by Kaki Warner
“Perhaps tomorrow.”
He started to say something, then changed his mind and came to sit on the bed. He ate in silence and with such single-minded determination she wondered if he was that hungry or simply intent on rebuilding his strength as quickly as possible.
She poured a cup of water for him, then sat back and studied him as he ate. His improvement was remarkable. No fever, the tremble in his hands was gone, his appetite was back. Yet she sensed a distance growing between them and didn’t know what had caused it.
When he finished the last bite of oatmeal and had returned the empty bowl to the tray, she asked if she could check the wounds. He nodded and lifted the leather tunic to expose his bandaged ribs.
She removed the wrappings and was relieved to find no new evidence of infection. She flushed both wounds. His continued silence created an awkwardness that hadn’t been there before. She hated it. Feared it.
“The children do not come for lessons today?”
“It’s Saturday. They won’t be here tomorrow, either.” She didn’t mention that she had closed the school the previous week, as well, because she had been too involved with Thomas to teach the lessons.
“Where is my horse?”
“In the pen around back. Mr. Wallace brought hay and grain.”
“He is Mr. Wallace now? That Scotsman has too many names.”
Smiling at the description, she smeared carbolic ointment on two bandages, then motioned for him to hold them to the wounds while she applied sticking tape.
“He says I owe him for saving my life. When I am well, I will wrestle him and let him win. That should make him happy.” He tipped his head to study her face. “I owe you even more, I think.”
“There is no debt between us, Thomas.”
“I am glad.” He said no more until she finished wrapping the gauze around his chest, then he dropped the shirt back over his torso and stood. “Thank you, Prudence. Now I will walk.”
“Walk where?”
He pointed down the hall to the far wall of the classroom. “Fifty times. You will listen to me count and tell me if I miss numbers.”
He began stronger than he finished, but he completed the fifty laps, drank copious amounts of water, then slogged through a foot of melting snow to the outhouse rather than use a chamber pot. He ate lunch with the same grim-faced efficiency, washed in a bucket of warm water she brought him, then slept for two hours.
And still that space between them remained.
Pru was beside herself. What had she said or done to cause this breach between them? She could feel him drifting away but had no idea how to stop it. By the time she brought him supper, she was bouncing between anger and fear that she was losing him.
He was at the window again. She set the tray onto the table with a bang, then faced him, hands on hips.
He studied her for a moment, then walked over to take his seat on the bed. He took a bite of chicken, swallowed, and said, “You are angry.”
“No,” she lied. “I’m confused.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because you won’t talk to me.”
“Talk to you about what?”
Throwing her hands up in disbelief, she whirled and left the room.
When she came back later for the tray, she found him doing laps again. She picked up the tray and was turning to leave when he appeared beside her so suddenly she almost ran into him—how did the man move so silently?
Taking the tray from her hands, he set it back on the table, then pulled her into his arms. “Do not be angry, eho’nehevehohtse.”
“I’m not angry. I’m confused.”
“Between us nothing has changed. All is well.”
Well? After his silent treatment? Yet she allowed herself to lean into him, drawing strength from the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. He was her anchor, her slender thread back to a life of joy and love and hope. But she doubted she would ever understand him.
Moving his hands to her shoulders, he dipped his head and kissed her, then stepped back. “Sit, Prudence,” he said, motioning to the chair. “I will tell you what is in the pouch so you will understand and put away your anger.”
“I’m not angry.” But she sat and waited for him to speak.
He sat on the edge of the bed across from her, their knees almost touching. “Not long ago,” he began, “I was a Dog Soldier.” As he spoke, he stared past her at some distant point in his mind, his thumb idly stroking the worn leather of the pouch.
“We were foolish. We thought if we were brave enough and fought hard enough, we could defeat the bluecoats. Many died. Still the whites came. When I saw we could not win this war, I talked of finding a better way to take back our lands. But my Cheyenne brothers were too angry to listen.”
She saw the heartache in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Instinctively she reached out to brush her fingertips against his cheek, wanting him to come back to her and away from that sad place.
He seemed not to notice and looked down at the pouch, blinking hard. “I was not afraid to die, Prudence. But I did not want my family to struggle on without me, either. So I took them into the mountains where we could live in peace.”
He opened the pouch and pulled out a short length of straight black hair tied with a leather strip. “This belonged to my wife,” he said and set it on the table at his side. “And this was my son’s.” Another lock, baby fine and glossy as a crow’s wing.
Pru pressed her hand over her mouth.
“And this”—turning the pouch upside down, he shook out a small, misshapen piece of metal—“was the bullet that killed them.” He set it carefully on the table beside the locks of hair. “One bullet. Through my wife’s back and into my infant son as he slept in her arms.”
When he looked at her, Pru saw the sadness had been replaced by a coldness that took all expression from his face.
“One bullet, eho’nehevehohtse. Sent by a trapper who did not even know them but only sought to rid the world of two Indians with a single shot.”
