Fireblossom

by Wright, Cynthia

  Benjamin, in his bathrobe, was jumping around the house like a monkey, excited by the drama yet furious that he had missed the actual spectacle of Sun Smile shooting the villain. However, when Fox came into the house, Susan collared her grandson and drew him down next to her on the settee.

  Stephen greeted his son-in-law, while Annie Sunday restrained herself from rushing to him, and Maddie was glad when he took a wing chair and drew her down on his lap. The expression on his chiseled face told her that the danger was passed. More than anything else, she wanted to take him home to their bed.

  "What happened?" They all seemed to speak at the same time, and Fox chuckled.

  "I rousted out Seth Bullock, our new sheriff. He had a little trouble believing that Graham Horatio Winslow the Third could possibly have engineered all this, but he agreed to accompany me to Winslow's hotel room." He smiled as Maddie twined her arms around his neck and fussed with the curls that touched his collar. "I wish you all could have been there to see Mr. Winslow's face when he threw open the door and saw me standing there!"

  "How did you prove that he was involved?" Stephen asked. "The pocket watch alone might be enough for us, but—"

  "Well, I had showed Seth the blackmail note, pointing out that an illiterate weasel like Jeb Campbell could not possibly have composed such a letter. As it turned out, Winslow did the rest for us. The desk in the hotel room was littered with various versions of the note." Fox shrugged. "I'm sorry to report that the New Haven Winslows now have a blight on their impeccable family tree. Graham is in jail as we speak, awaiting transport to Yankton, where he will be tried for various crimes."

  "When may I go?" Sun Smile asked softly.

  Everyone turned to look at her. Stephen's eyes were poignant with regret. "Someone will have to take you," he said. "Do you want to go to the agency? I'm not certain what conditions are now; we have heard that rations have been held back until your people agree to relinquish the Black Hills. It's a terrible thing for our government to do, and I wouldn't want you to suffer, my dear...."

  "The paper will be signed," she said. "Winter is coming. My people will have to trade this sacred ground for food. What choice have the whites given us?" Sun Smile was firm. "It is best that I go to the agency. I will be able to teach my people many white ways. Our lives are changed now... forever. It can never be again as it once was."

  Everyone was silent for a short while, then Annie Sunday said, "Stephen, I think that we ought to share our news." She sounded almost shy. "Perhaps we can take Sun Smile ourselves...."

  "Yes!" he cried, brightening. "An excellent notion, my dear!" Stephen rose, looked around the parlor, and said, "I want to announce to you all that Annie has done me the considerable honor of agreeing to become my wife. We intend to marry as soon as possible and then travel East for a wedding trip, remaining in Washington and Philadelphia through the winter."

  After the chorus of surprised questions and congratulations had died down, it was agreed that Stephen and Annie would escort Sun Smile through the Black Hills to the Indian agency in northwestern Nebraska. From there they would continue on their way via riverboat and railroad. More discussion led to an invitation to Susan and Benjamin to join the newlyweds on this journey, but their refusals were immediate. Benjamin had new friends and—as Maddie pointed out firmly—should not miss school now that Deadwood had a teacher, and Susan stated flatly that she was too old for another arduous trip across America so soon after the one she'd made to Deadwood.

  Changes were occurring so suddenly that Maddie felt dizzy. First the shock of Deadwood, and the challenge of getting to know her father all over again. Then she'd had to adjust to her new identity as Fox's wife, to the home she shared with him, and to the presence of Annie Sunday and Sun Smile. Now it seemed that so much was going to be changing yet again! When she and Fox rose to leave, and she bent to kiss her grandmother good night, Susan patted her cheek with a crinkled hand.

  "We'll be fine here this winter, you and Fox and Benjamin and I." The old woman winked almost imperceptibly. "To tell you the truth, I'm rather looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet... and when those two come back from their wedding trip next spring, I'm going to move into that sweet little cottage!"

  Maddie looked over at her father, realizing that the true cause of her anxiety was the fear left over from her childhood that he might not come back. Stephen's eyes met hers, begging her to come to him, and she did. Sitting in the circle of his arm, it came to Maddie what a tumultuous, confusing few weeks they have lived through since July. So much had been transformed since that first glimpse of Deadwood....

