His wounded pride made it impossible to think she had been sincere. Little Miss Ally Mills had not wanted a husband at all. She had only wanted to hang on to that damn, precious business of hers, and she was determined and enterprising enough that she would probably find some other way to be independently wealthy, with or without him. She had been taking care of herself against all kinds of opposition since she was ten years old. If she could survive in New York City, she could certainly survive in a place like Guthrie, Oklahoma. He was not going to crawl back to her this soon. It served her right to wait and wonder. The only way she would ever know if she really wanted him was to be away from him for a while.
“I’ll write her,” he told his grandmother. “She’ll know where I am. If she’s really sorry, really wants to be married, really loves me, she’ll write back and tell me so, ask me to come back. I’m not going back there on my own. She’ll have to ask me. I’ve done enough crawling, made a big enough fool of myself.”
“Hmmm. And what if she is as stubborn and proud as you? Then she might never ask.”
“Then that will be the end of it. I’ll go back in six months or so and tell her she can have a divorce.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette. “You didn’t see her face, Grandmother, when they told her I was no use to her because I was registered as an Indian. I can’t forget that look, not ever. I knew right then how I’d been used.”
The old woman reached over and patted his arm. “There must have been something lovely and good in her, Running Wolf, or you would not have lost your heart to her. Maybe in time, when she is more of a woman in mind and heart and not just in body, she will understand the value of the man she married.”
Ethan took hold of her hand. “Maybe. Right now I’m just as concerned about what’s going on here. We shouldn’t be discussing my problems. I’m a big boy, Grandmother. I’ll figure out how to settle them. Right now it’s you I’m worried about, and what’s happening up here.”
Her brown eyes suddenly grew troubled. “You mean the new religion.”
Ethan nodded.
Her eyes were moist. “You are right to worry, as I am worried. The new religion makes our people happy, makes them dance and sing; but the soldiers, they are always telling us we must stop. They say the white people think it is a bad thing, that we are preparing for war. But it is not like that, Running Wolf. The new religion tells us we must harm no one, that we need never go to war again. We only need to dance the right dances and sing the right songs, and the Messiah will come and save us, bring back our loved ones, make the land rich and full of buffalo as it once was.”
Ethan studied her old, wise eyes and the thousands of wrinkles in her aged face. “Do you believe this?”
“I believe it is a nice dream, and that is all we have left, Running Wolf…just dreams. We tell stories of the old days and pretend it can be that way again, but deep down inside, most of us know it cannot be. Ever since the day Long-Hair Custer was killed, so many summers ago, nothing has been the same, and it never will be.”
Ethan’s heart ached for the pain in her eyes. It had been thirteen years since Custer and his men were killed, and life had been hell for the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne ever since. Now they were reduced to reservation life, and it was destroying their spirit. There was a time when the Sioux and Cheyenne lived and migrated freely throughout the Great Plains, from Canada to Kansas, from the Mississippi to the Rockies. Those days were long over, but those who danced in the distance believed life could be that way again.
He thought about Ally again, how intent she had been on “owning” something, claiming it, working herself nearly to death to make it succeed. That was the nature of the white man, totally different from the Indian way of life. Now the white man “owned” all the land that once belonged to the Sioux and Cheyenne. They would never give it up or give it back. The part of him that was white understood that, but he also understood the free spirit of his Indian relatives, understood their theory that no man could own land. It belonged to everyone. It was an age-old difference that would probably never be settled satisfactorily, and the two vastly different beliefs clashed within his mind and heart, leaving him torn between two worlds.
It had always been easy for him to lean toward his Indian blood, and he had been so happy when he married Violet. Now there was another woman in his life, a white woman, different from any female he had ever known, in spirit, in looks and in the world from which she came. How could he ever have thought it could work between them? She knew the white world in ways he had never experienced; his Indian world was just as foreign to her as New York City and orphanages and surviving in gang-run alleys was to him.
“Maybe you can help your uncle understand that the new religion will only bring us trouble,” his grandmother was saying.
Ethan rose and walked a few feet away from her, telling himself that for the time being he had to stop thinking about Ally. He was determined to stay away long enough to make her either want him desperately or give him up. For now his concern had to be these relatives. He had promised his dying father he would do this. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and watched the dancing in the distance. A few soldiers assigned to patrol the reservation sat on horseback watching.
“I can try, Grandmother,” he answered. “But this is the happiest I have seen the Sioux and Cheyenne in a long time. If nothing else, this new religion is good for the heart and spirit. They have needed something like this, something that gives them hope for the future, something to keep them from drinking themselves to death or putting guns to their heads. There had been too much hopelessness. Pa told me once that the saddest thing on earth is a proud warrior whose spirit has been broken.”
“It will lead to tragedy, Running Wolf. I feel it in my old bones. I do not want to be alive when it happens.”
