Although she was still at the white man’s house, she had managed to come to him in the night inside his heart. It seemed to Thunder Horse that she was crying out to him not to forget her.
“What does this mean?” he whispered to the heavens as he sought answers from the Great Spirit high above.
Suddenly things were still again except for the soft wind whispering through the trees, and the occasional yelp of a coyote off in the distance.
A chill raced up and down Thunder Horse’s spine as he turned his steed back in the direction of his village once again . . . a chill caused by the unknown. . . .
Chapter Six
Relieved that the party was finally over and she was secluded in her bedroom, Jessie sat in her soft lacy nightgown at a mirrored vanity while Jade stood behind her, brushing Jessie’s long auburn hair.
As Jessie looked into the mirror, she could see the reflection of the room behind her.
Although she had found Reginald vastly different from the person she had known years ago, he had remembered her fondness for pretty, delicate things. Before her arrival he had decorated her room thusly.
The four-poster bed projected a luxurious ambiance of elegance. It was a stunning, tall, hand-painted bed of black chinoiserie, its canopy draped in rose-colored French silk damask, trimmed with handmade fringes and a cream-colored silk lining.
She had loved the bed the first moment she set eyes on it. The canopy gave her a sense of sanctuary; this would be a place where she could get away from the day’s woes and discomforts, and no one could disturb her.
Everything else about the room was pretty, too. The matching draperies at the window were of velvet and decorated with ribbons and lace.
“Jessie, I have a daughter,” Jade suddenly blurted out.
“You do?” Jessie said, now gazing at Jade’s reflection in the mirror instead of the grandeur of the bedroom. “Where is she? Is she still in China?”
“No, she isn’t in China. She is in Tombstone,” Jade murmured, pausing in the brushing of Jessie’s hair.
Instead, she nervously turned the brush in her hands, her eyes revealing her worry as she told Jessie about her daughter.
“She is . . . in . . . one of those awful cribs?” Jessie gasped when Jade had finished. She turned on the bench and faced Jade, who now sat on a chair beside her.
“Ah hao, yes, she is there,” Jade said, resting the brush on her lap. “Her name is Lee-Lee. She is tiny and so very afraid of what has been forced upon her. I’m helpless to do anything for her except . . . except . . . to take food to her, and that only once a week.”
“Once a week?” Jessie gasped. “What does she do on the other days?”
“She is fed, but it is her mother’s food that she craves,” Jade murmured, casting her slanted eyes downward.
Then she looked in desperation at Jessie again. “Crib women don’t live long,” she blurted out, tears shining in her eyes. “They die from disease passed on by the men who frequent the cribs, or . . . from . . . suicide.”
“Suicide?” Jessie said, her eyes widening. “Do you think your daughter will—”
Jade interrupted her. “I have seen the hopelessness in my daughter’s eyes the last few times I have gone to her,” she said tightly. “She won’t last much longer. She can’t stand the humiliation. She can’t stand the men’s callous treatment, or being locked up all day.”
“How horrible,” Jessie murmured, truly horrified by what Jade was telling her. She placed a gentle hand on Jade’s cheek, then drew it away again. “Who is responsible for your daughter’s misfortune?”
Jade looked quickly and nervously toward the closed door, then leaned closer to Jessie. “Your cousin,” she said in a whisper.
“Reginald?” Jessie said, searching Jade’s eyes. “He—?”
“Yes, Reginald Vineyard,” Jade said tightly, her eyes filled with rage. “My daughter is a prisoner of your cousin. He owns several cribs in Tombstone. He has forced not only my daughter into prostitution, but many other unfortunate women who have no family or anyone to care for them.”
Jessie was totally stunned and sickened by what Jade had told her, not only about her daughter’s troubles, but also about Reginald being such a demonic sort of man. She slid her feet into soft slippers and went to stand at the window, gazing out into the pitchblackness of night.
