Hannah's Half-Breed

by Heidi Betts

  "Did your uncle tell you that he and I have known each other since we were about your age?"

  The child's eyes definitely widened at that and he looked suddenly alert, interested.

  "Oh, yes. We both grew up in the local orphanage. It was called the Purgatory Home for Unwanted Children then. Isn't that a terrible name for an orphanage? As though any child could truly be unwanted. Just because mothers and fathers sometimes die, or can't care for their children properly, that doesn't mean a child is unwanted. Thankfully, they've renamed it the Purgatory Home for Adoptive Children.

  "And that's exactly what it is now. I was never adopted by a new family, but your uncle was. He went to live with a wonderful couple.” She noticed the keen interest on the child's face. “Did he ever tell you about that?"

  Little Bear shook his head fervently.

  "Would you like to hear what your uncle was like when he was a boy?"

  This time his nod was eager and he leaned forward on the table, straining to hear every word.

  "How about this,” she said carefully. “Ill tell you about growing up with your uncle if you start talking to me. With actual words,” she qualified.

  His face darkened and he began to look away.

  "We can start small,” she offered, not wanting to scare him off by asking too much too soon. “Instead of nodding or shaking your head, you could say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ That doesn't sound too hard, does it?"

  He studied her, his eyes narrowed, then slowly moved his head back and forth.

  "All right. Now how about answering the same question, only with the word ‘no.’ That doesn't sound too hard, does it, Little Bear?"

  "N-no."

  The single word was low, tentative, but Hannah acted as though he'd just recited the Emancipation Proclamation from memory.

  "Excellent, Little Bear. Thank you. Having someone to talk with makes me feel less alone in this tiny cabin. I don't get visitors very often."

  Finishing the last of her supper, she pushed her bowl away and lifted the napkin from her lap. “Would you like to help me wash these dishes?” she asked the boy. “And while we do, I'll tell you what your uncle was like as a child."

  Little Bear began to nod, then seemed to recall their deal and, a bit more confidently than before, said, “Yes."

  "Come on, then."

  Hannah stood and collected their dirty bowls and utensils. She led Little Bear to the kitchen area, set their dishes in the cast iron sink, and poured water over them from the metal pail she kept heated on the back of the cookstove. Adding a dash of strong powdered soap, she worked it into suds and started scrubbing, casting a sidelong glance at Little Bear where he stood on tiptoe to stare into the deep sink basin.

  "I hate to admit this,” she began, “and I don't want to give you ideas, but your uncle was quite a troublemaker growing up. He was forever running away from the Home and doing things to infuriate the adults."

  She was surprised when Little Bear's voice—uttering something other than “yes” or “no"—reached her ears.

  "Why?” he wanted to know.

  She lowered her gaze to study him, noting the way the pale light reflected in his deep brown eyes as she debated how much to reveal to this child. Because he seemed far wiser than his years, she decided to be honest with him.

  "Most people back then considered your uncle a half-breed. Do you know what that means?"

  "Yes.” Little Bear's face grew shuttered. “That's what my father calls me."

  My lord, Hannah thought, not just a one-syllable response, but an entire sentence. She would have been ecstatic if the child's words hadn't made her want to weep.

  "That isn't a very nice thing for your father to call you,” she told him, letting her derision show clearly through her words. “It's not a very nice term to use at all, especially when people make it sound like a negative quality. But just remember that half-breed simply means you have two types of blood running through your veins. And when you think of it, that's true of every single person who walks this earth."

  She'd nearly rubbed the spots off the blue-and-white speckled bowl in her hands and made a conscious effort to slow her movements and set the dish aside.

  "I carry the blood of both my mother and father, as do you. It's not your fault—any more than it was David's . . . I mean Walker's—that one of your parents was white and the other was Indian.” She ran the back of her damp hand over his bronze cheek. “And just because a goodly number of the people in this world are ignorant and narrow-minded enough to believe that makes you somehow less deserving than they are doesn't mean you have anything to be ashamed of."

