Shadow Walker

by Tina Proffitt

  Bethanie realized that it had been a week since she had checked her own mailbox. The few letters she received from home from her younger sister had been like a lifeline to her and she sorely missed them now.

  Shadow seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “Missing home?” he asked and without waiting for a reply, added, “I'll drive you over to your mailbox, so you can get your mail.”

  “There's no need for you to drive me over,” she said, cheerfully riding the high she was still on, “The walk will do me good.”

  Shadow shook his head in reply. “It'll save time if I drive you. Besides, it's nearly dark.” He parked the truck in front of the cabin.

  “I'm a big girl,” Bethanie said, protesting what she saw as unfair treatment from him.

  “There's no question of that.” Shadow glanced over at her, sitting next to him in the cab of his truck, her hair was windblown and her cheeks ruddy from the afternoon of work. She looked incredibly sexy and now because of her protesting, incredibly childish. Finding himself caught between attraction and irritation, he said, “It's out of the question.”

  “I don't need a father,” Bethanie snapped, reaching for her door handle.

  “Then stop behaving like a child.” He reached one muscular arm across her body, blocking her from getting out of the truck. “I've elected myself your guardian until this mess is sorted out.” His breath tickled her cheek. “Like it or not.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Bethanie hissed back, her lips mere inches from his.

  “No. But I don't see anyone in your family stepping up to take my place.”

  Words failed her as her face reddened from the humiliation she felt. His words were not only true but stung like only the truth could. Not a single one of her siblings had offered her a place to stay in the past three years. And she had tried her best not to think about it, but there it was. She hung her head in shame.

  Shadow cursed himself a hundred ways for saying what he had just said. Only a jackass kicks someone when they are down, and he was. He cursed aloud, slamming the truck into reverse, pointing it back in the direction of the road. Speeding out of the driveway, he sent peels of gravel spewing in the tire's wake.

  After a painfully silent ride home from her mailbox, Bethanie found herself alone in the room she had called her own for the past week. She could not wait to tear into the letter from her sister, but first she opened the unexpected letter from her oldest brother, the preacher, whom she had not heard from in three long years. She leaped onto the bed and unfolded the legal size letter. Her face dropped when she found it was typed instead of handwritten. Then to add insult to injury, the letter inside chastised her for her recent choices. He was returning the picture she had sent of herself with her owls, a handwritten note attached to it that said that her bad influence on her younger siblings was not appreciated. She had been so proud the day that picture had been taken. It was the day she had received her owls, and she had wanted to share her happiness with her family. She began reading the typed letter, which consisted basically of a list of condemnations of her life over the past few years since their father's death. Among his accusations was, of course, testifying in their mother's trial, going to college and reading books other than the Bible, cutting her crown of glory, as evidenced in the picture, as well as wearing pants, also made clear by the picture. All of these things he reminded her were great reasons for her to worry about her soul spending eternity in Hell.

  Chapter 7

  It was dinnertime, and after a hot shower and a good cry, Bethanie finally felt hungry enough to eat a few crackers and cheese with a glass of milk. Shadow had left them on a small plate outside her bedroom door. He had heard her crying. And now, he saw the pain in her eyes as she had entered the living room with tears in her eyes she was trying not to shed. He stood up from his seat on the sofa where he had been reading and waiting. He wanted now to hold her and reassure her that everything would be okay.

  She stood next to the couch, eyes cast down to the hardwood floor, her fingers holding onto the edge, digging into the leather upholstery and holding on for dear life.

  Shadow took his seat again, motioning for her to sit down next to him. “Letter from home?”

  She nodded slowly and sat. “My brother.” Her voice was flat. “He says that I'm displeasing to God.”

  What the hell would a man like that know about what pleased or displeased God? A muscle worked in Shadow's jaw.

  “He wants me to come home. But I don't want to go home yet. That would mean giving up all my hard work and my chance to work in England. A woman with a four-year-degree back home isn't worth any more than one without. Besides, that kind of life, living under a man's thumb, having my decisions made for me as if I was a child, it’s not for me. I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life.”