“I don’t understand,” she said. She then whirled around to face Jade again. “He . . . he . . . is loved by the people of the church. How can that be if he—?”
Again Jade interrupted her. “The decent townsfolk who go to church with him have no idea he does this,” she said flatly. “He has threatened anyone who tells. And . . . he has threatened to kill any woman who tries to escape. He has told them that he will hunt them down and kill them. I am afraid to try to flee his clutches, myself. Where could I even go? Reginald would send out word to everyone not to hire me. I would be homeless. I would die of starvation.”
Almost speechless now at what she was learning about her cousin, Jessie realized he was anything but religious. Religion was just a front for him, to keep people from discovering his illicit activities.
“Should you be telling me all of this?” Jessie asked, placing gentle hands on Jade’s thick shoulders. “If Reginald finds out—”
“I felt that I could trust you not to tell,” Jade murmured. “You won’t, will you?”
“Heavens, no!” Jessie said. “I would never tell him what you have confided in me tonight.”
“Jessie, can you find a way to help Lee-Lee?” Jade asked, her eyes pleading. “You are free to come and go as you please, aren’t you?”
“So far,” Jessie gulped out.
She stepped away from Jade and began slowly pacing the floor; the rug was thick and cushiony beneath her slippered feet.
After hearing all of this, and realizing just how uncomfortable she was with Reginald, who was a stranger to her now, Jessie wondered about her own future. How could she stay with Reginald now that she knew what a monster he was?
Yet where would she go?
Of course, Kansas City had been her home, yet those she loved . . . her family . . . were no longer there.
But she did have friends there.
She had much to decide now, but most of all she must keep in mind the best interests of her unborn child.
“Jessie, can you help my daughter?” Jade asked again as she came up beside Jessie, causing her to stop pacing. “She is the only tiny, pretty Chinese girl there in that particular set of cribs. The other Chinese cribs are far back from the main street in a portion of Tombstone called Chink Town.”
Suddenly she grabbed Jessie desperately by the arm. “Please, oh, please say that you will help my daughter escape that terrible place,” she begged, her eyes wild with fear.
“Even if I did, where could she go?” Jessie asked. “Reginald would surely hunt her down, as well as the one who helped her escape.”
Suddenly Jessie heard screams of horror . . . of fright, out in the corridor.
Eyes wide, she looked at Jade. “What in the world . . .” she gasped.
“This is becoming a nightly ritual,” Jade said, a slow smile curving her lips.
“What?” Jessie asked, shaken when another terrible scream of horror came through the closed door. “Who . . . ?”
“Reginald,” Jade said nonchalantly.
“Reginald?” Jessie gasped out.
“For some time now Reginald has been having terrifying nightmares,” Jade said, her voice revealing a glad smugness. “Each night his screams of torment get worse than the last.”
Again his screams came through the door.
Now Jessie could even hear him running down the corridor!
“Why is this happening?” Jessie asked. Part of her wanted to go to Reginald, to comfort the boy with whom she had shared such a precious childhood. But now that she knew the sort of man he had become, the rest of her wanted to leave him to his torment, because he did seem
to have brought it on himself by his evil deeds.
“Why?” Jade repeated, staring at the closed door, then turning back toward Jessie. “Because he’s done so much meanness in his lifetime,” she said tightly.
Stunned by how terrified Reginald sounded, Jessie wondered what could be the seed of such fear. Allowing herself to remember the good times they’d shared, she pulled on a robe and hurried out into the corridor.
She stopped abruptly when she found Reginald crumpled to the floor, breathing hard, his face in his hands.
Jessie stood there a moment, staring down at the pitiful sight, then knelt down beside him.
“Reggie?” she murmured, starting to reach out for him.
Reginald’s head jerked up.
The fear in his eyes changed quickly to anger when he saw Jessie kneeling there.
He scrambled to his feet, fists at his sides. “Didn’t I tell you never to call me Reggie again?” he shouted. He pointed toward her room. “And get back to your room. Mind your own business!”
