by Nan Ryan
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“I know and I do appreciate it.” She opened the door. “Now, good night, Danny. Dream of me.”
“I will and you—” The door closed in his face before he could finish the sentence.
Lois leaned back against the door and sighed wearily. Daniel Wilde had become a terrible bore. She wanted something different. Someone different.
Shanaco.
Nineteen
The flag was stirring in the breeze at the top of the pole when Shanaco crossed the parade ground at eight o’clock Monday morning. Soldiers were lined up outside the paymaster’s door. The troopers watched Shanaco as he passed. They made remarks meant for him to hear. He heard. But he paid no attention. He was accustomed to be stared at and talked about.
Shanaco was resented by the troops. A man who catered to no one, he offended the enlisted men and officers alike with his arrogance and pride. They wanted to see him humbled and put in his place. But he moved about the reservation and outlying village as if he were a feudal lord.
He drank in the back room of Jake’s, played poker with anyone who would sit down with him and generally caused a stir wherever he went. In other words, he behaved like a white man. And the white settlers and soldiers didn’t like it.
The one white man who didn’t resent him, the one who had befriended Shanaco from the start, was the Indian agent Double Jimmy. The two respected and genuinely liked each other. And, they had the same goal: to see to that the Indians were well fed, had blankets and warm clothing for the coming winter, and were as content as possible under the circumstances.
On this blustery Monday morning Shanaco was scheduled for yet another meeting with Double Jimmy and Colonel Harkins. He was never really satisfied with the progress made in the lengthy councils. He was not convinced that the fort commandant was overly concerned with the welfare of the Indians. It was becoming increasingly evident that Colonel Harkins didn’t like Indians any more than the troops he commanded.
Skeptical of Harkins’s intentions, Shanaco had voiced his opinion to Double Jimmy. Ever the diplomat, Double Jimmy had assured Shanaco that Colonel Harkins cared about the Indians and could be trusted.
“You must understand, Shanaco,” Double Jimmy had reasoned, “the colonel lost many a good man, many a good soldier, fighting the Indians here in the West.”
“He’s not the only one who lost men,” Shanaco replied with a rapt, steady-eyed gaze. “And women.”
Aware that Shanaco’s parents had been slaughtered in a surprise raid during the long Red River campaign, Double Jimmy said, “I know, I know. There was much bloodshed on both sides. But the colonel is trying to do the right thing by your People, son. Give him a chance. You’ll see.”
Shanaco looked up now and saw Double Jimmy standing on the sally port outside Colonel Harkins’s office. “’Morning, Chief,” Double Jimmy called out, a wide smile on his face.
“Good morning,” Shanaco replied, then stepped up onto the shaded porch and shook hands with the older man. “You doing all right?”
“No complaints whatsoever,” said the man who seemed to be eternally cheerful. “How about you?” Before Shanaco could reply, Double Jimmy said, “Say, I hear you attended the officers’ ball Saturday night.”
“I didn’t have much choice,” Shanaco said.
Double Jimmy laughed and slapped him on the back. “No, not really. But it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Who told you I was there?”
“Who didn’t?” Double Jimmy said with a wink. “Maggie Bankhead, for one. I saw her a few minutes ago on the way to morning classes. Already old news, but I asked her how it went, what happened. She said she danced with you.”
Shanaco nodded. “She was very kind.”
“I’m not surprised. Maggie’s a sweetheart and she always…she is so…say, wait a minute, I have an idea! Maggie’s fixing supper for me tomorrow evening. Why don’t you come with me?”
“I don’t think so,” Shanaco declined.
As if he hadn’t spoken, Double Jimmy said, “Maggie will be pleased to have you join us, I know she will.” He laughed heartily then and warned, “Now, don’t expect a mouthwatering meal. I love Maggie like a daughter but she’s not much of a cook. Bless her heart, she tries, but…” Double Jimmy shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “Maggie grew up in a house full of servants. Never had to turn a hand until she came out here.”
“She seems to have adjusted well.”