  Hannah took a deep breath, suddenly aware that her voice had risen and her fingers were clamped like a vise around the edge of the cast iron sink. Heat suffused her face as she remembered all the times David had been treated as less than human simply because of his Indian blood, simply because his skin was darker and his hair was straighter than the other townspeople's. Even some of the other children in the orphanage had treated him differently . . . taking their cue from the actions of adults, she was sure.

  Hannah had never seen the differences. Oh, she'd known his hair was longer than most boys', and that his skin was several shades darker than her own, which was extremely pale and often seemed nearly translucent.

  But to her, he'd been the boy who watched her out of intense brown eyes. Who mysteriously appeared at her bedside in the middle of the night to chase away the terrible dreams that haunted her. Who seemed to always be close by, ready to step in and offer his protection if she needed it.

  He'd acted almost like an older brother, though she'd certainly never thought of him that way. Casting a lingering glance over her shoulder at the man dozing comfortably in her bed, she realized she didn't think of him that way now, either. Looking at him set off too many tingles and heart palpitations for her to consider him any kind of relation.

  Tearing her attention away from her memories of the past, Hannah realized Little Bear was watching her intently, waiting for her to continue.

  "Until the Walkers took your uncle in and showed him what it was like to belong to a real family, he got into his fair share of trouble. But the thing I remember most about your uncle,” she said quietly, “is the way he held me when I cried."

  Chapter Four

  Walker kept his eyes tightly closed, feigning sleep. He didn't know why Hannah was revealing such personal emotions, such private moments, but hearing her tell Little Bear about the nightmares she'd suffered as a child made his heart twist in his chest. Listening to her describe how she'd felt when he'd comforted her caused his breath to catch in his throat.

  He remembered those nights. He remembered the first time he'd heard her shrieks of absolute terror all the way across the orphanage, in the boys’ sleeping quarters. He remembered sneaking in to see what was going on and seeing the nuns attempting to calm the light-haired, light-skinned newcomer with terror leaping in her eyes.

  He also remembered later, hearing the nuns whispering about what caused those nightmares—the violent death of her parents on the trip west, when their wagon had overturned and been swept downriver. Six-year-old Hannah had witnessed the episode from another wagon that had crossed safely only moments before.

  Something about her plight had touched him as a boy, and from that day on, he'd made a point of staying close to the little girl. Of shadowing her, protecting her, sneaking out of his bed at night and sleeping on the floor beside her cot in case she needed him.

  And she had, so many times. She tossed and turned and awoke in tears, and he was right there to hold her, comfort her, tell her everything would be all right. He also remembered, even at the ripe old age of fourteen, being determined to see that everything was all right for her. No one would harm a hair on her sun-blond head as long as he was around.

  And no one ever had.

  Walker felt the peculiar urge to renew his childhood vow. To stick by Hannah's side and see that she was taken care of
, even though she was all grown up now and could likely take care of herself. Hell, she'd even taken care of him, and it looked like she was well on the way to winning over Little Bear as well.

  At the sound of feminine laughter, he opened his eyes and let his vision clear. He saw Hannah standing at the sink with a white apron wrapped around her waist and a towel in her hand. Little Bear stood at her side, grinning from ear to ear and laughing at something Hannah had just confided.

  "You weren't supposed to tell anyone what a hellion I was as a kid,” he chastised from across the room. “Least of all my impressionable young nephew."

  His comment brought Hannah around to look at him with a startled expression on her face. She clutched the dish towel to her breast.

  "I'm explaining how much trouble you used to get into so he won't be foolish enough to attempt any of the same stunts,” she told him. And then she set the towel aside, removed her apron, and started toward him.

  "How are you feeling?” she asked, touching his brow.

  Her cool fingers felt like pure silk, and he had to fight the temptation to reach out for her wrist, to draw her closer.

  "I'm all right.” He was warm and a little clammy, but he didn't think that had anything to do with the hole in his side.

