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 loved 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.
She yielded only for a moment before turning her head away to say, "I really have to get back inside."
Releasing her, he stepped back, rubbing at his temples with his fingers. He turned his back on her to stare at her father's grave beneath the tree, anger helplessly rising as he silently cursed Judd Calhoun for dying when he had. It wasn't fair, damn it...
He admonished himself for being so childish and whirled back around. "I'm sorry," he said wearily. Then, attempting to lighten the mood, "I want to see you wear the necklace again," he said. "I'll never forget how it looked on you."
Jacie thought of it, wrapped in a handkerchief and hidden beneath her mattress. "I will. Now I really do have to get back to my mother." She hated to seem ungrateful or cold, but too much was happening. Her mind was spinning.
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "I'll be back in the morning."
She went into the cabin to find Sudie standing in the middle of the room staring at her with frightened eyes. "Your momma's been talkin' funny," she said.
The child was obviously upset, and as much as Jacie longed to rush to her mother, she instead dropped to her knees in front of Sudie to clutch her shoulders and say, "There's no reason for you to be afraid. This means she's getting better."
"No, it don't, 'cause she's been talkin' to your daddy like he's still alive, but he ain't, so that means she's talkin' to his ghost."
"There's no such thing as ghosts." Jacie stared past her into the bedroom. Her mother had likely been talking in her sleep. She gave Sudie a hug. "I'll go see about her now. I won't be long." Then Jacie entered the room quietly and eased into the chair beside the bed. Her mother appeared to be sleeping, but the chair squeaked ever so slightly and Violet's eyes flashed open.
"Jacie," she whispered feebly, raising a wan, beckoning hand.
Jacie leaned to clasp her fingers, alarmed at how cold they were. "Are you feeling better?" she asked anxiously. "Let me get you some soup. You need to eat."
"No. Listen. There's something I have to tell you before I go."
"Don't talk like that. You're going to get your strength back and everything is going to be fine. You'll see." Jacie forced a smile.
Despite her frailty, Violet was able to muster the strength to squeeze Jacie's hand almost hard enough to hurt her. "You have to listen. I don't want to live, child. I want to die, but first I've got to make peace with my Maker. I can't do that till I confess to you what I did. You have to know."
Jacie could only stare at her expectantly, and for some strange reason, fearfully as well.
"Now do what I tell you." Violet raised herself up to point to a dark corner of the room. "Go to my trunk, over there. Take everything out. There's a false bottom. Lift that up. You'll find a blanket there. Bring it to me." She sank back against the pillows.
Jacie did as she was told. The trunk was old. Her mother had had it as long as she could remember, using it to store linens. Jacie removed everything, then felt the bottom and realized it was indeed loose. Lifting it out, she found a soft bundle.
Her mother held out her arms for the bundle she had concealed for so many years. Jacie gave it to her and watched curiously as she ran her fingers along the blanket's hem.
Violet felt the telltale lump. From time to time in the past, as the thread had dry-rotted she had restitched the seam, but now she did not have the strength to break it. "Help me," she said.
Why on earth, Jacie wondered in alarm, was she wanting to rip open the hem of a blanket? Maybe she really was losing her mind. She started to take it from her, "This can wait till tomorrow. I'm going to get you some soup."
Violet held firm to the blanket. "No." Her eyes narrowed with determination. "Break the threads, Jacie. You have to see what's inside."
Jacie was bewildered. Leaning closer, she saw the bulge she had not noticed before.
"I couldn't tell you while Judd was alive." Violet felt herself becoming dizzier by the minute as the shadows were coming closer, reaching out for her. She prayed for enough
time to tell her story. Only then could she die in peace, when her soul was at last cleansed of the sin of deceit that had tormented her for eighteen years.
"Judd would have been angry with me for not telling him the truth. He would have left me, and I couldn't let that happen, because I was foolish enough to think I could make him love me. I never stopped trying, and it wasn't till he died that I realized what a fool I'd been. He could never love anybody except her."
"My aunt Iris." Jacie wondered what her father's infatuation with her aunt had to do with the blanket and whatever secret her mother had kept from him.
"Help me rip the seam open, and you will understand."
Jacie decided to humor her. With a quick snap, she broke the threads and was surprised to see a locket and a small leather pouch inside.
"I never touched any of the money," Violet said, indicating the pouch. "I don't even know how much is there. I felt it belonged to you."
Jacie focused on the locket. Opening it, she gasped at her own likeness. "It's a daguerreotype, and it looks like me."
Just then, Sudie started through the door, curious to see if everything was all right. Before anyone noticed her she saw Miss Jacie holding up what looked like a tiny painting of a woman and heard Miss Violet say something that made her freeze in her tracks.
"That is your mother."
Backing away, Sudie went to stand outside the door. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but could not resist after what she had just overheard.
Jacie looked from the locket to Violet in astonishment. "No. It can't be."
"It is. She was your mother, not your aunt. And her husband Luke was not your uncle, he was your father."
Jacie shook her head. She could not grasp what was being said. Her mother had to be out of her head, yet, as Jacie continued to regard her own image, something told her Violet spoke the truth.
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