  Shadow grinned. “Pretty girls like you don’t stay alone for long. Some white boy will be proud to make you his wife.”

  “And if I don’t want to be his wife?”

  “You don't have to be so strong, Bethanie,” Shadow stood and took a step towards her. “You have every right to choose what makes you happy.”

  She lifted her eyes to his, and the haunted expression in them spoke of a lifetime of unmentionable pain that he did not want her to return to.

  “Oh, Shadow, I'm so sad.” She began to cry. “I feel like someone's died.”

  “Maybe because something has died.” Shadow understood without explanation that her family, the very thing she had pinned all hope to would someday become the family she needed, had ultimately disappointed her. The realization of the loss was more than she could bear.

  He understood this. His own pain had begun with the loss of his father, his protector, and had never really ended. After his death, Shadow had felt as though he was fodder for a feeding frenzy of tribesmen who could not stand to look upon a white Indian. They who had only been able to tolerate him as long as his father lived, had, when he died, allowed their tolerance to die with him. No matter how pure his blood was, his blond hair and blue eyes was a constant agonizing reminder of his people's painful history. That was why he had stepped away from the tribe. And because he easily blended into the white man's world, his success had become a new source of tension between them. They would never let him forget that he did not belong.

  He tucked an arm beneath her shoulder and led her to the sofa where he sat down with her.

  “I've got a lot to think about.” She looked around the room at Shadow's bookshelves full of books about religions she had never heard of. Her new feelings about God frightened her. What if she was wrong and she was playing with her destiny?

  He watched the direction of her gaze, scanning the books on his shelves. She had been taught the same fearfulness of her God that had been pushed upon his own people by the missionaries. Fortunately for him, his parents had not brought him up in fear. “Where is God, Bethanie?” He startled her with the intensity of his gaze so close to her that his muscular, jeans-clad thigh pressed against hers, making it increasingly hard for her to breathe easily with him so close.

  “Inside you.” He answered for her, reaching out a finger to press lightly between her breasts. “You fear separation from God most, but ask, how could you be separate from yourself?”

  A jolt of emotion shot through her. Never before had she considered the meaning of the words he spoke. All of her life, she had believed the presence of God in her life was entirely her own doing. First, by inviting him, then striving to keep inside God's will with her actions, and ultimately, spending eternity in God's house. But if God was inside her, made up her being, then her version of the truth was very different now. If she were a part of God just like a slice of a pie is a piece of the whole, then that changed everything. Suddenly, she felt angry, like screaming, because if this was true, then fear did not exist any longer, and she had spent her entire life being afraid of nothing.

  Shadow relaxed into the cushions of the sofa, taking her with him and cradl
ing her in the crook of his strong arm. “Tell me what the letter said.”

  “My oldest brother.” She was glad for the new topic. “He said that he would consider letting me come back if I attempted to prove my worthiness of God's forgiveness. And that I could begin by apologizing to his congregation for being a stumbling block.”

  Shadow was appalled at the callousness of a man especially a brother who could treat his own sister this way. But his features remained impassive, giving away none of his feelings. “And is that what you want?” He continued in a calm voice. “To prove your worthiness to him? To join his church? What about your dream? Your owls? What would you do with the rest of your life if you went back?”

  It would feel like giving up, she thought. She knew exactly what her future would hold if she made the choice to go back to her family and try to have a life with her brothers and sisters. The expectations of her would be the same as they were for all the other women in her family, getting married. But what was so bad about wanting to get married? At least if she did go back home, she would have children one day, the family she had dreamed of. But, if she chose not to return, there would be no guarantees about her future. It was entirely uncertain. “What do you think I should do?”

  Shadow took a deep breath. He had never shared his life with anyone. Never told anyone of his pain. But he felt compelled to let her inside, to see the struggles that made up his days. He got up and went to his bookshelf where he picked up the scrapbook his mother had made for him. He placed the open book between them. “This is my father, Chetan, and this is my grandfather, the late Catawba chief, Chaske.”