  "Ara?,” Little Bear said, coming to his side and leaning on the edge of the mattress. “Hannah Blake told me about growing up with you in the orph'nage, and how you used to run away. Where did you go when you runned, ara? Did you go far away like when you brung me here?"

  Walker cast Hannah a falsely reproachful glance, ignoring her cringe at little Bear's less than proper grammar. “See what you've done?"

  She lifted a brow. “Aren't you going to answer him? Where did you run off to all those times . . . David?"

  Cornered. Getting it from both guns. He shifted his gaze to his nephew and smiled gently. “I ran to where I most wanted to be,” he answered simply, if somewhat cryptically, thinking of all the times he'd escaped from the Purgatory Home for Unwanted Children to visit Widow Regan Doyle. She'd baked cookies and let him sleep in a room by himself, and treated him like a real person instead of some parent less half-breed. And then Widow Doyle had married and become Mrs. Regan Walker. She and her new husband had adopted him, treated him like family, and he'd never had to run away again.

  He didn't tell Little Bear—or Hannah—all that, though. A man was deserving of some privacy, after all.

  "Happy?” he asked, turning his attention back to Hannah. He could tell by her expression that she wasn't. His answer hadn't quite satisfied her.

  "Had you been trying to convince him you were a saint? Because I'm not sure anyone who knows you could believe that."

  His mind raced to come up with a proper response, but all he could think of was, “True enough. You're nothing if not honest, Hannah."

  And then he grew serious, catching her eye. “That's why I'm leaving Little Bear with you. You'll take care of him. You'll protect him. And you'll stand up to anyone who tries to take him from you."

  Her eyes narrowed and her gaze bored into him. “How do you know I'll do any of those things? We haven't seen each other in ten years. And what do you mean leaving’ him with me?"

  She was wrong. She might not have seen him in the past ten years, but he'd seen her. Seen her, watched her, kept track of what she was up to.

  The only time he hadn't known where she was or what she was doing was when she'd gone away to school. He'd spent most of those years in his Comanche mother's village, too torn up and distracted by Hannah's absence to remain for very long in Purgatory.

  Thankfully, she'd come back. Even though his visits were never very long, he'd remained in close contact with his parents, and they'd inadvertently informed him that Hannah was coming back to town to take over as Purgatory's schoolmarm. After that he'd stayed with Regan and Clay for more extended periods and caught glimpses of Hannah when he could.

  He decided not to answer the first part of her question. He knew she would do all that he'd said and more. He'd watched a kind and caring little girl develop into a smart and generous woman. But he certainly didn't intend to reveal his decade-long obsession with her, so he focused on the second half of her query instead.

  "I'll be leaving in the morning, Hannah.” He reached out to take his nephew's hand, knowing the child would be nervous about being left with a stranger, even if Hannah had begun to win him over. “I appreciate your patching me up and thank you for taking in Little Bear, but I have to go."

  "Where? Why would you bring Little Bear all the way here only to leave again? You're not well enough to ride or even walk very far."

  "I'll be well enough by morning. I don't have any choice."

  Lines of confusion and concern etched Hannah's otherwise smooth brow. “Why not? What's going on, David?"

  "Walker,” he corrected her. “People call me Walker now."

  "Anyone who would drag himself off with a hole in his belly, I would call stupid. Or crazy. Or looking to die."

  He couldn't help it; he grinned. After all the time he'd spent observing her from afar, he'd known she had a backbone. He just hadn't realized her tongue was so sharp.

  "I still prefer Walker,” he replied blandly, ignoring her increased annoyance.

  "My sister—Little Bear's mother—is in trouble. I have to go back to help her.” He didn't give Hannah any more details than that. He wasn't sure how much he was ready to share with her, and he didn't want to worry Little Bear about his mother's condition, more questionable the longer Walker left her in harm's way.

  Hannah watched him closely for a minute, studying his eyes, his mouth, his bandaged abdomen.