Swallowing hard, Pru clasped her hands in her lap and looked toward the window. Beyond it, darkness turned the snow a ghostly gray. It will freeze tonight, she thought. In the morning, they would awaken to a crust of sugary ice crystals that would melt away by afternoon to expose the mud and withered foliage beneath.
It explained so much. That unshakable strength in him. That amused tolerance with which he viewed life, and his protectiveness toward his new family in Heartbreak Creek. There were no surprises left for Thomas. He had seen it all and endured the worst. He had watched his dreams destroyed by a single, random, senseless act of evil and had seen beneath the glittering façade to the harshest reality a human could suffer.
And yet here he was. Still caring. Still trying. Still believing in second chances.
“I will find him, Prudence. I must.”
She looked back to see him slipping the locks of hair and the spent bullet into the pouch. He pulled the drawstring closed and set it on the table. “I owe it to my wife and son so that their spirits can rest.”
“Is this why you disappear into the mountains for days at a time? To find the man who killed them? Trying to find the trapper who did this?”
“Yes.”
“And if you don’t find him?”
“I will find him.”
She saw the determination in the set of his chin, and felt something twist in her chest. He would die rather than fail in this task. He allowed himself no other outcome.
“I ask that you understand, heme’oono. I must do this thing before I can begin again with you.”
She swiped her tears away and nodded. “I understand.” She didn’t like it, but she would accept it. It was all part and parcel of this complex man she had grown to love.
Rising from the chair, she began unbuttoning her dress. “But not tonight. Tonight you’ll give me a memory to hold in my heart until you come back to me. That’s what I ask of you.”
A slow sm
ile took the bleakness from his face. “I am still weak.”
She laughed and hoped he didn’t hear the catch in her throat or see the tremble in her hands as she let her dress slide to the floor. But if he did, he would know why and understand. She loved that about him most of all.
“You’ve never been weak, Thomas. But if you’re worried about your wound, I’ll be content to lie beside you and watch you sleep.”
The smile spread. “Will you?”
“For now.” She pulled the shift over her head and stood naked before him, scars and all. It was a terrifying, liberating moment, but when she saw something kindle in his eyes that had nothing to do with pity and everything to do with desire, she smiled. “Or perhaps we can think of another way.”
“There is always another way. If not, we will make one.” He held out his arms.
It was only a single step. But it was the hardest she had ever taken.
“Do not be afraid,” he whispered, gathering her close. “Nemehotatse, eho’nehevehohtse.”
“I love you too, Thomas.”
Maddie awoke with a jerk, her body rigid with terror. Gasping, she stared frantically into the darkness, her heart slamming against her ribs. But the attack never came. After a moment, the snarls and screams faded into a droning snore.
Turning her head, she saw her husband sprawled beside her, head back, mouth open, his big hands resting on his chest. She lifted a trembling hand and touched his shoulder. “Ash.”
“Sent arms,” he mumbled and rolled onto his side away from her. After a moment, his breathing settled into the slow exhalations of deep sleep, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
She stared up at the ceiling while inside her head the images continued to flash, one after another, like projections from a magic lantern on a distant wall—Cochran, Tricks, Ash, blood.
“Time,” Ash had said that first night she had awakened from night terrors. “Give it time, love. And remember I’m right beside you.”
But the fear remained. In fact, it seemed to have grown stronger as the days passed. It colored everything—each decision, every thought. It followed her onto the boardwalk, tricking her into hearing footsteps behind her or voices whispering her name. It hovered just beyond her vision, a shadow there then gone, ready to slip into her mind the moment she closed her eyes.
She didn’t know how to make it go away.
And it wasn’t just fear for herself that kept her twisting at night.
She pressed her palm against her belly. Even now a babe might be growing inside. A son and future earl, his life predetermined by position and rank rather than his own desires and the happenstance of luck, choice, and hard-won experience.
But safe.
In Scotland, he would have a life of wealth and privilege, surrounded by servants, tutors, people charged to watch over him and keep him from harm. Far away from this violent, lawless place.
How could she deny her child that?
This was no longer just about her and her photographs. It was about building a future that was safe. It was about Ash and the children they might have, and putting her own ambitions aside and doing what was best for them. She had asked Ash to make her his duty. Now she must do the same for him.
Understanding in a way she never had the restraints of duty that bound Ash so tightly, she rolled over and put her arm around his waist.
He shifted, murmured something, and let out a great sigh.
She smiled. Blotting her tears against his strong, sturdy back, she nestled against his warmth and closed her eyes.
She would talk to him tomorrow.
Perhaps it was time to go back.
Twenty-three
Church again. Ash had withstood cavalry charges, cannon bombardments, and three months in an Irish hospital. He could probably withstand another round of Pastor and Biddy Rickman’s evangelical enthusiasm. But he dinna want to.
At least this time, he had convinced his wife to walk the entire half mile to the Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek, rather than go in Miss Hathaway’s buggy. He enjoyed any time alone with her he could get. Living in a hotel suite put limitations on privacy.
“You were gone when I awoke,” Maddie said, leaning slightly into his shoulder as they strolled along, her arm linked through his.
“Aye. It was a braw morning, so it was, and you were sleeping so soundly I decided to take the dogs out for a walk.”
