Turning the pages in the paper, I saw advertisements for various household goods and then, on the next page, a pen-and-ink sketch of a horseless carriage. It was a rather ugly contraption, I decided, said to be loud and dirty as it lumbered along coughing smoke and frightening horses and young children. A short paragraph beneath the picture stated there were twelve companies manufacturing automobiles of one kind or another, and it was predicted that the automobile would make the horse and buggy obsolete.
With a sigh I put the newspaper aside. I wasn't sure I cared for progress. Rising, I went to the closet and pulled out my long heavy coat, a scarf, and a pair of fur-lined gloves. Bundled up, I went outside to look for Shadow.
His tracks were clear in the snow and I followed them, taking long strides so I could place my feet in Shadow's footprints. The trail took me around the house and then to the barn. As I opened the heavy door, I heard Shadow's voice.
"Easy, girl," he was saying. "Easy now."
I smiled as I realized that one of the mares was foaling. She was a young mare who had been bred early and was giving birth several months before the other mares, who were due to deliver in the spring.
"How's she doing?" I asked.
"All right, I think. I cannot tell how long she has been in labor."
For the next hour we sat side by side watching the mare. Once, she scrambled to her feet and walked around for a few minutes; then, very slowly, she lowered herself to the ground again, her legs sticking straight out in front of her, her sides heaving.
"Poor thing," I murmured. "I know just how you feel."
When Shadow decided that the mare had been in labor too long, he washed his hands and forearms and then, while I watched in amazement, he reached inside the mare, his arm disappearing to the elbow.
"The foal is not in the right position," Shadow remarked, his brow furrowed. "I am going to try to turn it around."
I held my breath as Shadow attempted to turn the foal. The mare remained quiet, her ears flicking back and forth as Shadow murmured to her in soft Cheyenne.
"There!" Shadow exclaimed, and withdrew his hand.
Moments later, two tiny feet emerged, followed by a tiny black muzzle. Another push, and the foal was partly expelled. The mare rested a moment, then gave another push, and the foal was free of the birth canal. The mare whickered to her baby as she reached around to nuzzle it, and I marveled at the beautiful miracle of birth.
A few minutes later the mare scrambled to her feet, expelling the afterbirth. Later, Shadow would check the delicate membrane to make sure none of it had been left inside the mare to cause infection.
We laughed with delight as the newborn foal attempted to stand. It was a filly, solid black save for one white stocking on her left foreleg. The mare made soft encouraging noises as the filly tried to stand, and eventually the foal managed to get all four legs under herself at the same time and maintain her balance. Shadow dried the filly with a piece of soft toweling, and then the filly began to nurse.
Shadow put his arm around my shoulders as we stood there, basking in the joy of a new life.
"Blackie will be sorry he missed this," I mused. "We should have called him."
"No," Shadow said. "This was a moment for the two of us to share alone."
"Happy new year, my husband," I murmured.
"Happy new year, my woman," Shadow replied, and bending down, he kissed me, a long lingering kiss that made me forget the cold and the snow and everything else but the joy I found in his arms.
Returning to the house, I saw that Blackie had fallen asleep over his book. Cloud Walker and Mary were wrapped in each other's arms, gazing rapturously into each other's eyes. So engrossed were they with each other that they were not even aware of our presence until Shadow noisily cleared his throat. Immediately the two young lovers drew apart. Cloud Walker met our eyes boldly, but Mary glanced away, her cheeks scarlet.
Cloud Walker gave Mary's shoulder a squeeze and then stood up. I could see by his expression that he was expecting a severe tongue-lashing from Shadow, or perhaps a well-deserved punch in the nose. Neither was forthcoming.
Instead, Shadow smiled at Cloud Walker, his expression one of understanding and compassion. ''It is hard to be a warrior," Shadow said quietly. "Especially when one is young and his blood is on fire."
Cloud Walker nodded. Taking Mary's hand, he helped her to her feet. "I love Mary with all my heart," he said sincerely. "But I am not made of iron."
"I feel the same," Mary added proudly. "What are we going to do?"
"That is something the two of you must decide," Shadow answered with a shake of his head. "Cloud Walker is a grown man. You are a grown woman, with a child to think of. You must make your own decisions. Only remember, the decisions you make now will affect not only your lives, but the lives of those who love you and depend on you. What I would do, what I think you should do, may not be right for you."
"What would you do, neyho?" Mary persisted. "Please tell me. I need to know."
"I would take my happiness when and where I could find it," Shadow replied honestly. "But I do not have a young child to consider. And when I first took your mother, she did not have a husband waiting for her."
"Thank you, neyho," Mary said quietly. "Good night."
She walked Cloud Walker to the door and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night."
Cloud Walker nodded and left the house.
I put my arm around Shadow's waist as we watched Mary go to her room. "Do you think they'll wait?"
Shadow grinned wryly. "Do you?"
"No."
In February Mattie Smythe came to call. She was all aflutter when I opened the door, her face flushed, her eyes fever bright.
"Mattie, what is it?" I cried in alarm. "Are you all right?"