  The picture was of two men, standing shoulder to shoulder. Each man in the photo stood proudly dressed in trailer warbonnets. Both headdresses were the shape of a halo around their heads and made up of double rows of eagle feathers tipped with red and gold and trailing all the way to the ground. The hairpipe breastplates hung from their necks, covering their dark bare chests, and ended at their waists. Beneath them they wore nothing to cover their smooth brown chests and their legs were covered in blue jeans.

  To Shadow, his grandfather's blue-eyed expression was sad. While his father's deep, brown eyes seemed soulful, pleading with him to see his own value as a man, as a Native.

  “You have your grandfather's eyes,” Bethanie said.

  “But I don’t look like him. And my people judge me for choosing to live and work among the white people I resemble.”

  Why it was so important to him to explain all of this to the white girl who could never understand, he did not know. But it was. He was a man without a family and that much she could understand. The name calling growing up had hurt so much, and not having the help of the elders who had not tried to stop it from happening to him, that he did not know if he could ever forgive it. But it ran even deeper than that now. The taunting he had endured had caused him to question his place in the world. If he was too white for his Native heritage and too native for his white family, where was his home?

  “The administration doesn't trust me.” His voice was sad, like a man who had given up.

  “So, what Mr. Bord said was true? You did lose your job.”

  Shadow nodded.

  “I think you're being awfully understanding for someone who's been betrayed by the people he cares about.”

  Shadow looked into her eyes. “So are you.”

  Bethanie did not know what to say. He was right. She was taking it well... too well. But the truth was, part of her had given up hope of ever being accepted by her family, as much as she wanted it. They placed conditions on their love, and somehow she knew that was wrong.

  “I've been an outsider all my life. My own people don't let me forget it.” His steely eyes were clouded with pain. “I'm used to it. You're not. When all of this is over, when the skinwalker is behind bars, you can resume your life.” But as for him, he would go to his people, make peace the only way he knew how, by taking a wife from among them. He would find a woman, a woman who was part of his own culture, his heritage, his past. That way his children could grow up as part of the tribe.

  The necklace around his father's neck in the picture caught her eye. It was the same one Shadow wore. “It's pretty,” she said, reaching up and fingering the strand of turquoise around his neck.

  Shadow felt the brush of her fingertips against his skin. His pulse sped up. And when she pulled her hand away, he reached for it, kissing the tips of each one of the fingers of her left hand.

  Bethanie's eyes widened. Her heart was in her throat. The gentle caress of his soft lips against her fingertips was more than she could bear.

  “My people believe wearing a Heishi means you can never lie. You must always speak the truth, because if you don't, it will choke you to death.”

  “I believe that you're telling the truth,” she said, her voice was barely above of whisper. Bravely, she reached up a hand to the silken blond hair that lay in a braid across his shoulder, finding it unbelievably soft beneath her fingers.

  When Shadow reached for her hand, she quickly pulled away as if she had touched fire.

  Shadow brought her hand back, slowly bringing it up to his lips. He found her increasingly hard to resist, leaning in close to her. He placed a hand on the small of her back, gently pulling her into the heat of his body. Slowly, he brought his lips down to meet hers.

  The caress was so soft that it was barely perceptible, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. But Bethanie felt it, like a jolt of lightning, from the pit of her stomach down to the tips of her toes. Heat pooled inside her belly. Sensations she had never known filled her, making her feel as free as a bird until fear reared its ugly head. It was as if she had jumped off a trapeze, letting go of the swing, and she was in free fall.

