Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation)

by Graham, Genevieve

  “I have indeed, Doc. I have indeed. It wasn’t pretty, but the Cherokee came through,” Jesse said, holding the fragile old man against his grimy chest. When he glanced at the officials over Doc’s shoulder, a wave of nerves passed over him. He leaned down and muttered in Doc’s ear. “What are these gentlemen here for? They ain’t here to arrest me because of Thomas, are they?”

  Doc Allen grinned and shook his head, stepping out of the embrace. “No, no, my boy. They’re here to see you all receive the gratitude which is due.”

  “How is Adelaide, Doc? Is she gonna be all right?”

  The smile remained. “She will be better when she sees you. But might I suggest you clean—” His words fell away as Jesse bounded inside.

  She was propped partially up in bed, still pale, but alert. She had heard the indistinguishable rumble of voices outside and waited quietly for Doc, agitation flickering in her eyes. Then fear that filled them, panic at the sight of Jesse’s bloody face coming toward her. It wasn’t until he was close enough to see her worry that he grinned.

  “Hey, little mouse. It’s me.”

  “Jesse!”

  He was beside her in a heartbeat and had to restrain himself from pulling the beautiful invalid hard against him. But he did wrap his arms carefully around her, pressing his nose to her hair and breathing in her scent. She doesn’t smell sick, he thought, relief flooding through him. Tired, needed a bath, sure. But Doc had done it. She would be all right. He closed his eyes, feeling like he’d come home, and he clung to the feeling.

  “Oh Jesse. I was so—”

  “Stop that, Adelaide.” He moved so they were eye to eye. “You knew I’d be all right. You sent me to do a job, and I did it. I always said I’d take care of you, didn’t I? You ain’t got no call to be scared no more.”

  He kissed her, a gentle press against her lips. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she pulled away.

  “You smell awful,” she said.

  He didn’t let go, only pulled her back against him and chuckled into her ear. “So do you.”

  A short knock on the wall grabbed his attention, and Jesse drew reluctantly away from her. Doc stood in the doorway, grinning nervously.

  “Em, Jesse, my boy, I do dislike the idea of separating the two of you, but would you mind terribly coming with me for a moment? It seems we have a slight language barrier with your friends, and some of the town’s gentlemen are a tad bit concerned.”

  “Language barrier? The Cherokee are here?” she asked.

  “Just a few of them,” Jesse replied. “I’m comin’ Doc. Oh, and Doc?”

  “Yes, my boy?”

  “That ol’ woman out there, she wants to talk with you. Her name’s Nechama. She’s their healer and wants to know what you did for Adelaide. I told her you’d be happy to tell her all about it. Shall I send her in?”

  Doc brightened. He loved to teach. Jesse was always a disappointment in that department, and he was well aware of that. Just as quickly as he’d smiled, Doc’s brow furrowed, and he clasped his hands in front of himself, looking unusually nervous. He wasn’t used to visitors.

  “Certainly. Certainly,” he said. “Should I prepare tea? I confess, I have not had a Cherokee in my house before. I’m not sure of the proper etiquette.”

  Jesse snorted. “Don’t worry over that. Just set her beside Adelaide for now. So she can see for herself that you ain’t killed her.”

  “Of course!” Doc exclaimed, mortified. “My manners are appalling.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Jesse said, turning back toward Adelaide. She had relaxed, and he thought her cheeks looked slightly pinker than they had even a moment before. He leaned in and kissed one of those cheeks, savouring her soft skin against his lips. “You’re lookin’ better, you know.”

  Her gaze was warm on his. “I’m getting better. Especially since you’re here.”

  Jesse heard a voice raised, coming from outside, and he identified it as Soquili’s. “I gotta go,” he said.

  “Jesse?” She reached carefully toward the table by her bed and retrieved a wet cloth. “Use this, would you? I think the men will be more likely to listen if you don’t look like a corpse.”