She pretended to look around. “Did you lose them along the way? I haven’t seen them all morning.”
“Driscoll is letting them rid the manure pile of mice.”
As they left the canyon, he looked out over the rolling flats, feeling again that lift in spirits that always came over him whenever he was surrounded by so much sky and unbroken land. Perhaps they might build a home out here, in view of the mountains but not crowded against them. Room to stretch. He needed that. Here, he could breathe.
In the distance, several large animals came out of the trees to graze. Elk, he guessed by the size. Magnificent animals, so they were. The highlands had naught to equal their majesty.
“It’s beautiful country, your mountains. There is nothing quite so lovely as a Colorado dawn.”
She slanted him a teasing glance. “Even lovelier than your Highlands?”
He thought for a moment, comparing the two. “In a different way, perhaps. In Scotland the morn comes as a slow awakening. Mist rising out of the dells, draping the hills in a soft, gray shroud, the air growing thick with the scent of gorse and heather. But here…” He made an expansive motion with his arm and laughed. “Here the day bursts on you like a challenge. A hush stillness, a faint glow behind the ridges, then suddenly streaks of sunlight are racing down the slopes at full charge. I can see why you love it here. It’s a seductive place.”
“Seductive?”
“Aye. Perhaps because it’s still new and untainted by politics and failure and the wanton destruction that has left its mark on the islands of home. It pulls you in. Opens up possibilities you never knew were there.”
“You sound as if you don’t want to go back to Scotland.”
Did he? Perhaps, a bit. “Here, men are judged by accomplishment, not bloodlines. For the first time in seventeen years, I’m not under orders or having my future dictated by my birthright. I like the freedom of that, so I do.”
She pressed her cheek against his arm. “My father would have adored you.”
“Wise man.”
She chuckled, then slowed, her attention drawn to the figure walking ahead of them down the track. “Is that Pru? But why would she leave Thomas? Pru!” she called, waving her free arm.
Miss Lincoln stopped and waited for them to catch up.
As they drew alongside, Miss Lincoln fell into step beside them.
“Where’s Thomas?” Maddie asked.
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“Into the mountains. He said he had some unfinished business.”
“Was he well enough?”
A smile tugged at Miss Lincoln’s full lips. “He’s a fast healer.”
Maddie shook her head. “I can’t believe he would just up and leave in his condition. He said nothing?”
“He left me this.” Reaching into her pocket, Miss Lincoln pulled out a piece of rose-colored quartz carved in the shape of a heart.
“Oh, how lovely.” Pulling her arm from Ash’s, Maddie stopped to study it, marveling over the beauty and color of the smooth, opaque stone. “That’s so sweet. I never realized Thomas was such a romantic.”
Ash was a bit surprised himself.
At a call, they looked over to see Edwina and Declan Brodie waving as they went past in their buckboard, the back filled with restless children. The girl, Brin, wore a bonnet in place of her floppy hat, a dress, and a scowl. The boys wore clean shirts and slicked-down hair. Ash wondered how long Mrs. Brodie had labored to bring about the improvements.
Behind them, in her buggy, came Miss Hathaw
ay. As she rolled by, she slowed to call out. “Don’t forget. Dinner at the hotel after the service.” Then she snapped the reins and sent the pacer moving smartly along.
Another boisterous gathering. Not that Ash minded spending time with Maddie’s Heartbreak Creek family, but he would also enjoy an intimate dinner with just his wife every now and then. He was about to suggest they get their own place so they could do that, then remembered his wife couldn’t cook.
The Brodies and Miss Hathaway were waiting outside the church when they arrived. Greetings evolved into questions about Thomas then “ohs” and “ahs” over the stone he had given Miss Lincoln.
Ash refrained from snorting. It was a bluidy rock. What was so special about that? Although he had to admit all he had given his wife was a used signet ring. He must rectify that. He couldn’t allow the heathen to win the day with a bluidy rock.
The Rickmans were in fine form that morning and managed to keep Ash awake for the entire service. It helped that he sat directly in front of Brin, who spent the hour bouncing the toe of her wee boot off the back of his pew.
They arrived back at the hotel just as Miriam was setting up their table. The hotel kitchen was gaining a fine reputation for its excellent fare, and more tables were full than empty. They were just finishing an excellent repast of roast beef, potatoes, several bowls of vegetables, fresh rolls, and blackberry cobbler when Yancey came in and told Miss Hathaway that visitors were waiting in the lobby.
A look of excitement came over her face. She pushed back her chair and rose. “Perhaps it’s the gentleman from the Wichita Pacific. Although he isn’t due for several more weeks.”
“He’s not a he,” Yancey said. “And she’s not asking for you.” He pointed a gnarly finger at Ash. “It’s him she came to see. She brought two fellows with her.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “And one of them is wearing a dress.”
Ash turned to look back through the open door at the three people waiting in the lobby. The air went out of him.
“Isn’t that Glynnis?” Maddie asked.
What was his sister doing here? Tossing down his napkin, he rose and walked quickly into the lobby.