  "Madeleine, your mother would be so proud of you if she were here," Stephen told her gently.

  "I don't know—" Maddie flushed. "These days, I'm not very much like the lady she raised me to be, but I am much happier than I ever dreamed I could be before we left Philadelphia. It's not just because I'm in love with Fox. I'm happy because I finally realized that doing things properly and having things look the way they ought doesn't have very much to do with heart-deep happiness. I had to come to Deadwood to find that out."

  "My dear, do you remember what you used to call me when you were a very little girl?" Smiling ruefully, he added, "You learned to be quite dignified at an early age, I realize, but perhaps you haven't forgotten...."

  "Papa," she whispered thickly. "I used to call you Papa."

  For a moment Stephen Avery's throat tightened so that he couldn't speak. "Yes, exactly. How I loved to hear you saying 'Papa,' and to see that light in your eyes, Maddie dear. Would you consider calling me that again, after Annie and I come home in the spring and we all settle in here for the rest of our lives?"

  Eyes stinging, Maddie nodded. She realized suddenly that this was all about recapturing the innocent trust she'd known as a little girl. "Yes... Papa."

  A short time later Maddie and Fox strolled through the row of pine trees to their own home. When she inhaled deeply, the force of joy that welled up from her very soul was so powerful that she had to stop a moment and close her eyes. Overhead, above Deadwood Gulch, the moon was still round and luminous, the sky thick with glittering stars.

  Fox wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his cheek against her silky hair. "Someday, Fireblossom, I'm going to build you a wonderful house on this spot," he said in a low, compelling voice. "It will be a place where you can make dreams come true. We'll have a stone tower, and a music room, and polished paneled walls carved from exotic woods, and a bathtub painted with gold leaf that's big enough for both of us and has all the hot running water we want. You'll have a library all your own... and a big porch with a swing..."

  Caught up in the dreamy tone of his voice, Maddie leaned back against him. "Don't forget the gardens," she teased.

  "We'll import trees and flowers from the Kew Gardens in London," Fox promised solemnly.

  "Do you know the best part of all?" Turning in her husband's embrace, Maddie leaned against the starched front of his favorite ticking-striped shirt.

  "I'm waiting for you to tell me, love."

  "The best part is that we'll be just as happy whether we have that house and garden and bathtub and porch swing or not. All we need is our feather bed and what we make together in moments like these."

  "And we can go on making them forever," Fox finished. Under the stars, he lifted Maddie off the ground and held her thus for a full minute before capturing her mouth in a kiss that seemed even sweeter than the one before.

  The End

  Page forward for more from Cynthia Wright

  Afterword

  Dear Readers,

  I hope you enjoyed reading Fireblossom – not just the story of Fox & Maddie, but also the history of the Black Hills in 1876.

  I was living in South Dakota when I wrote this novel and historical accuracy was especially important to me. I made several trips to the Black Hills and cross-checked the often dubious sources that I unearthed. Although I enjoyed reading personal accounts (often d
erived from oral histories) of life in 1876 Deadwood, Custer's last stand, or tales from those who knew Crazy Horse or Wild Bill Hickok, I had to take them with a grain of salt.

  It's important to me to make my characters live, but I'm also passionate about placing them on the factual canvas of history. The events of the summer of 1876 were almost beyond fiction: Custer at Little Bighorn, the arrival of Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane in Deadwood, Hickok's murder, the August visit of Crazy Horse and his people to Bear Butte, the death of Preacher Smith, and the "starvation march" of General Crook's troops—which included the Battle of Slim Buttes and ended in (where else?) Deadwood! I followed authentic dates as closely as I could make them match among sources. For example, word of the Battle of Little Bighorn really didn't reach Deadwood until July 20.