  He used it to wipe the grime from his face, managing to clear away most of the war paint beneath, started to hand it back to her, then realized how disgusting that idea was and decided to keep it with him. He followed Doc outside and handed the filthy cloth to Soquili, who frowned and tried to pass it back. But Jesse stepped back, giving him a nod of encouragement. Soquili grudgingly used it to wipe his own face, then passed it to his friends.

  “Gentlemen,” said Doc, addressing the townsmen. “This is Jesse Black, of whom I had spoken earlier. He will be able to tell you all that happened.”

  Jesse nodded, but before telling them the story, he turned to Nechama and smiled. “Adelaide waits for you in house,” he said in Cherokee. “She is good.” He switched to English and spoke slowly. “Nechama, this is my good friend, Doc Allen. He is happy to teach you.”

  Doc stepped forward, holding out his hands. She gave him one of her own.

  “I come to thank you, Doc. And to learn,” she said, tentative with her English.

  Doc closed his hands over her strong fingers. “It is my pleasure, madam. Please, allow me to present the young lady for whom we were all so concerned.”

  Jesse turned back to the men of the town and explained everything that had happened, choosing to skip over the actual reason he’d known about the planned raid. When they asked, he said he’d simply heard through someone and left it at that.

  “Does it matter?” he asked. “Your town’s still standin’.”

  He introduced Soquili and the small group of warriors with him, and after an awkward hesitation, the townsmen held out their hands in greeting. The Cherokee stood stiffly, unfamiliar with the gesture. Jesse put himself between the two groups and shook the men’s hands, leading by example. He nodded to Soquili, who followed suit, along with the others.

  Doc’s house was too small for him to invite them in. Jesse didn’t think his friends would be comfortable in the small space anyway. But it was inconceivable, after all they’d been through, for him to let them leave without at least offering something. Holding up one finger, asking them to wait, he ran inside and returned with some of Doc’s baked bread and muffins, which he’d known would be waiting for him. Doc always prepared Jesse’s favourite things, and since Adelaide was there as well, the old man had prepared extra. The Cherokee sat on the ground and ate as if they hadn’t seen food in a week. Jesse excused himself, saying something noncommittal, but Soquili knew. He smiled at his brother.

  “I say osiyo to Ad-layd, yes?”

  Jesse nodded.

  When they entered the house, Nechama and Doc were sitting on two stools on one side of Adelaide’s bed. Doc chattered quickly, moving his hands in illustration while Nechama sat silently by him, her eyes slightly glazed, her jaw slack. Then Adelaide spoke up, stepping weakly into her role of translator. Nechama listened intently, nodding and asking questions. Doc glanced between Adelaide and the healer, obviously fascinated by the language.

  Grinning, Jesse stepped to the other side of the bed and took Adelaide’s hand while Soquili waited in the doorway, soaking everything in. Doc launched into more explanations, so Adelaide paused in her translation just long enough to glance up at Jesse with a tired but warm smile.

  When the next round of translations had been completed, Nechama nodded and spoke directly to Doc. “I thank you for your teaching,” she said. “I would like teach you. You come to village?”

  Doc’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He rarely left his house, let alone travelled as far as the village. Jesse waited, one eyebrow raised.

  Finally Doc smiled, and Jesse could see how hard he was trying. “It would be my great honour.”

  Grinning, A
delaide interpreted again.

  “Nechama,” she continued, reaching for the older woman’s hand. “Wah-Li saved the town today by believing Jesse’s thoughts and my dreams. How can we ever thank her for this?”

  Nechama’s eyes almost disappeared, swallowed by the grin she gave them both. “The Grandmother has only one wish. She told it to me two moons ago.”

  Adelaide and Jesse exchanged a glance, then nodded. “Anything,” Jesse said.

  Grinning, Nechama clapped her hands together, obviously pleased to share Wah-Li’s words. “She wishes you to name your first daughter after the Cherokee.”

  Jesse swallowed, surprised, then glanced at Adelaide, who had turned a healthy shade of pink. Their first daughter. Jesse’s heart got so big in that moment that he was afraid Doc might have to fix it later. He leaned down and kissed his girl, then walked around and kissed Nechama as well.

