The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  “No.” She clutched his arm. “I was oblivious. I am the one who should have been more careful.” She strained to rise, and he helped her gain her feet, but still she clung to his arm.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little headache.” She touched the back of her head and flinched. “Ouch. That’s tender.”

  “It seems your head broke your fall.”

  Rubbing the spot, she flinched again. “It didn’t do a very good job.” He stepped away from her but held out his hands in case she wasn’t really all right. She waved him away. “No, don’t worry, I’m fine. We need to get my horse and keep moving.”

  He growled and lowered his hands. “I picked that horse because she is good about going straight to the reservation. I thought if anything happened, she would get you to safety, but—”

  “But you didn’t plan on me falling off her.”

  “No.” He grinned and she grinned back, her cheeks turning an inviting shade of pink. “No harm done,” he said to ease her embarrassment. “Wind Rider will get us there.” He whistled and the horse trotted over, her reins dragging the ground. Long Feather gathered them up and then hoisted himself into the saddle. “You will ride in front of me.” He offered her his hand. “That way, I can keep you from falling asleep.”

  She nodded, apparently understanding his concern, and allowed him to help her up. “At least we still have one horse.”

  Long Feather, sitting as far back in the saddle as he could, shifted his seat in search of more comfort, but was undeniably happy to be squeezed in so close to his passenger. “Yes, let us hope yet another dangerous mountain goat does not frighten our brave Wind Rider here.” Willingly taking advantage of the situation, he encircled Miss Laurie’s waist and nudged the horse forward. She stiffened at his touch, though, her posture going rigid as she worked to keep, he supposed, an acceptable distance between them. “Are you uncomfortable?” He meant the question in more ways than one.

  “No—I mean, yes. I was just thinking. About that man Glenn.” Long Feather thought he understood, but didn’t say so. “If he saw us now, he truly would be angry.” She glanced down at his arm encircling her. “This isn’t appropriate.”

  “But it is necessary. Unless one of us wants to walk. And I do not think we should waste the time.”

  She seemed to ponder that for a few of the horse’s steps. Then she relaxed and leaned back, almost touching him. The heat from her body, even through the thick coat, radiated to him, drew him a little closer and he inhaled. White women never smelled the same. In his experience they each had their own unique scent. Unlike the Cheyenne women who bore the odor of leather, smoke, roast meat, and bear grease. Not bad things. But he liked different too. And Miss Laurie smelled like sugar, and fresh bread, and flowers.

  “When we get to the reservation, I will take you to see the white doctor there. But then I would like for you to see Turtle Woman.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” Her terse response surprised him, and seemed to embarrass her. She squirmed and huffed a sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t like doctors.”

  “Then you will see only Turtle Woman.”

  “Turtle Woman doesn’t care for me. I don’t think I should.”

  Long Feather found it difficult to think anyone would not like Miss Laurie. Turtle Woman was, however, known for cruelty to captives, especially if they were white. The oldest living member of the tribe, she was highly respected, but her thorny temperament had won her few friends. The old woman could not be blamed. She had lost many loved ones to the Blue Coats and white settlers.

  “I will go with you when you see Turtle Woman. She will be respectful.”

  17

  Laurie hunched her shoulders in her coat and wondered if her goosebumps were from the cold air, her nearness to Long Feather, or the recollection of her first meeting with the irascible old woman. A little, dark stick of a thing, she had rushed up to Laurie, jabbering wildly in Cheyenne, and then yanked out a handful of hair.

  “You have had trouble with Turtle Woman?” Long Feather asked.

  If Laurie hadn’t been so shocked and Turtle Woman so old, she might well have slapped her across the mouth. She had not lost her self-control, though, and thanked the Holy Spirit for helping her keep calm. “She snatched out some of my hair and used it in some kind of spell.”

  She felt Long Feather stiffen behind her. “What kind of spell?”

  “A spell to make me go away. Or kill me. I’m not a hundred percent certain of the meaning.”

  “You did not go away and you are not dead. Are you afraid?”

  “Of Turtle Woman? Hardly. Well…” she trailed off, and reached for the braid hanging at her shoulder, “I keep my hair plaited now, as you can see.”

  Long Feather sighed softly. “That is a shame.”

  Laurie was strangely certain he was looking at—admiring—her hair and the goosebumps doubled on her skin. Had he paid her a compliment? Was such appropriate? She found she liked the idea. She liked him. How ridiculous to call him long in the tooth. Like her, he carried some years on his face, but she liked what time had done to Long Feather much better. That fine, proud nose and those dark, watchful eyes framed with creases bespoke nobility, courage, wisdom.

  Oh, but come now, she scolded herself. You didn’t come West to admire the men—

  Pain spiked suddenly and brilliantly behind her right eye cutting off her musings. She moaned and touched her temple.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, just a sudden ache. It’s nothing, really.”

  “And you know this because you have fallen off a horse before?”

