by Unknown
Adam licked his lips and rubbed his stomach in an exaggerated manner, then hefted himself up with the aid of the cane. "What are we waiting for? If the rest of her cooking compares to the breakfast I had, I'll be tempted to kidnap Tillie when I leave. Martha is a sweetheart, but she's not the best cook in the world."
Turning so that he could not see her stricken expression, she busied herself by straightening the items on the table. "I'm . . . I'm sure your wife would not appreciate you saying something like that."
Adam's eyes twinkled with amusement. Many of the young women he met usually found a way to ask about his wife without sounding too forward. Sometimes he wondered though, why they couldn't just ask if he was married instead of hem-hawing around? Usually, it was annoying, but now, he found it pleasing that Blair wanted to know. "I thought you knew," he stated innocently. "I'm not married. Martha is my brother's wife."
Trying to keep the relief from her voice, she replied softly, "I see." Then, hearing a clamor of men's voices as the hands came in to eat, she smiled at Adam and offered him her arm. "If I know those men, we had better hurry or there might not be anything left."
Warren had taken his usual seat at the head of the table, and when Blair and Adam entered the dining room, he stood, introduced Adam to the hands without revealing he was a deputy marshal, then gestured for them to sit at the end of the table near him, but across from each other. Coy took the seat beside Blair, wanting to offer her moral support in case Warren decided —as he sometimes did—to hash out family problems at the table regardless of who was present.
The rain, the impending land rush, and the general condition of the cattle, were the main topics of conversation. The men asked Blair an occasional question about the conditions in the east and one man in particular asked her about the terrible blizzard the previous winter. He wanted to know if it was true there were snow drifts over thirty feet high. But over all, there seemed to be a reluctance among them to include her in their discussions. It made her feel uncomfortable, even more so when they quickly finished their meal and left for the bunkhouse instead of lingering over coffee and doughnuts.
Blair could not help but wonder if they somehow had learned about the trouble brewing between her and Warren and wanted no part of it. But Warren gave no indication of being angry and she knew he'd had ample opportunity to read the letter. Suddenly, tired of waiting for him to make the first move, she decided to take matters in her own hands.
Blair's fingers tightened around her linen napkin, crushing it into a wrinkled ball. Although apprehensive, she was determined not to spend another minute with this feeling of doom hanging over her. "Warren, I would like to speak to you after you are through eating."
Turning his attention from Adam to her, he said, "I thought you were going to be busy." His eyes flashed in a familiar display of impatience. "Or, have you forgotten about the plants that need to be dried and stored away?"
"No, I haven't forgotten." Obstinately, she jutted her chin. "I must talk to you, it . . . shouldn't take long though."
His brows bristled thickly above his eyes, increasing the disgruntled and irritable look about him. "Can't it wait? I wanted to visit with Adam for a while."
"That depends." She swallowed hard. "Coy told me there was a letter in the mail from Miss Petti-bone. Have you read it yet?"
His features visibly hardened. "Yes, unfortunately I read it. Needless to say ..."
"Then it cannot wait. I have to talk to you now." She glanced at Adam and Coy. "And I’d prefer to talk in private."
Shoving back his chair, Warren crumpled his napkin and threw it in his plate. "My office?"
Instead of answering, Blair curtly bobbed her head and followed staunchly behind him.
Once inside the office, Blair immediately sat down, knowing Warren's dislike for anyone towering over him while he sat at his desk. He claimed it was too intimidating.
Methodically, Warren took his time lighting the lamp, then he poured himself a shot of whiskey and lit a fat cigar before settling into the chair behind his desk. He slowly raised the shot glass to his lips, then paused and muttered sarcastically, "My, my, how rude of me! I must be forgetting my manners. Since you have acquired a taste for hard liquor, would you care to join me?"
Blair flushed. "No, I would not, and I have not acquired a taste for whiskey. I did think, however, you might have been interested in hearing my side of the story before you condemned me."
Warren bellowed with rage. "All right, damn it, I’ll ask. Did you have anything to do with spiking the punch at that fancy shindig?"
Blair's voice also raised in anger. "No, I did not! But I was the one who received the blame."
He waved the letter in her face and slammed the desk top with his fist. "Little Miss Innocent Blair, it's always someone else's fault! And I suppose you didn't get drunk and do an Indian war dance on top of a table! Damn, where was your pride? Don't you know that's how most people think Indians behave? Either that or out scalping and murdering people, eating raw meat, and running about like naked animals!"
"I don't remember if I did the dance or not!" she shouted hotly. "I was too intoxicated on the punch I did not spike! You're as bad as Miss Pettibone, placing all of the responsibility on me without even considering that it might have been the other girls' brilliant idea! Girls like a senator's daughter and a banker's daughter! But no, they were far too prominent—too important, to risk accusing them. It was easier for her to put the blame on me because my family is not wealthy, and we are not held in high social esteem. It was also easier because as you said, I am a haif-breed! And ... in her eyes, nothing but dirt beneath her feet!"
He started to reply, then stopped. From his expression, he was suddenly filled with doubt, then he waved it aside. "That's just your vivid imagination, Blair. I met her, she's a nice lady. She wouldn't have done something like that."