  He grinned. “Nechama,” he said in careful Tsalagi, “please take this message to the Grandmother. We will name our first daughter after the Cherokee, and she will name her first daughter after the Cherokee. We will continue this for . . .” He glanced at Adelaide for help.

  “For many generations,” she said for him. “To thank the Cherokee.”

  The old woman smiled. “And the Grandmother wishes you to know, Tloo-da-tsì, that she hopes you understand now. We are your family. You are our son and brother. You have shared your spirit with us, and we give ours to you as well. She wants to tell you it is time for you to trust. That you have done right and well, and you will get the happiness you deserve. She has seen it.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “And yes. I understand now.”

  “Be well, Jes-see and Ad-layd,” the older woman said, getting to her feet. “I must go now. There will be a big celebration tonight. Especially when I tell them you are both well.”

  While Doc showed Nechama to the door, Jesse and Soquili took their places on either side of Adelaide. She was pale, but her lips seemed less gray now. Jesse took that as a good sign.

  “Soquili,” she said quietly. “You are well?”

  He grinned. “It was a good day. And I have decided you, Ad-layd, must change your name.”

  “Oh?”

  “You cannot be Shadow Girl. You stepped from the shadows today. Once the Cherokee carried you from the white people. Now you bring the Cherokee and the white people together. The Cherokee nation is proud of you.”

  There was another flash of pink in her cheeks, and Jesse squeezed her hand, thinking he’d missed that sweet reaction of hers while he’d been away.

  “I’m proud of you, too,” he said. That’s when he remembered the little shell he’d found in Thomas’s bag. “Hey, I brought you something you might like.”

  He fished in his sack, which lay on the floor by his feet, then handed her the shell.

  At first, she didn’t move, just held the little thing on her palm, staring at it with a wide-eyed expression. She brought it closer, then turned it over and rubbed her thumb over the carving.

  “You like it?” he asked, grinning at her stunned reaction.

  Her breath hitched. The girl was crying. What the hell? Jesse looked to Soquili for help, but Soquili was also staring at the shell, his own expression incredulous. “Where you get this?”

  “It was in—”

  “Look, Soquili,” Adelaide said. She sniffed and handed the shell to him. “Where did you find that, Jesse?”

  “It was in Thomas’s haversack. I was looking through his stuff and found it. I thought you might like it. But hey, if it’s gonna make you cry—”

  “Your father carry this?” Soquili demanded, eyes sharp.

  Jesse shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know—”

  “This belonged to Soquili’s brother,” Adelaide explained quietly. “I made it for him. He never took it off. When they brought his body back to the village, it wasn’t with him.”

  “Oh, Jesus. I didn’t know—”

  “Of course you didn’t. Jesse, this must mean your father killed Soquili’s brother and took this as a trophy.”

  Jesse frowned, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. I guess it might mean that. But on the other hand, Soquili took me. Kind of works out in the end, don’t it?” He watched Soquili closely, wondering what was going through the warrior’s mind. Did this mean it was time for “an eye for an eye”? Was he going to die because of Wahyaw’s pendant? Had Thomas managed to kill Jesse in the end, like he’d said he would?

  “Listen, I’m sorry that—”

  But Soquili’s expression had softened, losing its tight mask of hatred and easing into what Jesse recognized as a smile. His voice was calm, warmed by an emotion Jesse couldn’t place.

  “You killed my brother’s killer, Jess-see. My brother, he gave you this.” A broad grin brightened Soquili’s entire face. “I was right from the beginning,” he said. “You carry my brother’s spirit. You are my brother.”

  Just a few months before, Jesse never would have considered the idea. Now it felt natural and wholly possible.

  “I thank you, Tloo-da-tsì,” Soquili said quietly, folding both hands over the shell.

  Jesse watched Soquili get up and leave, his step lighter than it had been. When he was gone, Jesse glanced back at Adelaide, who appeared slightly bemused.

  “That was interesting,” Jesse said.

  She shook her head. “It was something.”