“She sure has. She’s always enjoyed a challenge,” Double Jimmy said with frank adoration. “So say you’ll come for supper tomorrow evening.”
“Yes. I’ll come. Why not?”
“Good enough. Now, I guess we better get on inside and meet with the colonel.”
Three hours later, after much discussion and heated debate with Shanaco making demands and Colonel Harkins attempting to placate him, the meeting ended. Double Jimmy and Shanaco parted ways outside. Shanaco headed for the civilian village. Double Jimmy went directly to the fort’s one-room schoolhouse.
At straight up noon the bell rang and rowdy children poured out of the classroom. The last to leave, as usual, were Bright Feather and the aged Old Coyote. Maggie followed them out and watched as Pistol rose off his haunches and affectionately nudged Bright Feather. The little boy laughed and petted the wolfhound’s great head. Maggie smiled and her smile grew broader when she looked up and saw Double Jimmy.
“What a pleasant surprise,” she said, stepping forward to kiss his cheek. “How did this morning’s meeting go?”
“I feel we made some real progress,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it on the way to your cottage.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m not going straight home. Katie Atwood sent word for me to come by her quarters. Said she has something important to tell me.”
“That’s fine. I have plenty of work to do myself. Need to inventory supplies at the agency warehouse. Been putting it off too long.”
Maggie arched an eyebrow. “You might consider letting your hired hands do it.”
“Nah, I better get on over there and help. At least supervise.”
“In that case, I have to run. I told Katie I’d be there as soon as classes ended.”
“Want me to walk you over?”
“No, Pistol’s a great escort. See you tomorrow evening?”
“I’ll be there.” Maggie nodded and turned to leave. Double Jimmy called after her, “Be okay if I bring a guest?”
“Certainly. Anytime. I’m planning on cooking my precious supply of fresh beef, so it’ll be a good time to bring someone.”
She hurried away without bothering to ask who the guest would be. She crossed the parade ground and made her way down Officers’ Row to Katie Atwood’s quarters. When Katie answered her knock, Maggie took one look at her and knew something was wrong.
“Dear Lord in heaven, what is it, Katie? Are you sick again?”
“Oh, Maggie, you’re not going to believe it! We’re leaving Fort Sill!”
“No!” Maggie exclaimed.
“Blake got the orders this morning and came right home to tell me. He’s to report to Fort Richardson in Jacksboro, Texas, in two weeks.”
“Two weeks? That means you’ll be leaving right away!” Maggie said, frowning. “It can’t be true. It can’t.”
“It is. The fifteenth of November is our last day at Fort Sill.” Tears spilled down Katie’s cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” Maggie said, and put her arms around her friend. “I can’t help it,” Katie wept. “I’ll be so lonely down in Texas. I’ll miss you so.”
“And I you,” Maggie said. “But you’ll meet officers’ wives there. You’ll make friends.”
“It won’t be the same,” said Katie.
Maggie set Katie back, looked into her tear-filled eyes and said, “No, it won’t. But I’ll write to you regularly, tell you all the news.” Katie sniffed, nodded. “Now, cheer up and let’s make the most of the time we have left,�
�� Maggie said.
Katie nodded and dashed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Is it too cold out to fix a picnic lunch and walk up to Cache Creek?”
“No, it’s brisk, but the sun’s out and it’s a beautiful day. Let’s do it.”
Twenty
Late Tuesday evening.
Maggie was frazzled. And tired. And wishing she hadn’t invited Double Jimmy to supper.
Maggie’s heavy hair was pinned haphazardly atop her head and she was still in the plain cotton shirt-waist dress she had worn all day. While classes officially ended at noon, she had stayed and spent the long afternoon helping three of the newly arrived Comanche children who were having difficulty learning English.
The three boys were older than most of the students. Aware that the younger the child, the easier he learned a new language, Maggie’s heart went out to the boys. Tall, gangly and shy, they were embarrassed that the younger children could read and write and they couldn’t.