Horrified by his reaction to her kindly meant gesture, Jessie stared dumbfoundedly at him for a moment. Then she hurried to her room and closed the door between herself and her cousin.
Seeing how distraught Jessie was, Jade took her into her arms. “Now you know the true ugliness of this man,” she murmured, gently embracing her. “Jessie, be careful. Be . . . very . . . careful about what you do or say around him.”
Jessie eased from Jade’s arms.
Pale, her heart thumping wildly inside her chest, she laid a hand on her belly. She was truly afraid now for her child. One blow from this man and she could lose her baby!
Tomorrow she would start her plan of escape.
She would explore the countryside on the horse Reginald had given her. He had remembered how she had always enjoyed horseback riding.
But he had told her not to go far from the ranch; that it was dangerous. She now realized he was afraid she might meet people who could eventually help her!
But the main thing she knew now was that she would have to find a way to flee, the sooner, the better.
But how?
She had no money. And now she had not only herself and her unborn child to think about, but also Jade and her daughter Lee-Lee. They were in danger as long as they were under the thumb of her cousin Reginald.
“What are you going to do?” Jade asked, sensing Jessie’s tumultuous thoughts.
“I’m not sure yet,” Jessie said. She took Jade’s hands in hers. “But there must be a way for us to get away from this man. He might be my cousin, but I’m beginning to believe he is a madman!”
Jade flung herself into Jessie’s arms. “Then you’ll help us? Thank you, oh thank you,” she sobbed. “Still, I can’t help being afraid.”
“Yes, I know,” Jessie said, returning Jade’s hug. “I am afraid, too.”
They both stiffened when they heard Reginald rant and rave in the corridor as he walked back toward his own bedroom.
“I wonder what caused him to change,” Jessie said, her voice drawn. “There isn’t anything about him that is the same as he once was.”
“I hear the Indians put a curse on him,” Jade said, leaning away from Jessie to peer intently into her eyes.
“A curse?” Jessie gasped, paling. “Why?”
Jade shrugged. “He must have wronged them, too, somehow,” she said. She lifted the hairbrush. “Come, and I will finish brushing your hair so that you can go to bed. You look tired, Jessie. Very, very tired.”
Jessie took the robe off, laid it across the back of a chair, then sat back down before the mirror.
As Jade resumed brushing her hair, Jessie’s thoughts went over all that the lovely Chinese woman had told her.
That part about the Indians intrigued her. She wondered if it might be true. If so, might it have anything to do with Thunder Horse’s Sioux people?
Yes! She recalled now that Reginald had said the Sioux knew about where he had found the silver, but no one else did!
Had the Sioux put a curse on him? Did Thunder Horse have a role in this?
Thunder Horse.
Ah, just the thought of that handsome chief made everything bad leave Jessie’s mind.
She hoped that tomorrow, when she was out horseback riding, she might possibly see him, or even find his village.
Might she eventually seek help from the Sioux, and especially Thunder Horse?
He had already helped her once. Were she to ask, would he save her a second time?
Chapter Seven
The day was bright and filled with a soft wind as Thunder Horse rode on his sorrel horse beside his nephew Lone Wing. He was constantly impressed by the boy’s growth; he seemed to have the spirit and skills of someone twice his age.
There was no true purpose for their excursion today except for Lone Wing to develop his skills on his palomino pony. One day, when he was a warrior full grown, he would ride a horse as powerful as Thunder Horse’s muscled steed.
As they rode onward, and turned past a thick stand of tall ponderosa pines, Thunder Horse’s eyes were drawn ahead to someone kneeling beside a granite stone that his people worshiped with prayers and offerings.
It was a woman!
One of her gloved hands was clutching the reins of a brilliantly white horse, which stood behind her, lazily munching oat grass.
When Thunder Horse realized who this person was, his heart skipped a beat. Her hair was flame-red beneath the rays of the early afternoon sun, and her tininess was even more pronounced in what appeared to be riding clothes—a white blouse, a leather skirt, and leather boots.