  Adelaide wasn’t well enough to stand and bid the Cherokee farewell, but Jesse was able to gently carry her closer to the window so she could watch them ride away. The day was done, the excitement over; the feast at the village beckoned the Cherokee. Jesse stood behind Adelaide, loving the gentle pressure of her body in his arms as she leaned against him for support. But at the same time he felt a tug on his heart, watching the riders disappear.

  You are wrong, brother, he thought, smiling to himself. You will see me again. You can’t get rid of me that easily.

  CHAPTER 45

  By the Hearth Fire

  It had to be a dream. And yet . . .

  I stood in the middle of a wide-open field, my parents’ home a stark, wasted skeleton in the distance. I knew the trees bordering the field, saw the contrast of vivid green against the faded yellow grass swaying at my feet. I knew the endless blue overhead, though the clouds were forever new. I didn’t want to see the house. Didn’t want to be back in this place. Too much of me had been broken there, on that day, in that other lifetime. Despite that, something in my heart yearned to step closer so I could run my fingers over the splintered boards I knew so well, to reach out for the memories that clung to the yellowed walls.

  Time and place do not matter in dreams. They do not exist. And so it was that I found myself at the front door of the house, averting my eyes from the spot on the wall. But while time and location have no place in dreams, neither do self-imposed rules or desires. My eyes were drawn inexorably back to the place where my mother had died. The bullet had flown so swiftly into her brain that she hadn’t had time to cry out, though I knew my sisters and I had screamed. But now, when I looked, the blood was gone. Any sign of her was gone . . . except for a small hole. A bullet hole. Would the murderous piece of metal still be inside? A narrow passage, but wide enough that my smallest finger fit inside. The passage was splintered, unconcerned with the intrusion, but not very long. At the end of it, I touched cold steel.

  “Good-bye, Mother,” I whispered.

  I wandered inside, my eyes taking in familiar knotholes in the walls, my ears listening for the distinctive creak I had come to expect from each board underfoot. My hands braced against the walls as I mounted the stairs because I knew the steps weren’t trustworthy. But I reached the top without stumbling, and I followed the corridor to the room where my sisters and I had all slept, curled together under pungent wool blankets. The world was a dangerous place, but as long as I was with my sist
ers I had always believed I was safe. That belief was long gone.

  Once upon a time, we had played in that room, giggled about silly little girl things, cried in each other’s arms, whispered deep into the night when we could hear my father’s snores in the next room. One time, little Ruth carried a jar of raspberry jam in there, then sat in the corner and dipped her tiny fingers into the sticky red fruit. She wasn’t allowed to have it in there, and she knew it, but who could take it away from her, as sweet as she looked with the telltale jam smeared over pudgy lips and cheeks? When she dropped the jar, Maggie and I did our best to wipe up the spill, clear away any evidence, but the juice soaked quickly through the wood floor, staining it forever. We slid our dresser over top, and no one ever knew but the three of us.

  The dresser still stood guard over the damage, and in my dream I twisted the rickety piece of furniture out of the way. The stain had faded into a dull gray, disappearing along with the echoes of our childish giggles, but it was still there. I stooped and touched the spot, my heart finally calm, finally strong enough to accept the truth.

  “Good-bye, Ruth.”

  Then I was outside again, but far from the house. I stood at the entrance to the forest, at the place between the trees where the monsters had ridden through, carrying the three of us as if we were mere sacks of flour. Once we’d crossed into that dark, cool world, we’d lost all hope. I’d lost any sort of courage I’d ever had. I’d lost myself.

  Now I stared at the forest, aware of small hushed sounds moving within. A bird fluttered by, and leaves rustled under tiny, scraping claws, but I heard no sound of horses, no gruff male voices. I knew the feel of that cold earth under my back, the unyielding rocks and roots that lined the forest floor, cutting and bruising bodies and souls. I knew the canopy of branches overhead that stretched out limbs to cut off the sun.

  “Good-bye fear,” I whispered, then stepped into the trees.

  Jesse stood just within, waiting.

  “You’re safe,” he said. I wrapped my arms around his waist and nodded into his chest, breathing in his scent, feeling calm and complete.