Michael went out with him, leaving Jacie and her mother their private moment, everyone else politely doing the same.
"Judd, hear me," Violet said shakily, rocking him gently in her arms. "I love you and you're going to be all right. I won't let you die. I need you. I've always needed you. There's never been anyone but you. I'd die in your place, if I could, but you can't leave me, you can't." She began to weep again, her tears splashing onto his face.
Jacie went to comfort her.
Suddenly Judd's eyes flashed open and he looked at her in pleased wonder, then held out his arms to her and cried, "I love you!"
Violet's heart slammed into her chest to hear, at last, the words she had prayed for through the years.
"I love you..." he repeated faintly.
She began to rain grateful kisses on his face, which had turned almost gray. "Oh, Judd, Judd, how I've longed for this moment. I love you too, darling. I always have, I always will."
"I love you..." He fought for one last breath "... Iris."
And then he died.
Violet uttered a sound like that of a wounded animal and collapsed, while Jacie, struck with her own grief, could only watch and wonder what it all meant.
Chapter 5
The Texas Plains, 1858
The sounds of wailing echoed through the warm and humid night as the Comanche women mourned the death of their chief, Great Bear.
The customary preparations for burial had been completed. The men had bathed him, painted his face, and sealed his eyes shut with clay. They had dressed him in fine clothing, then drawn his knees up to his chest, bent his head forward, and wrapped him in a blanket. Burial would be at dawn, when his body would be placed facing the rising sun on a scaffold made of poles.
Iris sat alone in the tepee she had shared with Great Bear. She had pulled back the bearskin from the opening to signify that visitors could enter without announcing their presence. But no one came; they left her to grieve in private.
Great Bear's death had been a shock to everyone, for he was not an old man. Iris was approaching her forties, as best she could figure, and Great Bear had always seemed perhaps a few years older. He had not even been ill. In the middle of the afternoon he'd entered their tepee, lain down, and died without warning.
There had been nothing Iris could do, although the Indians of their small band had looked to her for a miracle. After all, she had been their medicine woman, their shaman, for a very long time, using the skills handed down from her father and developing others, while adapting her remedies to the herbs and plants available. But that day Great Bear was beyond help. He carried a white man's bullet in his body, he told her long ago. Perhaps that was what had eventually killed him, but there was no way of knowing. He was gone, and despite the tragic circumstances that had brought them together, Iris was saddened by his death.
She closed out the sounds of ritual wailing and allowed her mind to take her back to those early years. How terrified she had been in the wake of such tragedy.
The Comanche had taken her to their camp, where Great Bear had decreed she would nurse his son, who, for the time being, had been named Little Bear. At first she had resented the child and saw him only as a dirty little boy who ran around naked like the other boys. But gradually, as she had held him and nourished him from her own body, a bond had developed between them.
She had been ostracized by the other Indians, given a tepee all to herself. Iris had feared she would be raped by the warriors, who eyed her boldly, hungrily. Then she came to realize that it was a custom among the Comanche that sex was not allowed with a woman nursing a child. After that, she welcomed Little Bear, encouraging him to nurse as long as he wanted, knowing as long as he did so, she would be spared.
There were times, though, when Iris did not care what happened to her. She would cry until there were no more tears, praying to die so she could be with her husband and children. Sometimes Little Bear would come to her as she wept, and though he did not understand, he would try to comfort her as best he could, placing his little arms around her.
The bond grew deeper. After all, the boy was the only person in the world with whom she had real contact. Her food was left outside her tepee. If she ventured outside, she was watched lest she try to run away but otherwise ignored. When camp was moved, some of the men tore down her tepee and she doggedly walked behind the Comanche to their next destination. No one really had anything to do with her except Little Bear.
Then came the time when fever struck the tribe. Little Bear was one of the victims, and when the tribe's shaman could do nothing for him, Iris was allowed to use her medicine. Day and night she sat beside him, sponging his face with cool water and spooning her potion between his parched lips. Slowly, he rallied, and then came the poignant moment when Iris's status among the Comanche would forevermore be changed. Little Bear opened his eyes, looked at her and smiled, and said the magical, wonderful word "Mother."
From that day on, Iris was held in esteem. And something else happened as well. Great Bear saw her in a new light and began to court her in the Indian way. The morning she awoke to find a prize mustang tethered outside her tepee, she knew that Great Bear intended her to be his wife.
Iris had come to accept her lot, and the love she felt for Little Bear played a major part in her new life. But she also believed there was no reason for her to return to the white man's world since her loved ones were all dead. Despite the hardships, she realized, she had found contentment among the Comanche, and so she agreed to marry Great Bear.
Great Bear's first wife had been called Moonstar, for on the night he knew he loved her he had seen a distant twinkling in an otherwise starless night, near a mist-shrouded moon. When Iris was brought to him, there had been another bizarre incident: a lone star shone near a hazy sun, and recalling that on their wedding day, he named her Sunstar.
Great Bear had, to Iris's surprise, been a gentle and patient lover, but it was her first husband, Luke, who would forever possess her heart. She had named their first-born son after him and somewhere along the way, she could not remember exactly when, she had begun to call Little Bear by the same name, even though he was dubbed Howling Wolf after his vision quest was fulfilled.
