Dance with Destiny

by Becky Lower

  "I, too, wish you had been able to meet Pale Moon. I still miss her and our child, which caused her death. You are correct. She was special. The first woman I loved. And, as for the vision quest, yes, the lady I helped was indeed the fair-haired woman from Grandfather’s dreams."

  Ginger stopped drumming her fingers and instead placed a hand near her heart. Raoul stared at her, a sick feeling in his stomach. Ginger had absorbed way too much Indian for his liking.

  "Do not get any wild fanciful notions. I merely worked for her. For them."

  "How many children were there?"

  "Four when I arrived. A fifth one born in December."

  "Your child?"

  Raoul stood at the question and began to pace. "No." His heart began to throb in pain as he pictured sweet Missouria.

  "So her husband hadn't been gone too long."

  "Only since the spring."

  "So, why was she in your vision? Did her husband not leave her well supplied? Did he leave her and the children to fend for themselves?"

  Raoul stopped his pacing in front of where Ginger sat and loomed over her. Maybe he could intimidate her by his size, and she would leave.

  "Did no one ever tell you to stay out of their business? You are asking too many questions. Questions to which there are no good answers."

  Instead of jumping up and running off as he had expected, she smiled up at him.

  "It's part of my charm. And I live with Joseph, so you can drop the big scary Indian role. We can drag this out, or you can start answering me, and I’ll let you get back to your musings. I've got all day. The children are visiting with your mother."

  Raoul sat back down and held his head between his hands for a moment, weaving his fingers through his hair, breathing in the familiar barn scents of hay, leather and horse. When he attempted to answer Ginger, his voice broke. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and began again.

  "She and the children would have had a hard time of things, had I not found them. The man of the family was only supposed to be gone for three months, but he extended his service in the Army for three more years. Their supply of wood and meat was low, and the pass up from the nearest town gets closed off each winter with snow. But I suppose they could have made it through. There were chickens they could eat, and a cow, if need be."

  Ginger drilled a hole into him with her stare. "But there was more, wasn't there? Another reason for you to be there."

  Raoul rolled his shoulders. He had no wish to remove the scab from his heart and open himself up, even to Ginger. She softened her gaze and smiled again.

  "What is her name? We can't keep calling her the fair-haired lady, as fanciful as it is."

  "Her name is Susannah."

  "How pretty. And her children? What are their names?"

  "Hannah, Jacob, Lydia and George."

  Ginger counted on her fingers. "That's only four. What did she name the fifth one?"

  "She allowed me to name the last one."

  Ginger's head snapped up. "Why, if it was not your child?"

  "She needed my assistance in the birth. The baby was turned the wrong way and I had to help move it around within the womb. I was the only one strong enough to help her."

  Ginger brought her hand to her mouth. "Oh, the poor woman!" Her eyes filled with tears as she pieced the rest of the story together. As if feeling Susannah’s pain, Ginger placed a hand on her abdomen. "So your vision quest, your destiny, was to be the strong person she needed in order to deliver this baby. Without you, they would have died."

  Raoul nodded.

  "So, what name did you bestow on this child?"

  "Missouria, after a long-ago Indian tribe that roamed in her part of the country. It was the name Pale Moon and I were going to give to our child, had it been a girl."

  Ginger whispered, "Missouria. What a lovely name. Did you take the baby into the night and get the blessing from the gods, as Joseph has done for each of ours?"

  Raoul nodded again.

  "Then the child is truly fortunate."

  "Now that you have gotten my story out of me, will you leave so I can get back to my work?" Raoul stood again.

  "Not so fast, young man.”

  Raoul returned to his hay bale and sat. The inquisition had only begun.

  “If the pass gets closed off each winter, and there were five children and a woman alone on the mountain, why did you not stay, at least until spring? Her husband was not coming back anytime soon."

  Raoul turned away, hoping Ginger would not see the torment in his eyes. "I could no longer stay."

  She rose and crossed the aisle, taking a seat alongside him. She placed her hand on his broad back.

  "Did you love her that much?"

  He continued to stare at the wall. "She belongs to another. To remain there would have been torture at best, disaster at worst."

  "I see your dilemma. Will you ever go back again?"

  "No, it would not be advisable."

  "But what of the children? Little Missouria and the others? Don’t you wish to see the kind of adults they become?"

  Raoul turned and faced Ginger, finally, before he stood. "Enough of your questions. I have provided all the answers you will get."

  "For today, anyway. Thank you for sharing as much as you have. I’m glad you found love again after Pale Moon, even if Susannah belongs to another." Ginger rose and brushed the hay off her skirt, stood on her tiptoes so she could graze his cheek with her lips and left the barn without a backward glance.

  Raoul's step grew lighter as he walked down the cobblestoned aisle to the next stall. Sharing the burden he was dealing with had lightened him a bit, as Ginger had proclaimed. Perhaps that was why his journey led him back home again. So he could find a way to live the rest of his days without Susannah and her children. Yet, the thought of never seeing the children again, never being able to witness the kind of persons they would become, tore at him, almost as much as the thought of never being able to touch Susannah again did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Hannah and Jacob came tearing into the house as if the very devil himself were at their heels. Their hair sparkled with ice crystals and their noses were red.

