Romance: The Bad Boy Affair: A Second Chance Romance

by Veronica Cross

  Now’s not the time to clutter your mind with these kinds of thoughts. You’re in enough trouble as it is.

  “Sorry,” Bridget said, continuing on in her blundering when she realized she hadn’t answered and that Ishkode was watching her. “Let me get you some coffee first.” She moved inside, shutting the door on him unlike the previous night. She needed a few moments to get her feelings under control. The moment she was alone, Bridget dashed into the bedroom, locating her boots. She pulled them on, taking far longer than necessary with the laces because her fingers worked so clumsily.

  She did her best to make her hair looked presentable with a quick look in the mirror. Her pale skin stood out to her like never before. She wondered what Ishkode thought of it. It must be all he saw, she figured. Shaking herself again, Bridget remembered why she’d come inside, leaving Ishkode standing on the porch and rushed to the kitchen. It felt as if the water for coffee took forever to boil, but at last she was bringing two cups onto the porch. She was sure that she wouldn’t touch her own cup, just as she’d left her coffee to grow cold the evening before. She was far too nervous to put her mind on anything but keeping herself together and handling a hot beverage seemed particularly precarious. Ishkode, on the other hand, didn’t seem ill at ease in the slightest. She wondered how that could be and envied him.

  Even as she watched him drink the coffee she’d made and lean against the wooden pillar of the front porch looking out over the land her people had taken from his, Bridget was surprised to realize that the hostile guard Ishkode had presented to her on the first meeting had dropped slightly. But, what was even more shocking was that, with the absence of such contempt, Bridget found the Indian’s fine facial features and castory skin alluring. Her father would have her hide for such thoughts. Thankfully, he couldn’t read her mind and he wasn’t present to catch any indication of her feeling which might creep onto her face. She knew that she was letting her mind run away with her, knew how wrong it was to entertain such thoughts. But, in her heart of hearts she couldn’t help it.

  Bridget wanted to kick herself when she jumped as his eyes turned once again on her. It seemed that those few moments alone hadn’t done her much good. “It was good of you to stay last night. I really do appreciate it,” she said, hoping that she’d still have the chance to make up for the awkwardness with which she’d handled the entire morning.

  As usual, Ishkode only nodded.

  “I wouldn’t have expected it.”

  Immediately, Bridget realized how this sounded and wished to take it back, but it actually brought a wry smile to Ishkode’s lips. “Yes. It was my mother.”

  Bridget’s eyebrows lifted in question.

  Ishkode shifted, his attractive jaw working with the first sign of discomfort thus far. “I knew she would wish for me to stay and make sure that you were alright.”

  Bridget smiled. “That was nice of her. She’s a fine woman.” Yes, even if she is a Lakota.

  “She likes you.” Ishkode’s gaze was back on the lay of the land and Bridget was once again reminded that any thanks or praise such as this from his lips was a rare gift and she must be careful, knowing that they treaded on unsteady ground.

  “Does she?” Bridget said, working to keep her tone light. “She seems not to be scared away by my…paleness.”

  Ishkode brought his lips, but spoke before taking a drink. “She always did hope that we could get on with the white men. She still does.”

  Bridget paused, uncertain of how to reply. “I like her too. Very much. She was very kind to me. So were you.”

  As she’d expected, Ishkode didn’t appear altogether comfortable with this. Bridget dared to wonder if his own feelings were in turmoil.

  One thing Bridget’s confused mind had managed to work out through this series of encounters: She’d realized it wasn’t about being the cruelest, the one most adept at standing up against the ‘enemy.’ It was about ethics. Or morals or something that the teachers at Vermilion Lake Indian School had forgotten. Bridget believed that things could always be worked out—a wrong could always be righted. It seemed that Megis was holding fast to the same sentiment. But, what could either of them do about it? They were in hostile territory when it came to pushing past prejudice.

  “Come,” Ishkode said, draining the last of the coffee from his cup. “I’ll help you tend the horses.”

  All Bridget could do was nod. They made good time finishing the tasks of the morning.

  Stopping for a rest, Bridget filled her hands with water from the pump, taking a long drink. She exhaled when she was through, her eyes roaming her family’s work. Her father took great pride in having built this land up and, in turn, so did she. Bridget pulled herself back to “I appreciate your help even though…well, you know.”

  Ishkode was tracking perfectly with her train of thought. “Though the lands were my people’s.”

  Bridget couldn’t bring herself to look at him. It was exactly what she meant. She remained silent, unsure of how this conversation was going to end. As usual, it didn’t go in the direction she’d expected.

  “The land means much to you as well, I can see. If that is true of your family, I wonder that they can’t see what it means to my people.”

  She knew that he’d watched her relishing the sight of the land a few moments earlier. His words were few and simple, but quite right. So right, that Bridget’s head throbbed at the thought of what she needed to do. As they worked wordlessly side by side, she knew that she’d been wrong in her earlier belief that there was nothing she could do about the chasm between the white settlers and their close neighbors. She had a voice, didn’t she? She needed to speak up about this. She would need to be careful, but denying what she knew was right wasn’t working.

