Unforgettable

by Rosanne Bittner

  “We are all aware that there are some among you who conveniently arrived here before noon on the twenty-second,” he shouted. A round of “boo’s” moved through the crowd, along with some name-calling. Allyson refused to cringe. She knew there were some who had their doubts about how she managed to claim two such choice town lots, but after her “husband” was killed before her eyes, and the respected scout, Ethan Temple, swore she had come there legally, no one but Ives had given her any trouble.

  “They know who they are,” Ives continued. “At first we called them Moonshiners; lately I’ve heard them called Sooners. We have proven some of those cases and tossed them out of Guthrie on their ears.”

  At that remark the crowd cheered, and it took a few moments again to quiet them down.

  “Because original townsite plans the government drew up favor the Sooners,” Ives continued, “we have decided to extend Guthrie proper to the east for two blocks from the land office to a street we will call Division Street. The city will be expanded to the west by five blocks to Seventh Street, in the bend of Cottonwood Creek.”

  “Do we hear a vote of approval on this decision?” Charles Constantine asked.

  An obvious majority approved by raising their fists and shouting “yes.”

  Ives announced that he was ready to make low-interest loans to anyone who needed to borrow money to expand their businesses, “but only those who can prove they are not Sooners,” he added, again glancing at Allyson.

  I don’t need your dirty money, Allyson thought. Harvey Bloomfield would loan her anything she wanted, and he wouldn’t ask her to prove a thing.

  Charles Constantine announced it had already been decided that each town lot would be twenty-five feet wide by one-hundred-forty feet deep, streets eighty feet wide, alleys twenty feet. Nominations were taken to elect representatives who would select a corps of engineers to draw up a finalized plan to be approved by the Department of the Interior. Then came more nominations, to elect a full slate of city officials. Candidates would have to be able to prove they had entered the district legally, and the general public would vote on their favorites.

  It was obvious the voting would last through the day and perhaps longer, so Allyson finally left to see to her business. Although she had closed her little restaurant for the day, there was much to do to get ready for tomorrow—more bread to bake, potatoes to peel. The work never ended, but it all belonged to her, and that made the back-breaking work easier.

  She walked to her property, stood back, and studied the new sign in front of the nearly-finished restaurant, which she had already decided would have checkered tablecloths and curtains to match. The sign read Ally’s Place. It was all just like she had envisioned, and now that Guthrie was getting organized, it was bound to grow and thrive at an even faster rate. Those like herself, who were here at the beginning, could only profit from that. She just wished Toby were here to see what was happening and enjoy this with her.

  “I’m sorry I have to lie about you being my husband, Toby,” she whispered into the darkness. A sharp pain moved through her chest as the picture of her dead brother lying in her lap flashed through her mind. He had died so quickly, there had not even been time to say good-bye or tell him she loved him.

  Another heavy pain gripped her. There was someone else to whom she had not had the chance to say good-bye…or express her love. Was it love she had sometimes felt for Ethan Temple? She supposed it was useless to wonder. He was gone. She had grown accustomed to finding out she couldn’t trust anyone, and to losing things she loved. This new life, this business that she owned all on her own, this was something she was determined she would never lose, and she didn’t have to worry about waking up some morning to find it gone.

  “Hello, Pa,” Ethan said as he walked into the bedroom where his father lay dying. He had been surprised to find out how sick the man had been. None of these white relatives of his had written to tell him. He was furious at the thought that his father could have died before he ever got to see him again. It was obvious why he had not been told. His paternal aunt, Claudia, and her husband, John Temple, his father’s brother, did not want their “Indian” nephew coming to town and embarrassing them. That was clear enough from the cool greeting he got from his aunt and uncle when he arrived in Springfield.

  His Aunt Claudia had become terribly flustered, even looked a little bit afraid when she first greeted him. She had made up excuses as to why there just wasn’t room for him to sleep in the house—would he mind sleeping in the barn? If his father were not so ill, he would tell these people what he really thought of them. Apparently they thought he lived like the wilder Indians of old, figured sleeping in a barn would be just fine for him. Now every bone ached from the cold. Here it was December, and freezing cold at night, and he was relegated to a horse stall. He didn’t mind camping out at night on the cold ground when his job called for it, but these were relatives. They could at least have offered to let him sleep on the floor in front of the wood stove.