  "Slow down," Susannah cried as the door crashed into the wall. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "Someone's coming up the pass!"

  "That's impossible. The pass is still four feet deep in snow."

  Hannah put her hands on her hips. "Well, I can’t figure out how they got through, but there's a wagon coming up the road. It must be Sully, since I hear the harness bells."

  Susannah handed the baby over to Hannah. "Other folks than Sully have harness bells. You children stay inside the house until I find out who's come to visit us. And how they got through."

  She took the shotgun down from the wall and made certain it was loaded. Then, she placed a shawl over her shoulders, swung her braid to her back, picked up the gun and moved outside.

  Sure enough, there was a wagon moving slowly up the hill. They must have had to shovel the pass, at least wide enough to handle the wagon. Which meant whatever they were delivering had to be important. Susannah held her breath as the hard-working mule trudged through a foot of snow, the harness bells announcing their arrival. It was indeed Sully. She waited for the wagon to come to a stop before she moved. Her stomach seized and she feared the worst. Sully was bringing home her husband's body. There could be no other explanation. She set the gun aside the moment she recognized the familiar wagon.

  "Hello, Susannah," Sully called out as he brought the mule to a stop and jumped down from the wagon seat, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

  "Sully, it's good to see you, although we didn't expect you for another month or so. What brings you here today?" She glanced up into the grisly face of the man. His beard had icicles in it, and his skin was ruddy from the cold. Her hands twisted together as they stared at each other.

  He put his hand on her arm, moved with her several paces away from the wagon
, and spoke in a low voice. "It's not what you fear. William is ill, very much so, with pneumonia. But he's also very much alive. He's lying in the back of the wagon. The trip up here has been hard on him, but he was desperate to get to you and the children."

  Susannah shrugged out of Sully’s grasp. "Thank the Lord, he’s alive, even if it did take illness for him to give a care to his wife and children."

  "Swallow your bitterness, Susannah, and relish the good fortune of having your man back at home when so many are still fighting. What he needs now is your care and love, which you still have for him. He needs to surround himself with family until he can regain his health."

  Susannah nodded, and laid her head on Sully’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m desperate to see him, to talk to him. How bad is it, really?”

  “As I said, this trip’s been hard on him. He had been taken directly from the train to the doctor’s before this and thought he was well enough to endure the ride, but it’s been touch and go. He’s been in town for a week now, and would not rest until we brought him up here. But it’s pneumonia, and you’re familiar with the disease. One day it’s good, the next—not so much.”

  Together, Sully and Susannah moved to the rear of the wagon and pulled out the stretcher on which William lay. He had fallen into a slumber, but the movement woke him. His fevered gaze found Susannah, and he lifted a feeble hand to her cheek.

  "Ah, love, it's so good to see you. I feared I wouldn't get the chance again."

  She leaned over and kissed his cold lips. "Let's get you inside out of this frigid air, and then you can tell me all." Even in the cold, she could smell the infection lingering in his body.

  Sully helped her move William to their bed. He was weak and fading fast into slumber, but not before each child greeted him, and he met the newest member of the family, little Missouria. He touched each child’s face and hair, as if trying to memorize them.

  Susannah sat at the table with Sully as the house quieted once again. Her husband was home, and sleeping. Something she had longed for all these months. Her children had gone back to their chores. She held the baby while they talked.

  "So, the pass was still closed?"

  "Yes, I had a couple of men help me dig a hole through the snow large enough to get the wagon up here before we made the trip. William's been in town for a few days now, since the Army sent home all those who were too ill to continue the fight in the spring."

  Susannah cast a restless glance toward the bedroom door where her husband slept before bringing it back to Sully.

  "So the army’s delivered him home to let me care for him until he dies? They’ve disposed of him?"

  "He could get better with good care. That is a possibility, Susannah. People do recover from pneumonia. And if he does recover, he won’t be sent back into battle. He’ll be too weak to continue the fight. So you have your man at home again, for good. Even though the war rages on. Just what you wished for."

  He reached across the table and took her hand.

  "I hope you can accept the sacrifice he's made."

  She sighed. "Yes, Sully, I’m well aware of his sacrifice. I’m proud of him for not shirking his duty to his country. But, he’s not the only one who made sacrifices for the war. Although his cause is more noble in the eyes of the nation, I nearly died in childbirth a couple of months ago—could have easily—since I had no midwife. So don’t talk to me about sacrifices."

  Sully glanced around the room. The wood stove was putting off a good amount of heat, and a pot of stew was warming on the top. Susannah stood and dished up a bowl of the savory venison stew for Sully before she returned to her seat and met his gaze.

  "It appears as if you've managed to come through the winter, though. You've got food and fire."

  "No thanks to William, though."

  Sully smacked his lips and dug into the food. "Good stew, Susannah. Is this venison from the doe you shot with your bow and arrow?”

  He cast a suspicious glance at her, much as he had on his previous visit, and Susannah squirmed in her seat. She could offer him nothing to quell his notions.