  Bridget planned to speak with her uncle first thing the following morning. However, hard as she tried to convince herself that this too could be settled fairly, doubts crowded in and she began to dread what the meeting the next day would hold.

  ***

  “Please finish the rest of the page and bring it back tomorrow. That’s all I have for you today for homework. Class dismissed.”

  Bridget had abandoned her original lesson plan and taken it easy on the students today. She’d had in mind to move into the next chapter of the math text, but after making mistake after mistake in her own solving of the problems, she’d given up, choosing to keep the learning of the lesson for the next day. She knew why it had been so difficult to concentrate. Her family would be home by now and she hadn’t the faintest idea what kind of chaos would ensue when they found out about Joseph and, more importantly, Ishkode. In fact, thoughts of Ishkode himself taking up space in her thoughts was far more the problem. It was torture being unable to get him off of her mind. He’d done one good thing for her, but things would become very complicated very quickly if she allowed herself to dwell on the encounter more than necessary. Any feelings beyond indifference would be considering out of line for certain.

  “Miss Moore?” Bridget looked up to see Maude, one of her shier student’s whose face always held a hint of hesitance standing before her. At first, Bridget had expected that the hesitance was a precursor to disobedience. However, it didn’t take long for her to realize that Maude had no desire to challenge authority, only to be rewarded for her hard work. A mutual, unspoken understanding formed between student and teacher and Bridget did her best to demonstrate to the young girl how much Maude’s hard work truly did mean to her as an instructor. Bridget wrestled with the relief obedience to her authority brought while somehow wishing there was a way the girl could manage this without forfeiting her own culture as was the purpose of the Vermilion Indian School. It was a problem she didn’t have a solution for.

  “Yes, Maude?”

  “I have the homework I did while I was ill. I am sorry it is late.”

  “Don’t worry, Maude, I’ll gladly accept the assignments now. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  Sickness was common in the stu
dent’s living quarters. Uncle Levi and other said that it was the fault of the natives—disease followed them like the plague. But, Bridget knew it wasn’t that—the whites were as apt to become ill as the Indians. It was the closeness of the dormitories which was made worse by the fact that proper medical attention was not supplied to the students when the need arose. Naturally, Maude hadn’t returned home for the duration of her illness. Bridget wasn’t even sure that the girl’s family lived within one hundred miles of the school. She hoped that the girl’s days of recovery had been at least a little restful.

  Maude smiled, shyly. “I do feel better. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Bridget watched the girl go, realizing that a white girl in these parts would have swiftly been transported to her home for the duration of her illness. The teacher had grown fond of a number of her students and, in her opinion, this girl was no different than any settler’s daughter. The strident rules about keeping students from their parents wasn’t right simply because her students were natives.

  Especially after last night, it was hard for Bridget to act like her admiration and respect for her students wasn’t growing with each passing day. She secretly despised anyone who believed these young people to be inferior. They’d not be treated as such on her clock if she could help it.

  Bridget gathered her books, knowing that if she was going to speak with her uncle, now was the time. It was frightening to think of how damaging her lack of prejudice toward Ishkode and his family could be to her relationship with her family. Was she prepared to risk their support and trust for an Indian? For Ishkode?

  As if thoughts of her uncle summoned him, he caught her as she was leaving her room. “Bridget, can I talk to you?” It looked as if he’d be the one in charge of this meeting and not Bridget.

  She didn’t know how he would have found out, but she was sure that her uncle was about to get her in trouble and what could it be about other than her encounter with Iskhode? Levi would abhor the fact that Bridget had accepted charity from Indians. Working to remain calm, she reminded herself that she’d had little choice but to allow them to help her. Would he have preferred for her to be chased by Joseph or worse? If she lost ground during the argument, she could even fabricate some details about how she felt uncomfortable and unsafe the entire time she was on the reservation and how Ishkode’s mother was hostile toward her. Even as she planned out this escape route, thinking of lying about Megis was like a knife in Bridget’s side. The old woman had been nothing but kind and Bridget would sully her reputation for what? To keep her uncle happy?

  “Of course.” Bridget’s heart was pounding. He must have already figured out about the encounter and his objections must be all sorted. He was remaining professional where others in the hallway could see them, but once she was alone with him, Levi would have no qualms with giving full vent to how inappropriate her behavior had been. Bridget remembered the excuses and fibs she’d prepared ahead of time as she shut her classroom door.

  Taking a deep breath, Bridget entered her uncle’s office. She never would have imagined she’d be placed in this predicament; not in a million years.

  “Ah, Bridget.”

  Bridget was taken aback by the welcoming expression on Levi’s face followed by the look of concern that over took his features just after the greeting. “Are you alright? That’s a terrible thing that happened to you last night. I always knew that that Joseph fellow would continue to be trouble if he wasn’t kept under control. Isaiah said you weren’t hurt.”

  “No, I wasn’t hurt. Thanks, Uncle.” Bridget’s mind was working fast. What on earth could he want to see her about if it wasn’t to reprimand her for exhibiting sympathy toward the natives?

  Levi reseated himself and motioned for Bridget to take the chair across from his desk. “How is everything going?”

