gain access to the house if he went alone. There was far less chance of being discovered that way. He had no desire for a confrontation with the whites this night. He wanted only to meet with Barrett and then leave with the boy as quickly as possible.
Lone Elk topped the hill that overlooked the ranch and was filled with icy fury at the sight of the main house and outbuildings spread out before him on the valley floor. The neatly laid out house and grounds represented all that he hated about the whites. A burning desire grew within him to attack the unsuspecting settlement and destroy all vestiges of the white man's presence, but the solemn pledge he'd made to Shining Star years before not to raid the Royal Diamond held him back. He had promised her that he would never raise a hand against Barrett, and he was still bound by his word.
With the utmost of caution Lone Elk began his descent toward the main house. He was not looking forward to facing George Barrett again, but he knew it was something that had to be done. He could not allow Shining Star's son to grow up completely under a white man's influence. The boy was his flesh and blood and, as such, deserved to know his heritage.
Slumped at his desk, his head resting on his arms, George vaguely became aware that the window was open again and that there was someone in the room with him. Annoyed that anyone had dared to breach his strict order to be left alone, he lifted his head slowly and growled, "Damn it, Rosalie! I told you I didn't want to be disturbed!"
"So, Barrett, you are awake after all."
The well-remembered sound of Lone Elk's deep, mocking voice cut through George like a knife. Sitting bolt upright in his chair, he stared across the darkened room to where his brother-in-law stood in shadowy concealment. When he finally found his voice he croaked nervously, "Lone Elk?! How did you get in here?!"
"It was simple. Your guards are fools, white man," the chief sneered.
His senses liquor-numbed, George groped about the desktop struggling to find a match so he could light his lamp. When at last he located one and struck it, the flickering flame bathed the room in a muted glow. With fumbling fingers, he managed to put flame to wick and then turned to face his longtime adversary.
Tall and sun-bronzed, his powerful arms folded across his sleek, hard-muscled chest, Lone Elk stood unmoving in the far corner of the room. The sight of him was enough to send a paroxysm of fear racing down George's spine, for Lone Elk was the epitome of the fierce Comanche warrior. His face painted in a hideous design of vermillion and black, the aura about the chief was one of confident arrogance as he returned George's regard.
"Why have you come?" he demanded. Then, after a long, uncertain pause, he ventured, "You know? You've heard of Shining Star's—"
"I have heard of my sister's passing." Lone Elk's reply was flat, his obsidian eyes and stony expression mirroring nothing of his thoughts.
George's mind was fogged by the whiskey's potency, and he could not fathom Lone Elk's reason for returning to the ranch. They had never made any secret of their animosity toward each other, and he found his sudden appearance at the Royal Diamond disconcerting.
"Why have you come now, after all this time?"
"I have come for the child, the son I know to be Shining Star's."
"What?" George blinked in stunned surprise.
"I have come for Shining Star's son. He is flesh of my flesh, and now that his mother is dead, I must be the one to teach him the ways of his people."
"You want to take Lance?" He was dumbfounded by the thought. At the chief's curt nod, George panicked. "Lance isn't going anywhere wi
th you! I will not see him raised as a filthy savage!"
"I see that the years you lived with my sister did not change you, Barrett. You are still as much of a fool now as you were eight years ago."
"Why, you ignorant bastard!" George somehow managed to get to his feet.
"My sister should never have married you! It is because of you that she now lies dead!" Lone Elk told him brutally.
"You bloodthirsty cur!"
George lunged at him, wanting to murder Lone Elk for having accused him of hurting his own wife, but he was so drunk, his efforts were totally futile. Though George was not a small man, Lone Elk brushed him aside like a troublesome gnat. George stumbled and then pivoted unsteadily to glare at him with baleful intent.
"You know I speak the truth, Barrett," he sneered.
"It was the fever that took her!" George protested as guilt swept through him at the thought that he might somehow have been responsible.
