Deep down, he had a nagging suspicion that Penelope was less in love with him than that he was her desperate last chance at a normal life. The war had been so utterly brutal that most of the young, able-bodied men who had once ruled the South were lying now beneath the earth. Left behind were thousands of women longing for homes, husbands, and children. A man who still had his legs, arms, hands, and senses intact was a prize indeed.
There was every chance that Penelope felt nothing more for him than her father would have felt while choosing a prize stallion. She knew he had not fought in the war, so she would be gambling on the chance that he was still healthy and strong. She was also gambling on the chance that his great love for her would pull him back to her if she crooked her little finger.
The problem was—she was not entirely wrong. He had loved her once and deeply. After all that had happened, even he was surprised that the pull to go back to her was so strong.
5
Moon Song saw Skypilot’s head pivot toward the woman in the yellow dress the moment he heard her voice. She also saw his approving glance before he tore his eyes away. Skypilot was not the kind of man to gawk at another man’s wife, but he was still a man, and the way he’d looked at that woman bothered her. It was a peek into his soul that she did not like. There was a hunger there, and she did not think it was for the woman. There seemed to be something else in his eyes. Something far away that Moon Song could not fathom.
As they stood on the deck with so much movement about them, her eyes caught sight of Delia standing on the shore, waving frantically. Moon Song lifted a hand and waved back. The old woman needn’t have bothered to see them off. They had said their good-byes yesterday.
Delia cupped one hand around her mouth and tried to shout something, but a blast of the steam whistle drowned her out. Moon Song jumped at the blast and clapped both hands over her ears.
That was another reason she was glad to leave this place. Her senses were more acute than most. That gift had saved their lives back in the fall when she had sensed the forest fire coming and awakened the lumber camp in time for everyone to get to the safety of the lake.
There was a negative side to this gift, though. The blast of that whistle made her feel as though someone was physically piercing the inner parts of her ears. It must have had the same effect on Ayasha because he began to wail, and he was a baby who almost never cried.
She pulled the cradle board off her back to comfort him, just as the steamship’s whistle let off with another blast. Instinctively, she covered her child’s ears and withstood the pain herself.
Skypilot seemed immune to the sound. He was leaning over the deck railing, trying to hear what Delia was shouting at them. She noticed now that Delia was waving a package in the air.
“It looks like Delia brought you something,” he said.
Moon Song and Skypilot started working their way toward the gangplank while Delia elbowed her way through the crowd on the shore, trying to get closer to the ship. Delia had dressed for the occasion, wearing what Moon Song thought of as the older woman’s war paint. Rouged cheeks, darkened eyes, bright red lips, a bottle-green silk dress that shone in the sun. She even wore a matching hat with a green plume that rose into the air, adding another six inches to her height.
Delia was a parade, even when she was alone.
Moon Song couldn’t help but notice the looks that the former brothel owner was getting. Disapproving glances from both men and women. Even Bay City wasn’t uncivilized enough to tolerate a woman like Delia out and about in broad daylight. She apparently couldn’t have cared less. Delia was on a mission. Moon Song discovered what that mission was the minute they met on the gangplank.
“This just arrived.” Delia shoved a bundle at her. “It’s for you. I’d been having it made as a surprise, but then you decided to leave so quickly. I think it might be helpful where you’re going. I hired a Chippewa woman I know to make it for you.”
“What is it?”
“That would spoil the surprise. Don’t open it until you’re back in your room.”
“We need to take this gangplank up, ma’am, we’re leaving,” a crew member said. “Right now.”
There was another steam whistle blast. Moon Song jumped, and Ayasha once again started crying.
“Don’t worry.” Delia seemed unperturbed. “They’re not going to just go off and dump us in the lake.”
Moon Song wasn’t so sure.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned through the years . . .” Delia patted Moon Song’s cheek. “Listen to me now, child, I’m trying to tell you something important . . . it is that a woman doesn’t get anywhere in this world by trying to act like she’s something she’s not. About the only thing you get from that is sad. Don’t you ever apologize for who you are, and don’t ever, ever let other people tell you who or what they think you ought to be. Do you hear me?”
Moon Song nodded.
“Good.”
Delia blew Skypilot a kiss and took her time sashaying down the gangplank, ignoring the scowls from the bystanders.
Moon Song glanced up at Skypilot and saw that he was grinning as he watched Delia disembark.
“If the Confederate Army had possessed half the brass of that woman,” he said, “they might have won the war.”
Moon Song did not get many gifts, and the fact that Delia had brought her one delighted her. What could it be to make Delia go to so much trouble?
“Hold, please.” Moon Song thrust the now-quiet baby into Skypilot’s arms and inspected the bundle. It appeared to have been wrapped in leather. She untied the leather thong holding it together, and the bundle fell apart in her hands. She gasped when she saw what it was.
Instead of being wrapping, the leather itself was the gift. The light-colored, fringed, beaded doeskin dress with matching leggings was lovely. She held it up to herself and saw that Delia had guessed her size accurately. It was a beautiful piece of clothing. One of the nicest she had ever owned.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over the railing at Delia. “Miigwetch!” Then she remembered that Delia wouldn’t understand what she was saying and switched to English. “Thank you!”