  “Now, don't take offense, but your baby has a very strange name. What's the meaning of it?"

  Susannah inhaled a breath. Sully was not going to let the matter drop. This was only the first test, she feared. "She was named for a tribe of Indians who used to live in this area, maybe on this very mountaintop. They're long gone now."

  "And why in the blazes would you have saddled her with an Indian name?"

  Susannah could no longer contain her wrath, even though she kept her voice low. "Because an Indian helped me with her delivery. If he hadn't been here, I would have died. The baby was breech and I needed a pair of strong hands to help turn her around in the womb. There was no one coming up the mountain from town to help me. Despite your conviction that you’d have a care for my safety while William was gone, you were nowhere to be found when I needed you."

  Sully's head snapped up at her accusatory tone. "You let a savage into your house? And let him put his hands on you, help deliver your child? What kind of woman are you?"

  She sighed. "The kind of woman who survives, Sully. The kind of woman who gives a care about my children. What would have happened to them if I’d died while trying to deliver this child?"

  "How long has this Indian been here with you?"

  "As you have long suspected, he showed up in the early summer, and helped us around here, finding firewood and all kinds of meat to keep our bellies full. We gave him and his horse shelter in the barn in exchange for him helping us. Just as we’ve done in the past, when William and I needed help to run the farm."

  Sully cast another suspicious glance at the baby in Susannah’s arms. "Is this child his Indian baby?"

  Susannah bristled. "No, Sully, she's not, and I resent your implication. In case you've forgotten, it takes nine months to grow a child in a woman's belly. She is William's child. It wasn’t until after he left that I found out we were to have another. I had hoped to tell him when he came home after the first ninety days of his enlistment, but he decided to stay on, instead."

  Sully stared at her. "There's that bitterness again. So, the child is not an Indian, but has an Indian name. And you and the other children are all wearing moccasins. People will talk—especially when they find out about your summer visitor."

  "You are the only one who is aware of my 'summer visitor,' Sully. So if there's any talk around town, the finger of blame will be pointed right at you."

  "Where is this Indian now?"

  She shrugged. "Gone. I don't have a clue where he went. He left right after Christmas, after Missouria’s birth. He made sure we had enough wood and food to get through until the pass opened again."

  "Well, then. You'd better hope William recovers his health, and that he accepts this child as his own. She's still going to be made fun of with that ridiculous name. But perhaps people won't link her to Indians. Especially if you and the children will quit wearing your moccasins."

  Susannah rose from the table and picked up the empty bowl in front of Sully. "I've fed you, so now I suggest you get back down the mountain before nightfall. Before you can offend me further. You’ve worn out your welcome with your various insinuations."

  Sully unwound his tall frame from under the table and stood. He stared at Susannah for a minute. "You can kick me out of your house because I've upset you, but you won't be able to squash the tide of talk that will happen once you and the children come into town. People will assume the worst. They always do."

  "And what of you? Do you assume the worst as well, Sully?"

  He rolled his shoulders. "I can’t figure out what to make of you, Susannah. I sensed your anger toward William from the day he left. If a handsome Indian brave showed up on your doorstep, you might have been tempted, out of spite. This baby has dark hair, unlike all your other children. I'm drawing conclusions I don't care to draw."

  Tears smarted in her eyes, but she refused to give way to them
. Sully was one of her oldest and dearest friends, and yet, even he questioned her story, her faithfulness. If he didn't believe her recitation of the facts, no one else in town would. She almost wished she had given in to temptation, just once, before Raoul left. At least she'd have a bittersweet memory to cling to, if people were going to assume she bedded a handsome stranger while her husband was away.

  ♥•♥•♥

  Susannah laid a cool cloth on William's forehead. He was sweating, burning up with fever. And all she could do was lay a cloth on his head and brush the hair back. She couldn't let the house grow cold, even if it would help his body temperature, not with small children to care for, too. She could remove the covers from his body and lay cold cloths on him, which she hoped would be enough. But the infection that raged in his body was the culprit, not the air temperature. And she had nothing in her arsenal against it.

  He gained consciousness once during that first long night. His eyes were fogged with sickness, but he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  "It's good to be home." His cough wracked his body. "I've missed seeing your lovely face every day."

  "Well, I'm sorry you had to get sick in order to come home, but I'm glad you're here."

  "I'm counting on you to get me well, so I can once again take the helm, here. You've shouldered it long enough."

  Susannah removed her hand from his grasp. "You focus on regaining your strength. The rest will come."

  He slipped back into sleep again. It was for the best. Not only did his body need the healing sleep, but she needed time to adjust to his return. Her gaze slid over his familiar features as she applied the cooling cloths. He was more gaunt than ever. Yes, she admitted, she was glad he had been sent home, that he didn't die on some lonely battlefield, by himself. But she'd seen enough of death and sickness to be aware the army had sent him home to face his end. They thought his days were numbered. And if she shirked her duty, he would succumb to his illness. The only way she could protect her reputation, and that of her children, was to make certain William survived, and accepted their baby.