Ethan looked down at her. She seemed so small sitting there, her hair white, her shoulder bones protruding through her worn deerskin dress. She was the picture of a people and a way of life that was fading into the past and would never be again. He knew in that moment that once whatever was to happen here was settled, he would truly have to choose; and by then there would be no choice left for a man like him. He would have to return to the white man’s world. Whether or not Ally would share that world with him was yet to be seen, but the fact remained that she was still legally his wife. He had been gone a good six weeks. Maybe it was time to write and let her know how to get hold of him, if she even wanted to. Maybe she had already filed for a divorce on her own. Most white women would rather die than be branded a divorced woman, but Ally wasn’t like most women. If divorce was to her advantage in getting something else she wanted, she would do it. When Ally Mills Temple wanted something, she went after it with every ounce of passion in her. Trouble was, she had made love with that same kind of passion, and he could not get her out of his blood, much as he was sure he should. He had to face the fact that she had never really wanted to marry him, and that was something he could not live with or forgive.
Yes, he would write her—send off a letter tomorrow. He would give written consent for a divorce. She could use that to make things legal on her end and get it over with. In fact, much as she deserved to be known as a divorced woman, he would make it even easier on her by giving her a statement swearing the marriage had never been consummated. That way she could get an annulment and never have to say she had been married at all.
He threw down his cigarette and put it out with his foot. Why did he care about making it easy for her? Why did he still care about her reputation or allowing her to save face? For God’s sake, you’re still trying to find ways to protect her, he thought. He knew why. He still loved her.
Allyson scrubbed another sheet, stopping for a moment to wipe sweat from her brow. She looked at her tiny hands, the skin red and cracked from doing so much wash and battering her knuckles against the ripples of the scrub board. She wanted to cry at her predicament, but refused. Life was not always going to be this way. She
would find a way out of this.
The people of Guthrie had not been very kind to her after the newspaper splashed her story all over its front page. Now she was branded a liar, a cheat, a thief, God knew what else. Since her husband had left, she knew people also thought her nothing short of a whore for marrying him just to try to keep her property, let alone the fact that she had married an Indian, which she knew many of them thought was totally beneath any white woman. Even so, she suspected most felt more sympathy for Ethan than for her. She had lost friends, and finding work had not been easy. No one wanted the “tainted woman” of Guthrie working for them. Wives did not want their husbands to hire her, and no one seemed to think she deserved a second chance.
She had finally found work at Guthrie’s little hotel, but was not allowed to mingle with the general public. She was relegated to the laundry room, scrubbing sheets and towels and hanging them out to dry. It was a back-breaking project, day in and day out. The first few days her arms ached so badly that she suffered terrible pain trying to keep up, but eventually her muscles adapted.
She began scrubbing again, her mind whirling with ideas about how she could rise above this. She still had some money left in Mr. Bloomfield’s bank. More and more she was realizing she had to get out of Guthrie, start over someplace new. She had done it once, she could do it again. She had stayed here only because she thought Ethan might come back; but the letter she had received nearly a month ago had dashed that hope. Every time she thought of it, the tears welled up again, but she fought them. If that was the way he wanted to be, then fine. Every morning since then she had awakened determined to go to a lawyer and end the marriage, but every day she found an excuse not to go.
Why didn’t she just get it over with? Ethan had actually been kind enough to send her a statement swearing he had not consummated the marriage. She didn’t even have to be divorced. She could just erase the marriage if she wanted. So why couldn’t she go through with it?
She scrubbed harder, angry with herself. Because she loved him, that’s why. She didn’t want to end the marriage. She knew deep down inside that Ethan didn’t want that either, but his letter had made a lot of sense. They were too different. It could never have worked anyway. She was young. She should get on with life, find a white man to marry. He was probably right, but she had not given up hope he would still come back, that his love for her would rise above the pride and hurt feelings. She thought about him every night, longed to have his arms around her again, to let him bring out the woman in her in that exotic way he had of making her feel wanton and passionate, making her want to please him in thrilling, intimate ways. She ached for the wonderful feeling of being safe and protected, loved and desired.
She blinked back tears and shoved the sheet into the hot water, turning away and wiping her hands on her apron. Who was she kidding? Ethan was not coming back. His letter had rung with finality. We both know it’s best to end the marriage. We live in two different worlds, Ally, and you want things I can’t give you. She couldn’t keep waiting, and she couldn’t keep working here. She would be an old lady before her time. Fact was, she couldn’t even stay in Guthrie. She had to go someplace where no one knew her, where she could have friends again and start over. She’d had a taste of independence and having something of her own. She wanted that again. If she was going to live out the rest of her life without a husband, she would make it just fine on her own. She already knew she could do that. She also knew there would be no other man in her life. Ethan had been the only one she could give herself to that way. Besides, she still didn’t quite understand men and that damn pride and their blustery, demanding ways. She wanted nothing more to do with the male species. Ethan was the only one who had come close to what she wanted in a man, but he was out of her life. All the others seemed to just lust after her body, or were cruel bullies like Nolan Ives.