  And then, without a word, she rose to her feet, placed a hand on Little Bear's back, and led him away.

  "I think it's about time we got you ready for bed,” she said easily. She shot a glance over her shoulder. “We'll continue our conversation in a moment."

  He watched from the bed as she gathered sheets and blankets and folded them into a pallet on the floor. On the far side of the room, he noticed, likely to give them more privacy when she finally returned to quiz him for information.

  Hannah saw Little Bear settled and then blew out the lantern in the middle of the table, casting the room into darkness save for the small glow the lamp beside the bed offered.

  She took her time, doing this or that to stay busy until a small snore sounded from Little Bear's corner. Then she made a beeline for Walker.

  Hands on hips, voice low so as not to carry across the room, she demanded, “All right. Now tell me exactly what's going on."

  "I'm not sure it's in your best interest to know, Hannah,” he hedged, even though he realized she would have none of it.

  "You should have thought of that before you arrived on my doorstep with a little boy and a bullet in your side. Best interest or not, I have a right to know what you've gotten me into."

  For several long seconds, he remained silent. Then he nodded. “Fair enough. You know I divide my time between Purgatory and my mother's Comanche village."

  It was a statement, but Hannah inclined her head all the same.

  "I have a sister, Bright Eyes. She's full-blooded Comanche, born to my mother and her first husband, before he was killed in a raid. A few years after that, my mother met Nolan Updike and got pregnant with me.” His teeth clenched at the mere mention of his father, the white man who had seduced his Comanche mother and then left her with a child to raise. A half-breed child.

  "Bright Eyes left the village with a white man named Ambrose Lynch. He'd been coming to visit her for years. She even had a child with him—Little Bear—and I knew she fancied herself in love with him. When he lured her away from the village last year with promises of marriage and becoming a real family, I didn't say anything because I didn't want my feelings about my own father to tarnish her happiness. And I hoped Lynch was a good man.” His jaw tightened at the thought of just how wrong he'd been. “But he's only kept her as his mistress,
and I just found out he's been abusing her."

  Glancing in his nephew's direction to be sure the boy was still sleeping, he continued. “Little Bear is his son, but you wouldn't know it by the way he acts toward him. He beats Bright Eyes, treats her no better than a slave. And he's hit Little Bear, too, I'm sure."

  Hannah's breathing, he noticed, had sped up, causing her breasts to rise and fall rapidly beneath the blue calico of her dress. He told himself not to stare, but . . . well, certain parts of his body weren't listening.

  A healthy dose of color bloomed in her cheeks and the hands that had slipped from her hips while he spoke rose back up as her anger grew. “Well, I'm glad you did bring Little Bear here, then. No child—or woman, either, for that matter—should have to live like that. I assume you're going to help your sister leave him. I mean, she doesn't actually want to stay there with that awful man?"

  Walker felt a muscle tick in his jaw and his hands fisted in the sheets at his waist. “I don't plan to give her a choice. I told her when I took Little Bear that I'd be back for her. She's expecting another child with that bastard, and if I don't get her away from him soon, I'm not sure she or the baby will survive."

  Hannah gasped in shock, her mouth forming a small, open oval. “You don't mean . . . he'd kill her,” she gasped.

  As much as it pained him to say the words, he told her the truth. “I do. He's come close to it already, and I'll be damned if I'll let him succeed."

  "So this Lynch person,” Hannah began, “he's the one who shot you."

  Walker shifted uncomfortably on the tick mattress. “He or one of his men. I was riding away at the time, so I didn't see the shooter. I just count myself lucky whoever it was didn't wing Little Bear. I'd have turned around and murdered them all if they had."

  A strange light took over Hannah's sky blue eyes and she took a step closer to the bed. “And what will you do if Ambrose Lynch hurts your sister before you can get to her?” she wanted to know.

  That was easy, and for the first time since he'd begun confiding in Hannah about his sister and nephew's situation, he let out a relaxed breath and the tension in his muscles disappeared.