"We're going to Chicago!" Mattie exclaimed, waving a sheet of paper in my face. "Frank is rich! Oh, my, let me sit down. Here, read this."
My eyes quickly scanned the letter. Frank was indeed rich. He had made several prudent investments in some railroad stock and some oil stock, and both had paid off far beyond his wildest dreams. He was, in short, close to being a millionaire.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Mattie said. "He's buying a house for us next to the new one he's building for himself, and he wants all of us to come and live in Chicago. David is quitting his job at the mercantile so he can go with us. Oh, I just can't believe it! Oh, I almost forgot," Mattie said, digging into her skirt pocket. "Here's a letter for Mary. Well, I've got to go now. I've got so much to do. Give my love to the family.''
Mary's letter read much the same as Mattie's. Frank was rich. He was building a mansion to rival that of the Vanderbilts and the Goulds, and he wanted Mary to share it with him.
Mary fretted over Frank's letter for days.
"I don't love Frank," she confided to me late one wintry evening. "Maybe I never did. I don't know. I think I just wanted to play house and Frank seemed to fit the role of dutiful husband. Oh, nahkoa, I'm so confused. Sometimes I think I should go back to Frank and make the best of it. He is Katherine's father, after all. But then I remember how he looked at her the day she was born, and how often he's been unfaithful to me, and I hate him. And then there's Cloud Walker. I love him, nahkoa, and I want to be with him always."
My heart ached for Mary. We talked far into the night, and in the morning Mary wrote to Frank, congratulating him on his success, but she made no mention of returning to Chicago.
A few days later Shadow brought home a Chicago newspaper. Frank's name was in the headlines in bold black print. The headline read: FRANK SMYTHE, FORMER RESIDENT OF BEAR VALLEY, FINDS SUCCESS IN CHICAGO Below, next to his picture, was a long story on how Frank had moved to Chicago and made his fortune. The article went into detail about the mansion he was building, and how he was bringing his parents to Chicago to share his wealth. There was a brief paragraph stating that his wife, the former Mary Kincaid, had returned to her hometown to care for her aged mother, who was quite ill and in nee
d of constant attention.
"So that's how he explains Mary's extended absence," I exclaimed angrily. "She's home tending her ailing mother! That cad. Why doesn't he just tell the truth?"
Shadow laughed, his dark eyes glowing with amusement. "Do not overtax yourself," he teased. "Anger is not wise in one with ailing health."
"Oh, shut up!"
When Mary read the article, she just shook her head. "I never knew Frank had so much pride. I guess he just can't bear for anyone to think his marriage could be in trouble."
"I can't imagine anyone believing that a wife would stay away from her husband for so long without at least going back for a visit," I muttered. "Aged mother, indeed!"
News of Frank's good fortune spread throughout the valley. There was a going-away party for the Smythes in March, and practically everybody in Bear Valley was invited. Mary refused to attend.
"I don't want everybody staring at me and wondering why Frank and I have separated," Mary explained. "And I especially don't want to listen to Mattie telling me my place is with my husband. Just give them my best and tell them I'll miss them."
A few days later a wire arrived at our house, the first we had ever received. It was for Cloud Walker and it carried sad news. His mother was ill, perhaps dying.
Cloud Walker began to pack immediately. His mother was all the family he had left.
"Is there anything I can do?" Mary asked.
"Yes," Cloud Walker answered hesitantly. "Come with me."
"To the reservation?"
Cloud Walker nodded. "I would like you to meet my mother. And I would like her to meet you."
Mary looked at me. "Is it all right?" she asked. "Would you mind watching Katherine while I'm gone?"
"Of course not. Come along, I'll help you pack."
25
They had been traveling most of the day. Mary, mounted on the leopard Apaloosa filly, rode behind Cloud Walker. He was riding a barrel-chested gray gelding he had borrowed from Shadow. The horse was big and raw-boned, and it picked its way through the snowdrifts with ease, leaving a trail that was easy for the filly to follow.
Mary's thoughts were mixed as they rode along. She was glad for a chance to be alone with Cloud Walker, yet a little afraid of what might happen between them. She was determined to remain physically faithful to Frank, yet she doubted her ability to do so for much longer. The attraction she felt for Cloud Walker grew stronger each day, as did the love she felt for him. He was such a good man, kind and caring, strong and reliable, with a deep sense of pride in who and what he was.
She gazed at his back, ramrod straight, and wondered if she was hoping, deep inside, that he would be able to crumble her resistance once they were alone together. Wasn't that why she had been so eager to accompany him? In her heart she knew it was, though she was loath to admit it even to herself.
With an effort she turned her thoughts from Cloud Walker and tried to imagine what his mother would be like. He had never mentioned that his mother was still alive, and Mary had assumed he was alone in the world. One thing she was not looking forward to was returning to the reservation. The short time she had spent on reservations as a child had been time enough.
At dusk Cloud Walker drew rein in the shelter of a tall bluff. Dismounting, he lifted Mary to the ground, then unsaddled their horses. Hobbling the mare and the gelding, he turned them loose to find what forage they could.