Luke shared his innermost thoughts and feelings with the woman he loved as a mother, and he had told her about that fateful night, when he was nearly twelve. Carrying the customary items, a buffalo robe, a bone pipe, tobacco, and lighting materials, he had left the camp and gone to an isolated hill. Four times he had stopped to smoke and pray.
He'd had two visions—one of a wolf standing on the edge of a cliff howling wildly, and another of many white birds drifting in and about black clouds in an azure sky.
Iris had listened raptly, then, taking advantage of the Indians' superstitious nature, she had gone to Great Bear and given him her interpretation of Luke's dreams. "He is destined to be a peace maker." She had reminded him of how the Indians' world was changing as the white man moved ever westward and urged him to allow Luke to be properly educated to prepare him for the vision he had seen.
Great Bear had told her he would think about all she said, and he had—for five years. During that time, Luke became a strong and fearless warrior. Iris bit her tongue to keep silent when he returned from raids with many scalps, for she had learned to cope by trying not to see the primitive and savage side of her environment.
But then, without warning and to Iris's delight, Great Bear told Iris he would send his son to study with missionaries at a settlement just across the Mexican border.
Luke was gone for nearly three years. When he returned, he had changed in many ways. He could read and write and speak English fluently. He no longer wore his hair parted in the center and braided on either side. He had also stopped plucking his facial and body hair. With his civilized looks, Iris knew he could easily pass for a white man who just happened to have dark skin.
Iris also knew that Luke was still Comanche in his soul and always would be, for he lo
ved his people and his heritage. That was why it came as a big surprise when he told his father that he felt their band should no longer engage in raids on the white man that resulted in bloodshed for both sides.
Great Bear agreed, and they concentrated on hunting buffalo instead of attacking the settlers and stealing from them. But then the government began rounding up Indians and sending them to reservations. Great Bear vowed never to surrender and, consequently, had been striving ever since to avoid the army.
Iris took the moving about, the running, in stride, for she kept busy. After realizing education had meant so much to his son, Great Bear had finally allowed Iris to begin teaching the children. Between instructing them and continuing to minister to the sick, she felt her life took on new meaning.
But now Great Bear was gone and she faced an uncertain future.
Suddenly a shadow fell across the opening of the tepee, and Iris gave a soft cry of joy as Luke entered. "You came, my son," she said, holding her arms out to him. "I was afraid you wouldn't."
He squeezed her hands, then dropped down to sit beside her. "We were on our way back when we saw the smoke signals and heard the drums. Tell me what happened."
Iris well knew how stoic warriors could be but she could see the grief in Luke's eyes. She related the tale of his father's death.
After a long silence, Luke nodded, relieved to know his father had apparently not suffered.
"His body has been prepared," she said. "The men were waiting for you to perform the other rituals." She quelled a shudder when she thought of how Great Bear's favorite horse would be shot.
Luke seemed to know what she was thinking and said, "I'll cut off the tail and mane of his horse and leave it on his grave. The tribe cannot spare a horse. Especially now."
Iris understood After all, it was summer, and high hunting season for buffalo. The animals were fat and had shed their winter hair. Hides were at their prime, and Luke had been out with his band scouting for the vicinity of the herds. A communal hunt would begin soon, with temporary camps set up near wood and water. Iris had always looked forward to hunting season, for even though the hunts meant hard labor for everybody, it was a time for eating, rejoicing, and merriment, with dances held nightly around huge campfires. Iris thought of it as harvest time for the Indians. But now, there would be no celebrations as Great Bear was mourned.
Luke said, "I want you to know that even though I learned from the missionaries the foolishness of superstitions, I must honor the ways of our people. My father was a great man, and the tribe believes his ghost is even more powerful, so we have to move away from this camp by sundown. This tepee will have to be burned, along with any of my father's possessions that aren't taken with him to the scaffold."
"I'll start getting my things ready."
Luke was thoughtfully quiet for a moment, then said, "I have decided to set you free. You may go back to your own people. I'll send the others on ahead while I take you close enough to Clear Creek so you can go the rest of the way by yourself. You can take whatever you want that belonged to my father. Although it is the custom to destroy everything, I know he would want you to have—"
"No." She looked at him in astonishment and shook her head slowly. "I have no people to go back to. This is my home. And you are the son of my heart. Do you think I could bear to leave you? I had a chance many years ago, remember? And I chose to stay."
Luke smiled and put his arm about her shoulders. The memory was still vivid. She had wandered away from the camp just before a small cavalry unit attacked. The Comanche managed to flee but were forced to abandon Iris, who was found by the soldiers. Seeing she was white, they took her back to their post to hold her till family could be located. She kept telling them she had no family except the Comanche and wanted to return to them. The soldiers were horrified and refused to let her go, but she had managed to escape at just the right moment, because Great Bear and the warriors had been about to attack the fort and take her. She ran right into them, and together they hurried back to the wilderness. Iris had never had a moment's regret.
"Yes, I remember, all right," Luke said, able to laugh despite his sorrow over his father. "That was just before I became a warrior, but I went along with the men. I had my bow and my arrows, and I was ready to do battle with the blue-legged soldiers to get my mother back."