Ho, it was the same woman who had unknowingly lured him to Reginald Vineyard’s ranch house last night, to observe her as she mingled with the crowd of white people.
While horseback riding today, she had discovered the stone that was sacred to Thunder Horse’s people.
Lone Wing saw Thunder Horse slow his steed to a trot and followed his uncle’s lead. Then he noticed the path his uncle’s eyes had taken and saw what . . . who . . . Thunder Horse was looking at so intently.
A mitawin, a white woman!
Lone Wing’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“You are looking at this woman as though you know her,” Lone Wing said, edging his pony closer to Thunder’s Horse’s steed. “Who is she? Why is she kneeling beside the sacred stone of our people? Do whites worship it, too? Do some whites have the same beliefs as we Sioux have? And . . . why are you looking at this mitawin with such . . . such . . .”
Lone Wing didn’t finish his question, for he was not certain that he should.
Yet his curiosity remained. His uncle had chosen not to allow a woman into his life while he had so many troubles on his mind about his people and his ailing father.
Thunder Horse glanced quickly at Lone Wing. As they drew rein, Thunder Horse felt a little unnerved that his nephew had caught him gazing with such fascination at this woman.
Since Thunder Horse wasn’t certain why he could not let go of Jessie in his mind, or his heart, he knew that it would be hard for him to explain this attraction to anyone else. So he chose to ignore part of his nephew’s question.
“No, Lone Wing, no whites have the same beliefs as we Sioux,” he said. “This woman has surely been drawn here out of curiosity.”
“What are you going to do about her?” Lone Wing asked. “Are you going to order her away, or let her remain here?”
Thunder Horse didn’t respond right away. He still gazed at Jessie, aware that she had not heard their approach.
She seemed caught up in studying what lay at the foot of the stone. He understood that to a white woman, the objects lying there would be curious.
He was glad that she had not reached out to touch anything that had been placed there by his people. He found her respect for his people’s beliefs commendable.
“What will you do about her being here, where she does not belong?” Lone Wing asked again, surprised when his uncle’s only
response was to sink his heels into the flanks of his steed and ride onward toward the woman.
Lone Wing caught up with him. “Will you allow her to remain, or order her away?” he prodded.
“Neither,” Thunder Horse finally said, looking over at Lone Wing. “We will go and speak with her, then allow her to do as she pleases. Stay or go. It is apparent that she means no harm.”
Jessie’s insides tightened when she became aware of approaching horses. She had been so caught up in studying what lay around the stone, and the stone itself, that she had not heard the horses earlier.
She knew they were very close now, and she could not help being suddenly afraid. She was alone and someplace she obviously shouldn’t be, especially if these were Sioux warriors riding toward her.
She rushed to her feet.
When she turned and saw who was approaching, her pulse raced. Thunder Horse was riding toward her on a lovely steed with a teenage boy on a pony close beside him.
She no longer felt threatened, but quite the opposite. She had hoped to see Chief Thunder Horse again, and here he was, his eyes looking squarely into hers. Her insides melted when he smiled at her.
But no words were exchanged.
He drew rein a few feet from her, and she knew that any other white woman would be afraid to be discovered by Indians so far from home.
But she wasn’t afraid.
She would never forget Thunder Horse’s kindness toward her, how he had saved her life!
Thunder Horse raised his left hand in greeting, palm out, in his people’s gesture of friendship . . . the left hand because it was nearer the heart and had shed no blood.
“I remember you,” he said in a deep, masculine tone as he lowered his hand and again took up his horse’s reins. “We became friends on that day when I stopped the runaway stagecoach. I remember your name, too. It is Jessie.”
Pleased that he had remembered not only her, but also her name, Jessie nodded. “Yes, I remember you, too,” she said, nervously twining and untwining the reins around her left hand. She occupied her hands in the hope of keeping him from noticing that they were trembling.
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