  The Lakota people did not fare well in the months following the end of this book. The Black Hills were signed away to the whites in October, and the treaty was ratified in February 1877. That spring, Crazy Horse arrived in Camp Robinson, Nebraska with the last thousand Indians who had continued to hold out against agency life. He had run out of choices, for his people were starving and being hunted much like the buffalo that had once provided for all their needs. Soon after his arrival at the white fort, Crazy Horse was stabbed to death in a scuffle with soldiers who tried to arrest him. The Lakota nation's age of glory on the Great Plains was at an end.

  If you enjoyed Fireblossom, I hope you'll also read the story of Shelby, Fox and Maddie's daughter, and her involvement in Buffalo Bill's own town of Cody, Wyoming. Our hero, Geoffrey Weston, the fifteenth Marquess of Sandhurst, heads to the American West for one last adventure before succumbing to an arranged marriage. Wildblossom is filled with great fun and adventure, and I had a ball writing it!

  Thank you so much for your continued support over the years. I appreciate every one of you.

  Warm regards,

  Cynthia Wright

  Page forward for an excerpt from

  Wildblossom

  and discover Shelby Matthews's story

  Excerpt from

  Wildblossom

  Matthews Novel #2

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  Shelby Matthews, daughter of Fox & Maddie from Fireblossom, sets out for Cody, Wyoming, where she will manage her parents' cattle ranch with the help of her Uncle Ben and Cornishman Titus Pym. She has big plans for the ranch and decides to raise money on her own by playing poker in Cody. Meanwhile, Geoffrey Weston, Marquess of Sandhurst, has traveled from England to Wyoming for a last adventure before succumbing to an arranged marriage...

  When the buckboard gained the last crest of the valley road and Cody came into sight, Shelby, Titus, and Ben all sat up a little straighter. It was a particularly fine late-April afternoon, although still clear and cold. The sky was keenly blue, decorated with puffy clouds, and the trees were thick with leaf buds. Skylarks and robins sang to herald the greening of the land, and prairie roses were opening everywhere. It was a difficult time to be downcast, but Ben Avery managed.

  "For Pete's sake, Shel, I think you've lost your mind!" he grumbled, squinting into the distance.

  "So you've told me about a hundred times," she said. "You're just upset that I didn't abandon my plan when you announced that no proper female would be seen gambling in one of Cody's saloons. As usual, dear uncle, you underestimated me!"

  Sitting between Ben and Titus on the splintery seat, she was clad in the cowboy getup she'd worn to shock her parents that last morning in Deadwood. This time, however, she carried the costume one step further, pinning her hair securely out of sight under the Stetson, thickening her eyebrows with a pencil, and gluing a false handlebar mustache to her delicate upper lip. It looked ludicrous, but Titus had made it for her from the mane of her favorite horse, a pinto pony she called Gadabout.

  "I don't get it, Titus," Ben complained. "Why are you helping her? If I ever tried to do somethin' this crazy, you'd be all over me like flies on... sugar."

  The old man averted his eyes. "I'm inclined to give Shelby her head for a time. Besides, I suspect that she'd go ahead with her schemes with or without us." He gave Ben a bemused smile. "I'd rather be present."

  "You both must admit that this is a splendid adventure!" She giggled. "Look at me! What would Mama say?"

  "I shudder to think," Titus remarked.

  They drew up in front of Purcell's Saloon on Sheridan Avenue. It was one of many such establishments, but probably the best-known and the place where the most money was likely to be wagered.

  "Don't forget, Uncle Ben, that I'm your cousin Matt."

  Ben Avery scowled at his niece. She wore angora chaps, a holster, boots, fringed vest, orange kerchief, a ridiculous false mustache that they'd coaxed with wax to curl slightly on either side, and her giant white Stetson hat.

  "I can't believe you want me to claim you as a cousin. Not one man in my family ever looked like that."

  "Hush!" Shelby raised a gloved hand to Ben's mouth. "Just say I'm passing through from Iowa. Not that anyone will care. If they think I'm a little odd, they'll be more apt to bet a lot of money." Her shining smile appeared under the horsehair mustache. "Come on!"

  Titus walked into the saloon next to Shelby while Ben lagged behind several paces. Weather-beaten cowboys glanced up from their card games, drinks, and smokes; the barest glimmer of disconcertion crossed their faces. When Ben went to the bar to order three beers and Shelby found a table and began shuffling a deck of cards, the glances from the other patrons became more curious.