Maggie was afraid they would stop coming to class, and she didn’t want that to happen. If they were to have any chance in their new life, they had to learn English. So one day she had instructed the three, in their native tongue, to stay behind after the other students had gone. She asked the boys if any or all of them would be interested in attending private lessons for just the three of them. A couple of afternoons each week. All had eagerly said yes.
Now, after spending this Tuesday afternoon with the three young Comanches and then visiting Katie, Maggie was finally home. She stood before the cast-iron cookstove, forking sizzling meat and watching a pan of potatoes boiling. She was running late. Double Jimmy was due to arrive for supper any minute. And he was bringing a guest.
Maggie sighed.
She should have cleaned up and started cooking earlier. But after tutoring the three boys she felt that she needed to go by Katie’s instead of coming home. Once there, she had, knowing that their days together were numbered, stayed longer than intended.
Too long.
When finally she had realized it was beginning to get dark, she had raced home. A glance at the clock beside her bed and she grimaced. Twenty minutes of seven! No time to freshen up. Only time to put on the meat, peel some potatoes and rush to set three places at the wooden eating table.
When the loud knock came, Maggie uttered an oath under her breath and poked one last time at the three thick steaks browning in the skillet. She wiped her hands on the dish towel draped over her left shoulder, shoved a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and went to answer.
She yanked the door open and said, “You must be early because I…I…ah, I…” Maggie stopped speaking when she caught sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind Double Jimmy.
Shanaco.
Maggie felt her cheeks grow hot and knew she was blushing. It was the first time she had seen the handsome Comanche chief since having the erotic dream about him. She could hardly look at him. She felt as if he could tell what was going through her mind, as if he knew exactly what she had dreamed.
“You not feeling well, child?” asked a concerned Double Jimmy. “If you’re not up to having company this evening, we’ll understand. Won’t we, Shanaco?”
Avoiding Shanaco’s eyes, Maggie waved a dismissive hand and said, “I’m fine. Do come in. Both of you.”
Double Jimmy nodded and walked inside.
“I believe, Miss Bankhead,” Shanaco said as he ducked his head and stepped through the low doorway, “something’s burning.”
“Oh, good Lord!” she said, and her hands flew up to her flushed face. “The steaks!” She whirled about to rush across the room. Shanaco caught her arm and stopped her.
“Allow me,” he said, and, stepping past her, went directly to the cookstove. He picked up a long handled fork and turned the blackened beef. “Just the way I like my steaks,” he said. “Charred on the outside, pink on the inside.”
“You’re just being nice,” Maggie accused as she stepped up beside him. “I hope Double Jimmy warned you about my cooking.”
“I sure did,” Double Jimmy laughingly admitted, closing the cottage door and moving toward the horsehide sofa.
Shanaco said nothing. Just smiled at her. He eased the dish towel from her shoulder, lifted it to her face and blotted a spot of chalk from her turned-up nose. Their eyes met. And held for a long tension-filled moment.
Finally Maggie took the dish towel from his hand, stepped around him and checked the boiling potatoes. Now they stood side by side at the cookstove, he tending the steaks, she the potatoes. Each knew it was unnecessary. The steaks had been turned, the potatoes poked. Shanaco could have moved away, could have taken a seat on the horsehide sofa or in the armless rocker. Maggie could have turned away and finished setting the table.
Neither moved.
Maggie’s arm brushed his as she jabbed at the boiling potatoes. Shanaco’s shoulder grazed her upper arm as he needlessly turned the steaks again. They stole glances at each other. They smiled as if they shared a delightful secret. Communicating without saying a word, both silently acknowledged the pleasure derived from the simple act of cooking a meal together. There was a curious intimacy about it they both experienced and treasured.
“You two ever going to finish cooking supper?” said Double Jimmy from across the room, breaking the spell. “How long does it take to fry a steak?”
“Almost done,” Maggie said. She looked up at Shanaco and then took the pan of potatoes off the stove and moved away.