  “Fine.” The suspense was mounting as Bridget continued to wonder what he wanted. “Is something wrong?” she ventured.

  “No,” Levi was quick to respond. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright after your encounter with that frightening Injun. I understand one of his sons is your student.”

  “His only son,” Bridget said.

  Levi’s expression held bewilderment at her knowledge.

  “Uh, yes, Thomas, he is in one of my classes.”

  “Ah, the troublemaker.”

  To keep things simple, Bridget only nodded.

  “Considering the unmanageable nature of the boy, I’d say that we’d do best to be thankful that you didn’t come to any harm at his father’ s hands last night.”

  This statement was all the invitation Bridget needed to broach her petition. “Well, I don’t think that keeping him forcefully from his father for months on end has helped the situation.” She inwardly released a breath. There, she’d said it. The damage was done. The words could not be taken back.

  Levi stood, rounding the desk to stand in front of her. “Are you questioning the methods of the school?”

  Bridget’s heart pounded. She was, it would be a lie to deny it.

  Levi’s expression was severe. He looked just like her father when he spoke of the Indians. She hated going against them—it was territory she’d rather not test.

  “You might be a teacher here,” He said. “But the leaders of this establishment have had far more dealings with the savages than you Bridget and know far better.”

  She was out of her depth. “They’re human beings too, Uncle,” Bridget managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Who says they’re not?”

  Denial. He, and, frankly, the entire establishment, knew exactly how to word their arguments so that they were allowed to uphold their own views, right or wrong. Before getting into this, she’d already known that her uncle wouldn’t listen to her without resistance. He was set in his ways. His prejudice had rendered him blind to the injustice the school embraced, was built on.

  “What are you saying?” Levi asked.

  Before Bridget could answer, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Levi snapped, annoyed at being interrupted—at the chance to set Bridget straight being postponed, no doubt. “What is it, Karl?” he asked of Mr. Jameson, an overseer of the school’s living quarters.

  The spindly man nodded to Bridget, turning to Levi. “Levi, there’s been another complaint about Edward.”

  Bridget looked to her uncle for clarification, but he paid her no attention.

  “He’s been…injured again.”

  “It was probably one of the other students.

  Mr. Jameson glanced at Bridget as if he was hesitant to speak with her present. Her expression assured him that she wasn’t going anywhere. “There’s a witness who says it was Charles Mason.”

  Levi scoffed, but it wasn’t as convincing as he surely hoped. “Who said that? Ridiculous, accusing one of the school’s teachers.”

  Again, Mr. Jameson glanced at Bridget. She nodded at him, irritated by the fact that he intended to conceal his news from her.

  “Gideon.”

  Levi scowled, but Bridget detected a flash of fear behind his haughty eyes. “Gideon? The blacksmith? He’s half-Injun. We can’t trust his judgement.”

  “His father’s a member of the board,” Mr. Jameson went on, hesitantly.

  Again, the hint of fear.

  “How could Gideon have witnessed anything? Where was he?” Levi waved his hands, dismissively before Mr. Jameson could answer. “Never mind. I’ll look into it.”

  Evidently more than willing to pass the problem off and be done with it, Mr. Jameson nodded, bid Bridget a good day and was gone.

  Bridget raised her eyebrows, looking straight at her uncle. The situation perfectly supported her own case and, from the look on Levi’s face, he knew it full well.

  Still his defensive and confident front remained. “This is none of your affair, Bridget Moore.”

  Bridget exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Last night was an example that color doesn’
t matter when it comes to man’s tendency for ill-doing. Joseph would have tried to murder Pa if he’d been at home last night and I don’t know what he would have done to me if he’d been given the chance. That’s white man to white man. If they are equal to us, then the instructor should be dealt with no differently than Joseph. What did he do to the student?”

  “They aren’t equal,” Levi said, his tone telling her that this conversation was over. “Charles Mason acted as a teacher of this school. I’m sure the Injun deserved it. It’ll be resolved in no time.”

  Bridget’s blood boiled as her uncle turned away, cutting off any chance she might have of forming a response. His formal “Good afternoon” was the last straw. She turned, leaving the room quickly in the hopes of avoiding complete severance with her father’s only sibling.

  Bridget had to work hard to maintain her composure as she made her way from the school. Her knuckles were white as they gripped her armload of text books. She wanted to pound her fists like an unmanageable child would in her frustration with herself. She’d been close to making her sentiments known and had still backed out, once again failing to speak out against the injustice that had become normal. Overlooking the wrong doing in regards to the students had to stop. There were boys like Thomas— he was a trial to her and still tested her patience regularly. But, there were white boys who, taken forcefully from their parents against their will would act the same way. Heavens, boys who hadn’t been taken from their homes could be incorrigible. How many months had it been since father and son had seen each other? It could very well be getting close to a year since it was Bridget’s understanding that Thomas had been removed from his family far before the start of the school year. Forced separation from family was just one injustice which needed to be dealt with.

  Once again, her mind was made up. The plans that formed in Bridget’s head as she walked hastily home, made confronting her uncle this afternoon look like child’s play.