"It was a white man's fever! Had she never left her people, she would still be alive today!"
"Shining Star was my wife! The Royal Diamond was her home! It was her choice to marry me and come here to live."
"It was her choice," Lone Elk agreed, barely keeping himself in control as he stalked predatorily forward to stand directly before him. "You remember that I did not stand in her way, Barrett. I could have stopped her. I could have forbidden your joining."
George raised his fevered, tormented eyes to meet Lone Elk's. "I know."
"I allowed Shining Star to choose, and now you must let her son choose."
"Never!"
"I did not prevent her from marrying you, and it is that burden that I carry with me to my grave. If I had kept her from you, she would still be alive!" A flicker of emotion shone briefly in Lone Elk's eyes, but he quickly disguised it.
"Don't you think I know that?! Now that she's dead, I have nothing left! My life is over!" George's expression was despairing as he tore his gaze away from the chief's knowing one.
"Then since you do not want Shining Star's son, let him come with me."
"No. . . ."
"The boy has the right to choose. You would not deny him that right, would you?"
George floundered helplessly before Lone Elk's maddeningly logical argument. He thought of Lance, and a shaft of pain tore through his heart. He was so like his mother that, ever since her death, the very sight of him had meant nothing but pain and agony to George. That was why he couldn't bear to be with him right now. That was why he'd refused all contact with the child. Even so, he wondered if he could allow his son to go to live with his mother's people.
Lone Elk could sense his bewilderment and pressed his point. "Lance is all that is left of Shining Star. You cannot deny that he is half-Comanche, and you know that my sister wanted him to learn our ways."
George knew he was right, for Shining Star had spoken of Lance's future many times, and she had always insisted that he be raised with knowledge of both ways of life. Staggering defeatedly to his desk, he picked up the whiskey bottle and drank from it once more.
"All right," he acknowledged in a slurred voice. "If Lance wants to go with you, I won't stand in his way, but there is one condition."
Lone Elk's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"
"If he chooses to go with you, I will allow him to on the condition that he'll be free to return whenever be wants."
"The decision to stay with us or to leave will always be his." The chief nodded in agreement. "Now, where is the boy? I want to see him. He must make his choice tonight."
"Tonight?"
"You know I cannot stay here, Barrett. There are those among your neighbors who would kill me on sight. Where is he?"
The Lance who rode slowly back toward the stables at sundown was not the same Lance who'd ridden out earlier. His time alone at the creek had stripped away his innocence, and he was no longer trusting and dependent. The truth of his father's feelings coupled with the final, painful acknowledgment of the irreversibility of his mother's death had robbed him of his naiveté. During those hours alone in the wilderness, Lance had aged emotionally. Much of his youthful enthusiasm was gone, buried now beneath the grim acceptance of the realities of life.
Relieved that there was no one around to reprimand him for disobeying orders to stay close by, he dismounted and almost mechanically set about bedding down his horse. When his work was finished, he started toward the house, feeling more alone than he ever had before.
Lance had half expected Rosalie to be watching and waiting for him, but the house was seemingly deserted as he entered. He was pleased at the prospect of being left alone and was just starting up the stairs to seek out the solitude of his room when he heard voices coming from the study and noticed the light shining from beneath the study door. Lance knew that his father hadn't wanted to see anyone, and he grew bitterly angry at the thought that someone else had been admitted into his sanctuary. Pausing by the closed portal, he frowned in concentration as he tried in vain to identify the deep voice of the man speaking with his father. It was difficult for Lance to hear the conversation clearly, but when the tone of their dialogue became heated and their voices were raised, snatches of it were unmistakable.
"Why, you ignorant bastard!"
"My sister should never have married you! It is because of you that she now lies dead!"
Sister? Lance stared at the door. His mother had often spoken of her brother, Chief Lone Elk, with pride and love. The thought that the brave Comanche warrior was actually at the ranch left him stunned.