Mary cast about for something to say, but nothing came to mind. Picking up Cloud Walker's saddlebags, she began to rummage around inside for the cooking utensils. She was acutely aware of Cloud Walker standing behind her, and of the fact that they were alone out in the middle of the prairie. Quite alone.
Her hands were trembling as she laid a fire, filled the coffee pot with water from her canteen, and began to prepare dinner. Night came quickly, surrounding them in a cozy cocoon of darkness, with only the faint glow of their campfire for light.
"I hope you're hungry," Mary said, handing Cloud Walker a plate filled with meat and potatoes.
Cloud Walker nodded. His hand brushed Mary's as he took the plate she offered him, and the mere touch of her flesh on his caused his heart to pound. How could he be alone with her for three nights? Asking her to accompany him to the reservation had been a mistake, he could see that now. He could not ride with her, talk to her, sleep across the fire from her, and not touch her. He was only a man of flesh and blood, not a man of stone.
They ate in silence, the tension between them almost crackling. Mary kept her eyes on her plate, afraid to look up, afraid that Cloud Walker would see the desire that was surely shining in her eyes. She tried to think about Katherine, tried to remember that she was a married woman, but all she could think about was being out on the prairie alone with Cloud Walker.
When dinner was over, Cloud Walker rose quickly to his feet. "I am going to scout around," he said gruffly, and taking up his rifle, he left the campfire.
Mary breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. She hurriedly washed and dried their few dishes, spread their bedrolls on either side of the campfire, then crawled into her blankets and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
But sleep would not come. She tossed and turned for several minutes and then curled into a tight ball, determined to relax. She did not hear Cloud Walker return, but she knew instantly that he was there. From beneath the veil of her lashes she glanced across the campfire, saw him remove his heavy buckskin shirt. His skin was the color of dark bronze in the faint glow of the dying fire, the muscles in his arms and chest clearly outlined as he moved. His long black hair fell over his shoulders.
Mary's mouth went dry as she watched him stretch. How like a wild Cheyenne warrior he looked in the afterglow of the fire. Never had he looked more handsome, more virile, than he did now with the faint light of the coals dancing over his face and the darkness spread out behind him. A queer little tingle started in the pit of her stomach as she watched him take a last look around their camp before crawling under his blankets. Her heart was beating so hard she was surprised he could not hear it. When, at last, sleep came, her dreams were filled with images of Cloud Walker holding her, touching her, kissing her . . .
They rose early after a restless night. Mary prepared a hasty breakfast while Cloud Walker watered the horses at a nearby stream. After breakfast, Mary washed and dried the dishes and secured their bedrolls while Cloud Walker saddled the horses.
Mary felt better when they were on the trail again. The prairie spread before them for seemingly endless miles, a vast white expanse of gently rolling hills and stands of dense timber. Overhead the sky was a clear bright blue.
In the old days the Indians would have been holed up in the Black Hills, seeking shelter in the steep canyons where the high walls blocked the cold winter wind. Her mother had told her of the symbols and pictures etched on the walls, drawn by various bands to record their history or point the way to convenient campsites and waterholes. Mary had never seen the Black Hills, which were not hills at all but mountains, but her mother had told her of their beauty, of the elk and deer, bobcats and bears, mountain lions and golden eagles that made their home in the hills and canyons. She had a sudden yearning to see the sacred hills, to stand on ground where Indians had once lived, to see the land where her father had once roamed.
As the hours slipped by, Mary began to feel as if they were the only two people left in all the world. Once she saw a fox trotting across the trackless prairie, but that was the only sign of life she saw all that day.
At dusk Cloud Walker drew rein in a stand of timber and they made camp for the night. Mary was determined that they would not have to endure the awful silence of the night before.
"Tell me about your mother," she said after dinner. "What is she like?"
"Gentle," Cloud Walker answered, staring into the flames. "Gentle, but not weak. She raised me after my father died."
"What happened to your father?"
"He was killed at the Greasy Grass."
Cloud Walker nodded. "I wish I had been old enough to fight. I wish our people had never surrendered."
Mary smiled sympathetically. "You sound just like Hawk," Mary mused, "but it doesn't do any good to dwell on what can't be. My father taught me that. No one yearns for the old days as much as he does, but he doesn't waste time looking back. To survive, you have to go forward."
"It is easier for a woman."
"I guess so, though I don't understand why you men are all so eager to fight. War only brings death and heartache."
"So does life on the reservation," Cloud Walker retorted bitterly. "The Cheyenne are a proud people. Our men are brave and wise. They are not children, yet we are treated as though we cannot take care of ourselves. The Indian agent tells us what to do and what to wear. They are trying to turn us into white men. They take the children from the reservation and send them away to school. They cut their hair, and punish them if they speak the Cheyenne language. They want our men to be farmers, but we are not farmers. We are hunters. Our old people grow sick and die. Our young men drink too much firewater because it helps them forget they are no longer warriors."
Reckless Desire Page 17