Blair stood, placing her hands akimbo. "Oh, wouldn't she? Then why in heaven's name did Miss Pettibone say you came crawling to her, begging her to accept me in her precious school because no one else would take a half-breed Indian? Why did she claim she'd not had a minute's peace since I enrolled there, for fear I'd scalp her other students in their sleep? Why did she call me an uncivilized heathen? And the old biddy didn't even have the decency to talk to me that way in private, instead, she did it in front of all the other girls!" A tear caught in her throat. "Do you want me to continue, or do you still think it was nothing but my vivid imagination?"
Warren's expression had turned as hard as stone. "She ... did that to you?"
"Yes."
"That bitch!" he muttered through clenched teeth. He wet his lips and stroked his chin. "Maybe . . . maybe I was too quick to jump to conclusions."
Blair nodded and blinked back a sudden rush of tears. She knew apologies did not come easy for Warren and even though his admission was far from an apology, it was satisfaction enough to hear him admit that he had been wrong.
Lacing his fingers together, Warren pursed his lips and after a moment's deliberation, he said, "If it's all the same with you, under the circumstances, we'll forget about your being expelled from school. Even though it is undeserved, I’m sure there will be a black mark on your credentials, though. But there's a man in St. Louis who owes me a favor, I'll contact him and see if he can't arrange for you a teaching position there. It isn't what I wanted for you, but it's all I can do for now. Perhaps later on . . ."
Blair could not believe what she was hearing. A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "But . . . Warren, don't I have any say-so whatsoever about my own future? It so happens, I do not want to teach, nor I do want to live in St. Louis. I want to stay here on the ranch."
He stared at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. Once he reached a decision, very few people questioned it. "I can't help what you want or don't want. If I say you'll go to St. Louis, you will go." He spread his hands. "And that's the end of th
e matter!"
"No, it is not the end of the matter!" There was a lethal calmness in her eyes, but her voice and the flare of her nostrils revealed her fiery temper. "The Bar 4 happens to be my home ..." Her voice broke, she clenched her hands, relaxed them, then took a deep breath as she struggled for control. "Please, Warren, let's discuss this calmly. We will not solve anything by shouting at each other. I will listen to your opinions and objections if you will listen to mine."
Jabbing his cigar vigorously into the ash tray, Warren spoke in a harsh, raw voice, "As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing to discuss. I’ve made my decision and there is nothing you can say to change it."
Blair leaned across his desk and ground out the words through clenched teeth, "Warren, I am not a child, and I am not one of the hired hands you can order about. You do not own me, and I am free and extremely capable of making decisions about my life. As I was saying, the Bar 4 happens to be my home the same as it is yours. Granted, I don't have the years or the work invested in this land the way you do, but I love it just as much! This is my home, but if you don't want me to live here. I’ll leave; however, I will go where I choose to go."
He smirked. "Where, Little Miss Smarty Pants? What would you do? How would you support yourself? Or, would you run to Collin or Samuel?"
"No, I wouldn't do that —I wouldn't involve them in something that is between you and me." Her mind raced at a furious pace. "I would ... I could always. . . ."
"See," he taunted, "you claim to be a woman instead of a child, but you can't even make a decision!"
"Until a few minutes ago, I didn't know I had to. Since it is my future that is at stake, I refuse to make a decision on the spur of a moment." She managed to shrug and say, offhandedly, "There are many things I could do though, I have a little money saved. I could go to Doughtery and open a bake shop — Tillie did teach me how to cook, and I haven't forgotten how. Or, I could open a medicinal shop. You said yourself the doctor in town hasn't been sober in the past three years." She gave her head a haughty toss. "Don't concern yourself about what I will do, I can take care of myself. I shall pack my bags and leave first thing in the morning!"
Warren glowered at her. He knew she was just stubborn enough to carry through with her threats. And regardless of what she thought, he only had her best interests at heart. If only there was some way he could stop her without appearing to back down from the position he had taken. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he cocked his head to one side. Then again, maybe there was something . . .
"All right, Blair, do whatever you want." His mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. "Go to Doughtery, to New Orleans, San Francisco, or anywhere you want, just don't come crying to me when you get down on your luck."
Her green eyes clawed him like talons. Not trusting herself to speak, she whirled and bolted for the door, but his precisely spoken words stopped her.
"I might have known you would run out on your obligations, but I guess that's my fault. What else should I expect from a child who thinks she's grown?"
With shoulders straight and head held high with defiance, she turned slowly and asked, "Just what did you mean by that sanctimonious remark?"
"I thought you were going to take care of Adam until his feet healed? So what if they become infected and he loses them, it's no skin off your back. I can honestly say, though, I never thought you’d try to get even by striking out at me through one of my friends."
The color drained from her face. Adam! In her anger she had forgotten about him. His wounds were serious —far too serious to go untreated. And if he was forced to see that drunken doctor in Doughtery . . . there was no telling what would happen to him.
She swallowed hard. "No, I said I would take care of him and I won't go back on my word. I'll stay until he recovers then I will leave . . . and there is nothing you can do or say to stop me."