Delia looked back, grinned, and waved.
Then the ship began to back away from the shoreline, and the faces of the people onshore grew smaller and smaller until all she could make out was Delia’s bottle-green hat in the distance.
“Look!” She held the garment up for Skypilot to see.
“I knew Delia was worried about whether or not it would be finished in time,” he said. “It’s a nice gift.”
“Delia is good woman,” Moon Song said. “Very kind.”
“I don’t know about that,” Skypilot said. “From what I’ve heard, she’s not always been good, or kind, but I’m glad she got that gift for you since you like it so much.”
“When I walk through woods, this will be good. Briars not tear.”
“Yes, I can see how protective this would be.” He fingered the soft doeskin. “Maybe I’ll have to have me some leather clothing made.”
“No.” Moon Song looked him up and down. “You take too big deer!”
He laughed. “Was that a joke, Moon Song? Don’t worry, I’ll not be staying long enough on the Keweenaw to need a buckskin suit.”
As Moon Song carefully folded the clothing, she saw the white woman in the yellow dress glance over at her curiously.
“How fascinating, James,” the woman said to her husband. “We are traveling on the same ship as a real Indian woman. You told me there were some of those people still living up here, but I didn’t expect to be traveling with one!”
“Don’t worry, Isabella, my dear. If the captain allows her into the dining room during our meals, I’ll make sure that we’re seated at a separate table.”
“Oh no. I shan’t want that. I wouldn’t miss a chance to talk to her for the world. Is her very large husband one of those trappers you’ve told me about?”
; “I doubt he is her husband,” James said. “These squaws are not known for their morality. They’re different from us, you know. Quite primitive. They’ve not been taught right from wrong.”
The couple was not standing all that far away. Did they not realize that she could hear every word they were saying? The only answer she could think of for their rudeness was that they must think she did not understand their language.
Skypilot had evidently not heard a word. He was still holding Ayasha and had moved to the end of the ship to point out to him the giant moving boards that were going around and around in a circle.
Husband?
Ignoring the rude couple, she watched Skypilot as he held her baby. For such a large man, he was always surprisingly tender with Ayasha. She cared deeply for him, but if there was one thing that she would never consider, it would be a marriage. Skypilot was a good friend, a good man, but their worlds were too far apart.
It was inconceivable to imagine him coming to live with her in one of her people’s communal longhouses, or even their own wigwam, and equally inconceivable to imagine going with him to live among his people. In the weeks following his accident, he had sometimes entertained her by telling her stories about his life in Virginia when he was still a preacher.
As her English rapidly improved and they could communicate better, she found that he could be quite humorous as he explained what it was like to be sitting down to formal dinners where there was a special utensil for every dish, or as he described how clumsy he felt standing around at a dance, desperately trying to memorize the intricate steps so that he would not blunder and hurt the delicate women with whom he was expected to dance. He always made a joke out of his own perceived shortcomings in what he referred to as “polite” society.
They had laughed together, and it had helped pass the long winter days as he healed and she waited for the snows to leave so she could go home, but it left her with the indelible impression that she wanted nothing to do with his former life.
A husband? Skypilot? She would love him forever for his many kindnesses, but as a husband? Never.
Even though she had very deliberately moved several steps away, she could still hear snatches of the rude couple’s conversation.
“I know I was upset when you first told me you had been given this appointment to Fort Wilkins,” the woman in yellow said. “But now I’ve changed my mind. I believe it is going to be a great adventure.”
“You are my brave little woman,” James said. “I shall see that you get every comfort that can possibly be found in such an out-of-the-way place. I know there are two other officers’ wives living within the stockade now, so you will have at least some entertainment with . . . suitable companions. I believe one of them even had a pianoforte brought up. I was told she livens up the post on many a harsh winter night with her playing.”
“I am just grateful that there was enough room in our trunks to hold my drawing supplies,” the woman said. “I believe there might be scenes and artifacts worth recording. I think I might start by sketching out that thing the Indian woman was carrying her papoose in a moment ago.”
Moon Song grew tired of listening to them talk about her as though she did not have ears. With all her heart, she longed to get back to the enormous lake that helped sustain her people’s life, back to the land where she belonged.
She went to where Skypilot was prattling to Ayasha some nonsense about steam and mechanical things. “I want my baby now. I go to room.”
Skypilot seemed surprised. “But I thought you said you couldn’t breathe in there.”
“I learn.” Taking Ayasha in his cradle board, she went straight to her room. One thing she did not intend was to become some curiosity for that yellow-dress woman to draw.
No matter how much Skypilot cajoled, he could not entice Moon Song out of her stateroom for dinner. She seemed determined to remain hidden away for the rest of the journey, and for the life of him, he could not figure out why. She had been fairly outgoing in the lumber camp, and she’d seemed to enjoy walking around Bay City during her weeks there. Why she had suddenly become too shy to come out in public, he had no idea.