Minutes later the three sat at the square eating table enjoying the meal and one another’s company. Shanaco quickly learned that Maggie was as smart as she was pretty. She also had a great sense of humor and entertained both him and Double Jimmy with tales of what went on in the classroom. He listened with interest. He smiled with delight. He tilted his chair back and laughed out loud when, at Double Jimmy’s urging, Maggie told of how she had fallen in a deep mud puddle on her very first day at Fort Sill. She didn’t mind being laughed at. She laughed at herself. A rich, warm musical laugh that enchanted Shanaco. A laugh he knew he could never forget.
Shanaco found that he liked being here. He felt unusually comfortable in this cozy one-room cottage that had been made homelike and hospitable by its beautiful, spirited occupant. Colorful curtains covered the windows and hooked rugs were scattered about on the plank floors. The horsehide sofa and the armless rocker were pulled up close to the fireplace.
Shanaco covertly glanced around. Maggie’s touches were everywhere. Delicate knickknacks and framed pictures and leather-bound books were stacked neatly on shelves. In the far corner of the room was a low bureau atop which a lone lamp cast diffused light on decorative bottles of varying shapes and sizes. Shanaco supposed the bottles were filled with perfumes and oils to care for Maggie’s pale, flawless skin.
There was a small clock on the bureau, a box of stationery, a piece of blue ribbon. But the item that really caught his eye was a gold-handled hairbrush. Its bristles held a few gleaming strands of Maggie’s flaming hair. He would, he mused, like to watch her brush her hair. He’d like to brush it for her.
Next to the bureau was a neatly made bed with warm blankets and an abundance of soft feather pillows. It was easy to envision Maggie in that bed with those fiery red tresses spilling across the snowy white pillows.
Too easy.
Shanaco quickly looked away. His heavy brows knitted with curiosity when he spotted a baseball bat leaning against the wall beside the back door. He wondered what…
Maggie snapped him out of his reveries with a direct question. “Tell the truth, Shanaco. Just how long do you intend to stay here at Fort Sill?”
Shanaco’s dark head swung around. He fixed her with those metallic eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “A couple more weeks at the outside.”
“A couple more weeks!” Maggie repeated. “That’s not nearly long enough and you know it!”
“I will have done all I can do by then. Besides, I made it clear
the day we rode into the fort that I would not be staying permanently.”
“Well, I for one think it’s unforgivable that you refuse to…”
Her blue eyes flashing with indignation, Maggie began berating the Comanche chieftain, speaking her mind, not mincing words. He should not leave the reservation! It was selfish and callous of him to desert his People when they needed him. Surely, as their leader, his responsibility was to remain here permanently. How could he expect them to settle down and live here in peace if he refused to do so?
Shanaco took her blistering reprimands with good grace. He did not defend himself. He did not argue or make any attempt to present his side of the situation. Instead he gazed at her with admiration and interest. She was passionate in her beliefs and not shy about stating them. He liked that. He liked her. And she liked him. He could tell. Liked him more than she wanted to like him.
Too soon the meal was finished. The three of them lingered over their coffee. Double Jimmy was beginning to yawn, ready to call it a night. Maggie and Shanaco were not. Each was afraid that an evening such as this might never come again. Shanaco knew it was unlikely that he would be seeing much of Maggie before he left. Maggie realized that Shanaco would soon be gone from the reservation and she would never see him again.
He’d leave without saying goodbye.
Finally Double Jimmy said, “It’s been a long day, time I was getting home to bed.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “You coming, Chief?”
Shanaco and Maggie glanced at each other across the table. He wanted to stay. She wanted him to stay. He knew he shouldn’t. She knew he shouldn’t. He wondered what would happen if he stayed. She wondered what would happen if he stayed.
Shanaco swallowed hard.
Maggie cleared her throat.
Shanaco guiltily longed to yank Maggie up out of her chair and kiss her the way he had kissed her that day at his cottage. Maggie guiltily yearned to have Shanaco snatch her up out of her chair and kiss her the way he had kissed her that day at his cottage. His eyes fixed on her, Shanaco rose to his feet. Watching him intently, Maggie pushed back her chair and stood up.