His jaw tightened. "Don't worry, I won't try. The less we say to each other, the better." Then his brows drew downward in a speculative frown. "However, there is one detail we might be overlooking. Adam is a proud and stubborn man. I doubt if it would be wise if he knew you were staying just on his account."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I'm not a fool, Warren. I won't say anything to him, or to anyone else about it either. I'd hate for it to be inadvertently mentioned. Although, I see no point in pretending we haven't argued. From the way we were shouting at each other, I'm sure the entire ranch knows by now."
He uttered bitterly, "Just remember, you little scamp, you're the one who started this nonsense!"
She imposed an iron control on herself and spoke with as reasonable voice as she could manage, "That's where you are wrong. You started it when you sent me away four years ago!"
After Blair left, Warren poured himself another drink and sank wearily into his chair. He had bought himself a week, a week in which to either convince Blair to go to St. Louis, or to invent a reasonable excuse so that she would have to stay at the ranch. Although nothing had really changed, he didn't want her to live at the ranch, but he damned sure didn't want her striking out on her own either. Suddenly, he felt very alone, more alone than he had in his entire life. When he promised his dying father that he would take care of the family, he'd had no idea what he was getting into, the problems, the heartaches involved. Not that that would have made any difference.
Still, maybe he should have handled things differently through the years.
Warren let out his breath very slowly and lowered his head. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stood, walked to the window and stared forlornly into the darkness.
After composing herself as best she could, Blair walked into the dining room and was surprised but grateful to see that Tillie was the only one present. Perhaps Adam and Coy left before overhearing their argument. She hoped so.
"Where is everyone?" Blair asked, glancing about casually.
"Mr. Coy went out to the bunkhouse to see ifn they wanted to play some penny ante poker and Mr. Cahill went on to his room. Don't blame neither one for scatting though, the way you and Mr. Warren were shouting at each other, a-body would have thought the roof was raising!" When Blair offered no comment, she cut her huge eyes around at her. "Missy, Ah heard you two fussing, but more important, did you make up?"
"No, not really."
"Does he know you were 'spelled from that school?"
"Yes, he knows."
"Is he going to send you off to another one?"
"No, I ... I am staying here," She wiped a tear from her eye. "Please, Tillie, I don't feel like discussing it now."
"All right, Missy, but if’n you need old Tillie’s shoulder to cry on, just remember, A'm here."
Not trusting her voice, Blair merely nodded and went to the kitchen. Moving as though in a mindless daze, she put two huge kettles of water on to boil, then selected the plants and roots she had gathered to make a foot-soaking solution. Searching a drawer where she knew Tillie kept clean white cloths for bandages, she cut them into strips and rolled them so that they would be easier to apply. She crushed some roots —well known for numbing pain —with a salve to apply on his feet after they had soaked. Then she placed all of the items onto a tray and carried it to Adam's room.
"Adam, may I come in?"
"Yes, of course you may."
Blair heard the distinct sounds of papers being shuffled as she juggled the tray in order to open the door.
Seeing her struggle with the tray and the door, he started to rise. "Here, let me help."
"No, keep your seat. I can manage just fine." She hurried inside, then pushed the door shut with her foot.
"Did you think I had forgotten you?" she asked with forced gaiety as she set the tray on the table and knelt to attend to his feet. She had already decided to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"No, I knew you would come." He shifted his weight in the chair and tossed the newspaper that had b
een on his lap onto the bed. He had decided what had happened earlier would not take place again and was extremely careful not to touch her in any way suggestively, even by accident.
Adam knew it was natural for families to have disagreements, but it had made him feel uncomfortable to hear Blair and Warren shout at each other the way they had. That's why he had cleared out as soon as he realized they were arguing. Family disagreements were not his business. Still, he had a mind of his own and he had overheard enough to form the opinion that Blair had been in the right: on both accounts. Apparently she had been falsely accused and expelled unfairly, and he saw no good reason for Warren to keep her dangling in suspense. That seemed unusually cruel —which was not like the man he knew and considered to be his friend. But to give Warren the benefit of a doubt, perhaps he knew they would argue and had avoided speaking to Blair about it for that reason. Although, a tiny voice nagged at Adam, telling him that surely Warren had had an opportunity to speak to her privately sometime during the day.
Still, all things considered, he doubted if Blair was completely faultless. He had firsthand knowledge that she was a headstrong female, and she probably got into her share of mischief, but that self-righteous headmistress had no right treating her that way just because she was part Indian. And, there was no doubt in his mind, that was why she was blamed.
It seemed to him that the Indians were always getting the raw end of the deal. To his knowledge, every treaty ever made between the whites and Indians had been broken by the white men. The government taking a huge portion of the Indian Territory and opening it to the homesteaders was just another in the long list of atrocities committed against them.
He thought it was ironic that Indians were called savages, uncivilized heathens, and barbarians, when the truth of the matter was, the Indians who were forced to settle in the Nation were probably more civilized than most whites who lived here. But so many people — usually white trash, or the so-called, upper society—treated them just as that headmistress had treated Blair. He had to admit that Blair was right on another point too; half-breeds were treated with even more contempt, at least that's how it was around these parts, and he imagined it was even worse back east.