  His treatment had only made the memory of that night with Ally more painful for him, her words more biting. You’re Indian! It isn’t right. Maybe she was right after all, but after eight months away from her, he still could not stop thinking about her. And he had not stopped loving her, even though he sometimes wished he could give her a good shaking. If she would just have given him the chance, he could have shown her the pleasures of being a woman, the joys of love. Why did she have to be so damn stubborn? And why did she have to spout those words as though being Indian meant something horrible? He figured it was probably just fear lashing out, but the words stung, just the same.

  To hell with her, he told himself. When was this battle over his feelings for her and the temptation to go back to Guthrie going to end? Maybe it would help being here with his father. God knew, the shape Lucas Temple was in, he was needed. He decided not to tell the man how the family had treated him. If Lucas were not so near death, he would get a hotel room in town, but the condition in which he had found the man made Ethan afraid to leave for more than a few minutes at a time. He stared down at a withered body that was slowly wasting away because of a disease the doctor called cancer. Lucas looked up at his son with no hint of recognition in his hollow eyes at first. Then he broke into a grin.

  “You’re…back,” he muttered.

  “Of course I’m back. Did you think after visiting you yesterday I was just going to leave? I’m here for as long as you need me.”

  Lucas reached out and Ethan took his hand. “You’re a good son, Ethan. I should have stayed out there…with you; but you were so busy with…your army work. You wouldn’t…have been able to take care of me.”

  “I would have found a way if you had just told me you were getting sick. I didn’t know that’s why you came back here, Pa.”

  The man watched him sadly. “I should have let myself die…the Indian way…just walked out into the wilderness with my blanket…and sat down and just waited for death to come. This is…no good here. I don’t belong here anymore…but they’re my people, just like the Cheyenne are yours.”

  Ethan squeezed his hand. “I’m half white, too, you know.”

  The old man managed a weak smile. “Only about ten per cent…in your heart.” He stopped to cough, a deep, raspy, threatening cough that made Ethan feel sick inside. “You…do something for me…will you?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “You be sure to visit your relatives…up in the Dakotas…Sky Dancing Woman, Big Hands. They should know how you are…what has happened to me. I fear your grandmother…is also dying. Go and see her. Your mother would have liked that.”

  “I promise. I had planned on going anyway. I need to stay away from Oklahoma Territory for a while longer. Too many people, a lot more trouble. I spent the spring helping watch over the land rush when they opened more Indian lands south of the Cherokee Outlet, then spent the rest of the summer watching over the cattle trail along Deep Creek. I’m just glad I decided to co
me and see you when I did. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I didn’t know you were so sick. Nobody told me.”

  The older man’s eyes showed a spark of anger in spite of his health. “That brother of mine…he’s so damned religious…if that’s what you can call it. He thinks I’m a terrible sinner…for marrying your mother. Thinks our marriage…wasn’t legitimate simply because I married an Indian woman. I should have known better than to come back here; but I…got a lot sicker after that…and I just never left. At least…John and Claudia have taken good care of me.”

  “Well, now I’m here. I’ll take care of you myself, relieve Aunt Claudia.”

  “You don’t have to stay, son. I know…how she’s probably treating you. I know what she’s like.”

  Ethan forced a smile. “I’ve known prejudice before, Pa. It’s nothing new. It’s just that I don’t understand how people can behave like that and still call themselves Christians.” Again he felt the dull ache in his heart at Allyson’s cruel words.

  Lucas took as deep a breath as he could, and it pained Ethan to see his father this way. This man was once tall and broad and robust. Ethan got his build from his father, whose own ancestors had been German and English.

  “Tell me…about the land rush, son. It must…have been something to see.”