Iris was not laughing. "And now you want me to leave."
"No, I don't. But it's for the best. You need someone to care for you, and it's the custom for a widow to marry her husband's brother. I'm chief now. Do you want me to send you to Standing Tail's tepee? He already has three wives."
Iris clenched her fists, beating them on her knees as she declared, "No. And I don't need anyone to look after me, either. I can take care of myself. Besides," she said, lavender eyes sparkling, "you can take care of your mother since you don't have a wife."
"I can take care of you even then if you choose to stay, but I want you to know I'm willing to give you your freedom."
Iris felt she already had freedom of a sort—to teach the children and love them as though they were her own, to help the sick and wounded. She also felt blessed to belong somewhere, to have a reason for living. "There came a time when Great Bear would have let me go, had I asked him to," she said. "I've stayed because I love all of you, Luke. Please don't send me back now. I promise not to be a burden."
"You could never be a burden." He got to his feet. "I'm happy you want to stay. And don't worry. If you do not want a husband, I won't decree you should have one. You'll be a teacher, a medicine woman, and everyone will take care of you if need be."
Iris also stood. It was time she joined the others for open weeping, lest they be offended and think she did not truly grieve for her husband. She paused and turned to her son. "But what about you, my son? When will you take a wife? You need someone."
Luke did not lack for the company of women. Unmarried girls had been slipping into his tepee for years, but he had not slept with one yet that he truly cared about.
He took her arm as they left the tepee. "Don't worry about me. When I meet someone just like you I'll marry her. Till then," he said with a wink, "I prefer my freedom."
Chapter 6
Hearing Judd admit with his dying breath what she had always known but sought to conquer, Violet felt she no longer had any reason to live.
She spoke only once, to ask that Judd be buried in his favorite spot beneath the mimosa tree. After that, she remained silent, not even acknowledging those who came to pay their respects as she sat next to Judd's coffin in the big room of the cabin.
Jacie, seated beside her, accepted the condolences for both of them and worried about her mother.
Violet had not shed another tear since the night Judd died whispering Iris's name. Everyone thought she was in a deep state of grief, when actually she was wallowing in self-pity and rage. All the years of trying to make Judd love her, waiting on him hand and foot, treating him like a king, feeling guilty about deceiving him—her sacrifices had come to naught. He had never loved her. Only Iris.
Now her life was truly meaningless.
When Judd was buried and the last clod of red Georgia clay had been packed down with the back of a shovel, Violet went inside the cabin, to the bed she had shared with him. She lay down... and she did not get up.
A few days after the funeral, Dr. Foley went by to see Violet at Michael's request and reported afterward that there was nothing he could do for her. "She's wasting away. She refuses food and hasn't uttered a sound since the night Judd died. She's obviously made up her mind she wants to die too, and she will eventually get her wish."
When Michael drew Jacie from Violet's bedside to share Dr. Foley's dire prediction, she said drearily, "I know. I beg her to eat but she just lies there, staring out the window at Daddy's grave and acting like she doesn't hear a word I say."
"I should never have agreed to let him be buried there."
"I don't think it would have made any difference. She's
going to grieve herself to death because she wants to, and there's nothing we can do."
Michael frowned to note Jacie's appearance. She had not left her mother's side, snatching a few hours of sleep each night in a chair next to the bed. There were deep circles under her eyes, and her face was pale, drawn. The ordeal was taking its toll and he voiced his concern. "Jacie, this has got to stop. I'm not going to let you make yourself sick. I'm going to move you and your mother to my house. The servants can look after her, and you can get some rest."
But she declined Michael's invitation. "I don't think that's a good idea," she told him. "I'll just do what I can for her and pray she comes out of this."
"I don't approve, and if she's not better soon, I'm going to move you both over there regardless. Meanwhile, I'll leave Sudie here. You can send her to get me whenever you need me."
Jacie was in no mood to argue.
"Something else," he said. It was twilight, and he had coaxed her to the front porch. "I know you've got other things on your mind right now, but I've been thinking that we shouldn't wait to get married. Everyone will understand how you need someone to take care of you and your mother, so as soon as she's better, we'll set a date."
"I don't think—"
He pressed a fingertip to her lips. "Jacie, we've waited long enough."
Jacie was suddenly feeling smothered. "I don't know. I can't think about it right now." As good as he was to her, as comforted as she felt when he was near, Jacie just wished he would leave her alone for the time being. "I really should get back inside."
She turned to go, but he pulled her close. "Listen to me. Fate kicked us in the teeth the night your father died. For so many years I had waited for that special moment to ask you to marry me, and I refuse to let anything else stand in our way."
She could see the misery and desperation in his eyes, and he unconsciously dug his fingers into her flesh, he held her so tightly. His face was lined with tension, and she was about to attempt once more to make him understand that she could not now cope with thoughts of marriage, a wedding, but he suddenly could contain himself no longer and brought his lips down on hers in a kiss that was almost bruising in its intensity.
Tin-Stars and Troublemakers Box Set (Four Complete Historical Western Romance Novels in One) Page 103