  Shadow ended the kiss. Pulling away from the white girl, he saw the dazed look in her eyes. Fear was there, causing his conscience to sting because he still wanted this young woman. Surely, her virginity should be a deterrent for him, but it was not. The kind of woman he wanted was a woman who knew what she was getting into when he took her to bed. And this one most certainly did not. What this n'ya needed was something to lift her self-confidence. And you don't get that by lying in the arms of a lover whom you know is going to leave you, he told himself. He had no intention of making this woman his wife. He could not afford the luxury of marrying just any woman. His future was with his own people, not this white woman. “Come on,” he said, relenting, taking her by the hand. At least he could find something useful to teach the n’ya besides passion.

  In the shed behind Shadow's cabin, he kept all of his gardening tools. In a back corner a wooden crate sat, turned up on its end. Inside, a crossbow rested on its tip with six arrows nestled against it.

  He hid from them behind the cover of the maples, watching Shadow who stood closely behind her. He was obviously enjoying himself.

  He had always thought she was not interested in men. She paid more attention to the owls than to any human person, until now. Her priorities seemed to have shifted. He wondered what she could possibly see in him. Whatever it was, she was into him. There she was, smiling shyly up at him and nervously tucking her hair behind her ears whenever he looked at her.

  He wanted to laugh in her face for falling in love with a loser like Shadow, someone who did not even deserve her.

  She was too beautiful for him. He did not deserve half of what he had, the acreage he lived on, the prestige that his position at the university provided him. None of it. He took it all for granted. The only reason he enjoyed such a comfortable life was because he had turned his back on his own people.

  Suddenly the branch he leaned against broke and sent him falling to the leaf-strewn ground.

  Bethanie dipped her head, feeling silly for laughing when Shadow's hand lightly brushed past her ribcage as he was instructing her on how to use the crossbow.

  Shadow started to ask her to take it seriously, but then stopped himself before the words came out. She took everything
in her life so seriously; a little loosening up every now and then was deserved. He sensed her starting to speak and held up a finger in front of his pursed lips. “Shh,” he said, turning in the direction of the abrupt sound that had come from the copse of trees. It sounded as if a branch had snapped off of one of the trees several yards away from where they stood. Someone was watching them.

  “What was that?” Bethanie asked.

  “A squirrel.” Shadow tried to reassure her, not sounding convincing even to his ears.

  Bethanie nodded, wanting to believe what he said. “Yes, a squirrel.” She wanted to believe that she was safe with Shadow, but deep down inside, she did not believe that she was ever really safe no matter who she was with, always on alert, always checking for danger. Her heart began to race as she tried to reason with herself that no one could hurt her as long as she was with Shadow. Even if the danger only existed inside of her, she was always aware of it. She disliked the track her thoughts were taking her down. That way always led to the same place, blinding fear.

  Even in her dreams she was paralyzed by fear. Ever since the skinwalker had grabbed her by the arm and looked into her face, she awakened at three a.m. from the same dream. The skinwalker is stalking her father in the woods. He runs until he cannot run any longer. Exhausted, he slows down and trips on a tree root. The skinwalker catches him and brutally kills him. Bethanie looks down at her nightgown. Blood is all over her. She screams and awakens, shaking with fear. Each night it leaves her lying in bed for hours until dawn's light breaks through the windows, making it possible for her to finally drift back to sleep feeling safe until the next night. And the next night always came.

  She mentally turned from the thoughts that haunted her, taking in the lines of Shadow's face instead. The steely blue of his irises, the fullness of his lips. He was real, she reminded herself. She could reach out and hold onto him. Taking the crossbow from him, she stretched out her left hand as he had shown her. Pulling the string taut in her right, reaching just past her chin. She steadied the arrow, feeling Shadow's strong hand on the small of her back. She absorbed the reassurance that his gesture was intended for. She needed all that she could get. But even more than that, he offered her something she had never known and always wanted. Family. Yes, she had a family, she reminded herself. But Shadow was authentic. As solid as the ground beneath her feet. As straight as the arrow held between her index and middle fingers of her left hand. And as true as the rain and the sunshine. Shadow was. And, something whispered in her ear, he always would be. Just as the trees of the forest may eventually die, still, they would always be.