  Ethan grinned, realizing how much his father would have loved to have been there. “It was really something,” he answered. “You never heard such a rumble in your life as opening day. Right at twelve o’clock soldiers fired their guns and thousands of people who were gathered around the borders took off in every kind of wheeled contraption you can imagine, some just riding horses, some on foot, others coming in by rail. It was a real circus—fights, yelling, even gunplay.” He thought about Toby and felt a pain in his chest. “Some even got killed fighting over who claimed which lots first. I’ll probably never see anything like it again. That little watering hole called Guthrie turned into a city of about ten thousand people overnight. Can you believe it?”

  In spite of his pain, Lucas grinned. “When it comes to my white relatives…I can believe anything. Mention free land, free anything…and they’re stampeding like a herd of stallions after one mare.”

  Ethan sighed and let go of the man’s hand, leaning back in the chair he had pulled up beside the bed. “Well, I guess in some respects you have to admire their determination. There was this one young couple, sister and brother, who passed themselves off as husband and wife because they figured being married would make it easier to claim their lots—even had to lie about their age.” He went on to tell his father about Allyson and Toby Mills, wondering why he felt so compelled to talk about them, as though doing so would ease the fact that he deeply missed Ally. When he finished, his father frowned.

  “Why do I get the feeling you…took a special liking to the woman?”

  Ethan tried to shrug off the remark. “I did, but only because she’s hardly more than a kid and had to continue on alone. I didn’t have much choice but to leave. I’ve worried about her ever since.”

  “Ethan…Ethan,” Lucas said chidingly. “You did not…have to leave. You are not obligated to the army. You could have…stayed there and got a job for a while just to keep an eye on her. I am thinking…maybe you left because you were beginning…to care a little too much for the woman. Right?”

  Ethan rose and walked to look out a window. Two of his young cousins, Annabelle and Elizabeth, still lived at home and were feeding some chickens while his Uncle Tom mended a broken barn door. He knew part of the reason he was asked to sleep in the barn was because his aunt did not want him sleeping in the house with two pretty girls. She didn’t have to say it; he just knew it inside. Just because he was Indian, she supposed he must surely be attracted to white girls, even his own cousins! “You know how it is, Pa. I’m half white, but I don’t look much like it. It’s not that she was especially prejudiced. We were good friends, nothing more. I just figured it wasn’t worth pushing. Besides, she’s still practically a kid.”

  “Your mother was fifteen when…I married her. We were happy.”

  “Well, it is also a case of a white man marrying an Indian woman. That’s been pretty much accepted by most. An Indian man and a white woman is a different matter.”

  “You’re half white and well educated. I…don’t know if I would give up so easily. You need to settle, Ethan…have a family. I know my son, and I can tell you cared about this Ally Mills. Maybe she cared about you…more than she let on. That life was all new to her…and she had just lost her brother. She was confused. Maybe if you went back now, she would be…better able to know what she wants. You at least…should go back to see how she is getting along. At least…put your mind at ease in that respect.”

  Ethan came back to sit down beside the bed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, but she made it pretty clear that she didn’t think it was right for a white woman to be with an Indian man.” I love her, Pa, he thought.

  Lucas studied his handsome son, sad at seeing him torn between two worlds. “How could any woman…Indian or white…not love you? You’re a good man, Ethan. Don’t let yourself…drift forever, son. Find yourself a good woman again…Indian or white…whatever.”

  Ethan rose and leaned over him. “Pa, don’t be worrying about me. You know damn well I can take care of myself. Let’s just concentrate on taking care of you.”