  "New in town, pilgrim?" asked a dusty, red-faced wrangler at the next table.

  "Yeah, I'm passin' through from Sioux City," Shelby declared in the lowest, hoarsest voice she could muster. "Lookin' for a little entertainment."

  Muffled laughter rippled through the saloon, and Ben, still standing at the bar, turned crimson. The man who had spoken to Shelby gave her a reptilian smile and leaned over to extend his hand. "My friends 'n' I'll be glad t'oblige you as soon as we're finished with this game. Name's Skinner."

  Shelby put her cowhide-gloved hand in his and tried not to wince when he squeezed. "Pleased to meetcha," she growled. "They call me—Coyote Matt."

  It took Titus Pym's last ounce of control to remain straight-faced. Amusement began to replace his apprehension and he nodded soberly and clapped Shelby on the back. "Yup, this feller's trapped a passel of coyotes all right!"

  "More'n four thousand," Shelby proclaimed recklessly.

  His hat pulled low on his brow, Ben sidled up to the table and put down the mugs of beer. One of the other cowboys hailed him, calling, "Hey, Avery, you know this fella?"

  Ben stared at the tabletop. "We're... distant cousins," he mumbled.

  The trio drank some of their beer as they waited to see who would be the first to bet against Coyote Matt. Soon there were restless noises as bodies shifted in their chairs and heads turned to glance at the odd newcomer. Some of those present at Purcell's Saloon clearly smelled a pigeon.

  "Any moment," Shelby whispered gleefully.

  Ben sniffed the air, then his gaze settled on his niece's excited face. Beer froth clung to her mustache. Leaning closer, he sniffed again and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Geez, Shel, you smell like Gadabout when she's been rode wet."

  * * *

  Out on Sheridan Avenue a tumbleweed careened in front of Cody's newest arrivals.

  "What's that?" Geoffrey Weston inquired of his gentleman's gentleman.

  "A common enough sight in this part of the world, my lord," Manypenny intoned. "I believe they call it a tumbleweed."

  "Ah."

  The two men were beginning to attract attention. Immaculately dressed, they stood next to an assortment of expensive traveling trunks and pondered the future. It had been disconcerting enough, arriving at a train station located a good distance from town, and then they had suffered the indignity of paying for a ride into town in the most ramshackle wagon imaginable, driven by an equally
broken-down fellow who appeared to shun the concept of bathing. The man had left them here, surrounded by their belongings, and Geoff had decided against soliciting advice from the driver regarding their next move.

  "I sense that we are overdressed," Geoff remarked. His tailored tweed suit was set off by a vest of Prussian-blue cashmere, a round-collared shirt with charcoal pinstripes, a four-in-hand tie, and polished black oxfords. He wore no topcoat or hat, and the afternoon sun picked up the gleam of his plain gold signet ring and his ruffled dark hair. "Did we forget to pack my boots, chaps, and holster?"

  "I fear so, my lord," Manypenny replied without expression.

  Geoff's sculpted features relaxed into an appealing smile as he took in the sight of his manservant set against the backdrop of Cody, Wyoming. Manypenny was closer in height to seven feet than six, and he seemed to own an endless supply of dark suits, gray-striped vests, winged-collared shirts, and black ties. Today, in honor of his appearance outdoors, he had added a black woolen overcoat and a black derby that looked as if it were squeezing the old man's massive head.

  "My lord," he said now, in a rare volunteered statement, "I hope that you will not forego your personal style of dressing, which is flawless, in deference to your surroundings. To replace your wardrobe with—" He grimaced. "—chaps would be nothing less than tragic."

  Geoff tried to look serious as he nodded and replied, "Perhaps. At the moment, however, my wardrobe is the least of our concerns. I must seek out some advice about the local hotels before we're held up at gunpoint and stripped of our belongings." He inclined his head toward the group of surly characters gathering across the street and staring at them and their trunks.

  "If you don't find lodgings that meet with your approval, my lord, perhaps you would consider turning back...."