The moment he got to the dining room, he asked a porter to take a plate of food to her cabin, then he seated himself at a table near the couple he’d met on deck.
“Tell us about your . . . woman,” Colonel James Hatchette said, after Skypilot had been served.
“Woman?”
“Perhaps she is your wife,” the colonel’s lovely wife suggested.
It took Skypilot a moment to figure out what they were talking about.
“Oh, you mean Moon Song. She’s not my woman or wife. She’s just a friend and a ward of my boss. I’m accompanying her to the Keweenaw Peninsula to find her people.”
“So, how does your boss happen to have an Indian ward with a baby?” Colonel Hatchette asked.
It might have been Skypilot’s imagination, but he thought he detected a tone of censure in the commander’s voice, as though the man was insinuating something about Robert and Moon Song.
“She was widowed and starving with a newborn baby in her arms when she made her way to our lumber camp,” Skypilot said. “The camp cook took care of her and the baby.”
“Oh, the poor thing!” The colonel’s wife, a woman who had been introduced to him as Isabella, seemed genuinely concerned. “How terrible it must have been for her.”
“Well, it’s over now, and Ayasha is as healthy as a tick on a hound dog these days.” He was suddenly grateful that Moon Song had decided to stay in her room. These two made him decidedly uncomfortable. “Will you be stationed at Fort Wilkins long?”
“That is in the hands of the government.” The colonel frowned. “The place was shut down for years, then suddenly during the war, someone decided there was a need for fortification on one of the farthest points from the South in the entire United States. I have no idea what the government’s plans are, but my plans are to do my duty wherever they send me. I just wish it didn’t involve my wife having to live in such an out-of-the-way place. Isabella has been gently reared and is not used to such primitive conditions.”
“I’m not a hothouse rose.” Isabella seemed slightly embarrassed by her husband’s concern. “I’ll be fine. And when we are allowed to go home, I will have all sorts of new and wonderful drawings in my portfolio to show to our friends so that they will know what our life was like up here in the great wilderness they’ve only read about. I shall be quite a success at dinner parties.”
“My wife is an artist,” James said. “She studied in Paris the whole time our country was at war. When she came back, I proposed the moment I saw one of her sketches.”
“And I accepted,” Isabella said, “because he was the first suitor who ever took my drawings seriously.”
“But Isabella has better things to occupy her time these days.” James Hatchette patted her hand. “I doubt she’ll have much time to draw now that she is a mother.”
“And where is your baby?” Skypilot inquired. “I only saw him briefly on the deck. He seemed a nice little fellow.”
“Oh, our child is back at the room with the wet nurse, of course,” James said. “I wanted to preserve Isabella’s magnificent figure.”
Skypilot inadvertently glanced at Isabella. She had stopped eating and was staring down at her plate, blushing a deep scarlet. James seemed not to see or care, but went blissfully on with his meal and his conversation.
“I looked a long time during Isabella’s confinement, trying to find just the right wet nurse,” James said. “This girl suits the bill quite nicely. Her child died in infancy, so she isn’t divided in her loyalties like some.”
“Please, James,” Isabella pleaded. “May we please talk about something else?”
“I’ve embarrassed you.” The colonel spoke fondly, as though talking to a favorite child.
“Yes.” Her eyes blazed for a moment. “You have. Now can we please talk about something else?”
There were a dozen sharp retorts on his tongue, but his mind was so thick with anger over the contemptuous way that the man had spoken about the poor woman caring for the colonel’s child, he did not trust himself to speak. He knew if he did not walk away from the table immediately, he would do something he’d regret.
As satisfying as that would be, it would do no good. People like the colonel could not be taught manners with a fist. He doubted that the colonel could be taught anything at all.
He had no appetite now, only a deep need to go to Moon Song’s cabin and reassure himself that she and the baby were being treated with respect by the ship’s staff.
6
The trip up the coast of the lower peninsula of Michigan was interrupted a few times. Stacks of firewood and coal were purchased to keep the boilers going. There was a short race with another steamboat, during which all passengers stood on the deck and cheered the two crews on.
A Scandinavian family that had been on board since before Bay City got off at Sault Ste. Marie. No one in that family spoke a word of English. All they had were the tickets necessary to take them where they wanted to go. At meals, they had clustered together around one table, speaking their own language. The wife was weary and pregnant. The children were bright-eyed and curious. The father was rugged and determined.
No one saw much of Colonel Hatchette’s wife after that first night. She seemed to prefer taking her meals in her cabin. He wondered if she was doing so in order to avoid any chance of being present if her husband had other disastrous conversations at the dinner table. Moon Song, on the other hand, soon tired of being cooped up inside and roamed the boat at will with Ayasha strapped in his cradle board on her back.
Skypilot couldn’t help but think how handy a cradle board would have been for the young mothers in his congregation in Virginia, who were constantly trying to do something with one hand while holding a baby in the other. Ayasha’s bright eyes took in everything as his mother walked the deck.
Under a Blackberry Moon Page 4