Yes, that was the answer. She would leave Guthrie. She would start over, and she didn’t need a man to help her do it. It hurt to think of leaving Toby’s grave behind, but it also hurt to see that building of hers now owned by Nolan Ives. The sign reading Ally’s Place had been ripped down, replaced by one that simply read Guthrie Hotel and Diner. She had worked so hard to build it, remembered the early weeks of baking bread and pies in a black, iron stove inside a hot tent…the stove Ethan had bought for her, even after she had hurt him so deeply.
I’ll be here for quite some time, Ally. There is a lot of trouble here for my Cheyenne relatives, and I’ve taken another job as an army scout. I want to stay until I see what is going to happen. My grandmother might need my protection. You can get a divorce or an annulment, whichever you choose. I have enclosed statements giving my permission either way. I’ll probably be here until at least next spring, so I am giving you your freedom, something you never really wanted to give up anyway.
She sniffed back tears. What was done was done. Maybe Cy Jacobs had just made it up about Ethan not being able to own land, but it wouldn’t make any difference. Ethan had been too badly hurt to care about staying around and fighting. Now he was gone and so was her business. It seemed she was always losing those she loved most, but she knew part of it was her own fault. There was no repairing the damage she had done.
One thing was sure—if she was going to rise above all that had happened and start over, she had to get out of Guthrie. More and more, throughout the morning, an idea had been forming in her head, planted there last night when she sat in the hotel lobby reading a newspaper. She had overheard two men talking about a place called Denver. That’s the place to go if you’re wanting to start a new business, one of them told the other. There’s been a new gold strike at Cripple Creek, you know. Denver is on a boom again, growing like crazy. They say a man can go there and make a fortune. Those miners will pay outrageous prices for the simplest necessities.
The words were music to her ears. Denver. Allyson had taken note of everything the man had said. A person could get there easily now by train. Just hop on the Santa Fe north to its east/west route in Kansas, and ride it into Colorado to the Denver & Rio Grande, which traveled straight north into Denver. She had enough money to do that. Once there, she could work for someone else for a while until she figured all the possibilities and what the best business would be for her to try. The risk of traveling alone to someplace new was certainly worth getting away from what she was doing now, and especially worth getting away from staring eyes and whispers. People could be so cruel. If only they understood her reasons, knew what she had been through with Henry Bartel back in New York and what life had been like as an orphan in the streets.
She walked back to her scrub board, wishing it wasn’t such a hot day. The August heat had been miserable. The man she’d heard talking had said it was cooler in the mountains, and he had described country that sounded beautiful. She’d never seen mountains. As long as she had come this far, she might as well keep going. Things certainly couldn’t be any worse in Denver than they were here.
She would wait one more month to see if maybe Ethan would change his mind, then she would leave. She had considered writing him, begging him to come back, but she didn’t want him that way. He had to come back of his own accord. Much as she loved him, she couldn’t bring herself to crawl for any man. Ethan Temple was not going to turn Allyson Mills into a whining beggar who thought she couldn’t manage without a man to help her!
“Get to work, Mrs. Temple!” Allyson was roused from her daydreaming by Jed Parsons, the owner of the hotel. “Hilda is bringing down more sheets.”
Allyson nodded and reached into the hot water to grasp a sheet and begin scrubbing again. Her skin stung from being rubbed so raw, but she scrubbed harder in her frustration and determination. She hated being treated like common help! Allyson Mills, who once owned a restaurant and rooming house of her own at only seventeen! How dare people treat her this way! She wanted it all back, and she would find a way to do it! She was not going to take orders and work like a little slave for someone else. That’
s how life had been at the orphanage. She had gotten away from that kind of living, and she would do it again.
She was not going to put up with this miserable life and these rude people just because she thought she should wait for Ethan Temple. He had made it very clear he wanted her to divorce him or get the marriage annulled, whichever way she thought best. Fine! Tomorrow. She would see about it tomorrow. Then she would leave Guthrie and all its bad memories behind her. She had no chance here. Denver sounded like as good a place as any. Besides, Ethan would probably never follow her there. It was best that he stayed out of her life for good.
Suddenly she had to stop scrubbing. There it came again, that sudden wave of frustrated desire at the thought of Ethan, the quick little pull at her heart at the realization that deep down inside she loved him with every bone in her body. She breathed deeply, then picked up the sheet and stuck it into the wringer and began turning the handle to feed it through. She had to stop this, had to stop hoping and pretending. She had to start thinking only of Ally Mills Temple. Later today she would go to the train station and find out what it would cost to get to Denver.
16
Ethan poured himself some coffee, then set the pot back down on the wood-burning stove. He had the stove stoked as hot as he could get it, and it was still cold in the cabin. He set the cup on a table and pulled on his deerskin jacket, dreading going out. From what he had already seen out a window, it looked as though a blizzard was in the making. Winters in the Dakotas could be violent and bitter.
He sensed the soft thumping then of a horse approaching through the snow outside and walked back to the window to see a soldier ride up and dismount. It was Lieutenant Jack O’Toole, and he looked worried. The tension on all the Sioux reservations had grown to almost painful proportions, and Ethan knew something was bound to blow sooner or later.
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