  Lucas’s eyes teared. “There isn’t much time to worry about that, son. I’m just so glad you’re…here. I was afraid…I wouldn’t see you again before I take my last breath.” His eyes closed as weariness took over. Ethan stood holding his hand until it appeared the man had fallen asleep. He left him then to go back to the window. He watched Annabelle and Elizabeth and thought about Ally, who was nearly the same age as Annabelle. Allyson would be seventeen now. That meant that next spring she would be eighteen. Maybe by then she would be more ready to open up to the woman inside, but then maybe that woman wanted nothing to do with an Indian man. Or maybe she had already found some other man. Common sense told him just to stay away for good, but a keen desire to see her once more, to be sure she was all right and to see if maybe by some miracle she had changed her mind, told him he had to go back to Guthrie in spite of fearing he was a fool to do so. He had intended to talk his father into returning with him, but that would be impossible now. Lucas Temple was dying, and the only relatives Ethan would have left that he cared about were Indian. Since he was not totally a part of that life anymore either, he wondered just where he did belong now. An aching loneliness swept through him, and he glanced back at his dying father.

  “Sleep well, Pa,” he said softly.

  9

  Allyson lay listening to the ticking of her new mantel clock. It rested on her cherrywood library table, where an oil lamp cast its dim glow on the gold-edged face of the clock. She liked watching it. She took pleasure in the fact that she was slowly accumulating fine things. Right now it might only be a few possessions in one small room, but some day she would have a real house of her own. For now, this room near the kitchen was all she needed. She had put lovely lace curtains to the window, a woven Oriental rug on the floor, and her new dresses hung in an oak wardrobe. A little room off the bedroom contained a night table with a porcelain wash bowl and a chamber pot.

  She could hardly believe how far she had come in just eleven months—she would be eighteen on her birthday in May, only two months away. She had three women working for her, helping her take care of a restaurant that seated thirty people, and two months ago an adjoining boarding house had been completed, thanks to a loan from Harvey Bloomfield. A good deal of free labor, she noted, had been provided by several single men who were hoping that Guthrie’s lonely young widow would soon be looking for a new husband.

  And wouldn’t they love to marry a rich woman, she thought smugly. She had no interest in any of them, only in the continuing progress of her business. It had not been easy to keep going, after men like Nolan Ives and others in charge h
ad imposed occupation taxes in order to bring water, sewer, and lighting systems to the town. Work had already begun on all three, but it was costing business owners anywhere from ten to seventy-five dollars a month! Her own tax was fifty dollars a month. Word was, Indian Territory would soon be officially called Oklahoma Territory, at which time saloons would be allowed to operate. The men of Guthrie couldn’t stop talking about it, always complaining about the unavailability of good whiskey. Right now the only drink they could have was something called “hop-tea,” which looked like beer but “tasted like slop,” most said.

  Allyson had never bothered tasting it. Since that night with Ethan, she wanted nothing to do with liquor. She had thought she could easily forget that night, once Ethan left for good, but the memory would not go away. Nor would this restless, vague need she had felt ever since, a feeling that something had been left unfinished. Sometimes she could see Ethan’s face as clearly as if he were lying beside her, and the strange part was, sometimes she wished he was lying next to her. In spite of the pain he had brought her that night he left, she could also remember the sweet pleasure she felt at returning his kisses, the exciting, pleasurable surge of desire he had forced out of her when he touched her so magically in that private place. Sometimes she wanted to feel that way again, to understand what he had done to her. She could not imagine letting any of these other men touch her, or even kiss her, but it had been so easy with Ethan.

  She turned over in bed, in an effort to shake away her thoughts. It was useless to think about a man who was never coming back and who had just used her anyway. Yes, she had hurt him, but he had hurt her, too. She just wished sometimes he would come back just to see how well she had done. She wished everyone she had ever known, especially everyone who had ever abused her, could see her now.

  A wagon clattered past, and she thought how much quieter and more organized Guthrie was now. The streets had finally been cleared of gamblers who had squatted throughout the town and caused noise and disruption, pitching their tents right in the middle of the streets. That problem had been solved in two ways. A team of men had chained mules to two huge logs dragged up from Cottonwood Creek. The logs were as long as the streets were wide, and the men, well armed, had proceeded to drag the logs right down the streets of Guthrie, warning squatters that they had better clear out or the logs would smash right over their tents and gaming tables, and any people who might be inside. After that, huge fines were imposed on anyone who dared to reopen for business in the streets after they had been cleared. It had been Guthrie’s way of handling a problem that the army would not help them with.