"You bloodthirsty cur!"
His father's furious statement affirmed that it was indeed his mother's brother. Lance knew a moment of excitement at the thought of finally getting to meet Lone Elk, but along with that anticipation came an edge of caution, for he remembered clearly his mother telling him of the bad blood that existed between husband and brother. Listening now, he realized that she had not been exaggerating, for the argument going on within the confines of the study was vicious and ugly.
" . . . she's dead, I have nothing left! My life is over!"
The excitement of the moment died within Lance as he heard his father again claim that there was nothing of importance left in his life, and Lance hardened his heart even more against him.
"Then since you do not want Shining Star's son, let him come with me."
"If Lance wants to go with you, I won't stand in his way."
When he'd been alone by the creek, Lance had forced himself to accept the reality of his situation, but even so, he had clung desperately to the hope that his father hadn't really meant his earlier declarations. Now, however, he knew it was true. His father no longer cared about him. Despair settled over him like a heavy mantle.
The study door suddenly opened then, and for the first time, Lance came face-to-face with his uncle. Unwaveringly, he met the chief's black-eyed gaze.
When Lone Elk had asked George where Lance was, George had waved him toward the door, directing him upstairs to the boy's bedroom. Eager to be gone from the hated white man's home, the Comanche had not hesitated but had hurried across the room, anxious to find the child who was the fruit of his sister's womb. Throwing the door wide in his haste, Lone Elk had been surprised to find Lance standing there in the hall. A surge of fierce, loving pride filled the chief as he gazed down at his nephew.
"You are Lone Elk." Lance's remark was more a statement than a question, and Lone Elk nodded.
"I am."
"I'm Lance."
"I know." And he did. Though Lance was all boy, there was no mistaking Shining Star's part in his parentage. His hair was coal-black like his mother's, and his complexion was darker than that of his father. Only Lance's blue eyes and slightly refined features revealed Barrett's influence.
"Why have you come?" Oddly, Lance felt no timidity with this warrior who towered above him.
"I have come for you." Lone Elk knew a growing respect for Lance. Confronted with this situation, the boy was exhibiting none
of the fear he had expected from a child raised in white society. Shining Star had taught him well, he thought with satisfaction.
"Why?" Lance challenged again.
"Because it is as your mother would have wanted it."
Lance considered this and knew that his uncle was right. His mother had always emphasized the importance of learning about his Comanche background. Past the point of caring what his father's reaction might be to his presence, he moved into the office.
"Pa?" he spoke up, and was more than a little surprised when his voice held steady.
George was sitting at his desk, his head buried in his hands, the empty whiskey bottle beside him on the desktop. At the sound of Lance's voice, he turned to regard his son through bleary eyes, seeing before him not a little boy in need of reassurance, but a painful, excruciating reminder of all that he'd lost. "What?" His tone was slurred, yet sharp with irritation.
"What do you want me to do?" He longed desperately for his father to suddenly declare that he loved him and couldn't live without him, but it was not to be.
"Lone Elk wants to take you to live with him so you can learn about your mother's people. The decision is yours, Lance," George said emotionlessly, looking away.
His noncommittal answer extinguished the final flicker of hope that had nestled deep within Lance's battered heart. Lance silently berated himself for having been foolish enough to hope that his father would declare his love. Hadn't he already heard the truth of his father's feelings?
"It is what your mother would have wanted," the chief spoke up. He had seen the sudden, slight droop of the boy's shoulders and had known that he needed some form of reassurance.
At his words, Lance looked up at him. "I will go with you."
The chief did not smile, but a light of approval shone in his eyes. "It is good. We will leave as soon as you are ready."
"Now? Tonight?" Lance's eyes widened in shock.
"Tonight," the chief confirmed.
"Pa, I—" Suddenly frightened at the enormity of what was happening, he turned quickly to say something to his father, only to find that George had passed out at the desk.