  Laurie lowered her head and smirked at his sarcasm. “It’s mild. Nothing to worry about.” A yawn caught her off guard and the abrupt desire to sleep made her eyes heavy.

  “We spoke once of your home,” he said quickly. “Tell me about it again.”

  He was trying to get her mind off her injury and keep her awake. She would try to accommodate him. “Madison, Wisconsin. So green in the summer, it hurts your eyes. Rolling pastures are everywhere, and they’re filled with cattle and dairy cows. But we have trees. So many trees. Evergreens and maples. Summer is beautiful and winter is brutal.”

  “That makes the birth of spring all the more welcome.”

  “Yes.” He was quite the optimist. “Yes, it does. Tell me, Long Feather, why has it been so long since you visited the reservation? Red Bird asks about you every time I return from the ranch.” His silence seemed pointed and made her wonder if she’d misspoken. “Forgive me if I overstep.”

  A long spell passed before he answered. “Despite what my sister may have said, I do not ignore my family. I send food, supplies, horses even, on a steady basis. They are not neglected.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—no one has ever said anything—I-I mean, you’re spoken of very highly.” Flustered, she fell silent. What had she stepped into? “My apologies.”

  “Have you talked with my sister much, or Laughing Deer?”

  “About…?”

  “Me.” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe she had to ask.

  “Of course not.” Her answer was too abrupt and sounded curt, but why would he think she would go about questioning the women in his village about him? That certainly would be inappropriate and start tongues wagging. Perhaps she’d misunderstood the intent behind the question. “Is there something I should discuss with them? I mean, we talk of course. Red Bird helps me with the children. Laughing Deer—well, I really don’t know her. She keeps to herself.” And doesn’t laugh much at all. Laurie had assumed she was a sister as well, since she lived with Red Bird.

  “I only wondered what you know of me.”

  “Nothing.” Though she had thought to ask Red Bird once or twice why a man of his age was not married or had no children.

  As if echoing her thoughts, he asked, “What happened to your husband? Why have you not taken another?”

  “My husband died
two years ago in a wagon accident. I loved him. It was painful but serving the Lord, working on the reservations has been very fulfilling. God has become everything to me.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “Yes, a son. He heads up the organization for which I am a missionary.”

  “Why do you come to the People?” The Cheyenne name for his tribe.

  She drummed her fingers on the saddle horn, revisiting a dark and lonely time in her life. “My husband’s death…jolted me, you could say. I loved him very much and when he was gone, I realized how frivolous and shallow I was. I’d been loved well and taken care of, so much so that my comfortable life had made me lazy and short-sighted. I couldn’t see the suffering around me. I’d been given so much, and yet gave nothing back to God’s children. I vowed to spend the rest of my life serving Him and helping others.”

  “But what led you to my people?” he persisted.

  “I have no answer other than to say the Lord has put the Indians, but lately especially the Cheyenne, on my heart. You are proud, and noble, and kind. But, if you’ll forgive me, you’re also lost. Lost in superstition mostly. Held captive to ideas and rituals that don’t offer any hope.” When he didn’t respond right away, she was glad she couldn’t see his face, imagining a stern, disapproving crease in his brow. “I’m sorry. You’re not escorting me to listen to a sermon.”

  The horse plodded along beneath them for several minutes before he spoke again. “I do not mind your sermons. You believe what you say. And if what you say of your God is true, my people would do well to listen. Most won’t though.” His tone softened with sympathy…or guilt. “You know that?” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, I do.” And the fact always made her think about the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine to seek the one lost sheep.

  “But, still, you try to reach us.” He sounded bewildered.

  “I have come to seek the Lost. As the Lord sought me. If I find just one…” She didn’t finish, knowing what she felt couldn’t be explained to someone who had no friendship with Jesus.

  Long Feather’s fingers flexed gently at her waist and she stared down at his dark brown hand resting at her midsection, ready to hold her in the saddle should she fall asleep. The unexpected desire to put her hand atop his rose up in her mind, shocking her. Backing away from the idea, she quickly looked out over the dry, barren hills surrounding them. Heart pounding in her chest, she wondered what could be happening to her. Was it a bad thing? Could she serve the Lord as a missionary and yet have…

  Her gaze drifted back to his hand.

  A friend?

  Something more?

  Oh, Laurie, get ahold of yourself. You’re here to serve and share the Gospel. You can’t even consider—

  “Look.” Warm breath in her ear sent fresh goosebumps down her spine. Long Feather leaned in close to her and pointed off in the distance. “The white buffalo. He is rarely seen.”

  She spotted the lone animal slogging along the ridge of a hill like an old man, bent and tired. Nevertheless, an awe-inspiring sight.

  “It is a good sign. Your medicine is strong. Stronger than Turtle Woman’s.”

  18

  Long Feather pulled another coat from his saddle bag and handed it to Miss Laurie as he strode past her. “Put that on and I will build a fire.”

  This campsite, nestled amongst the pines and situated beside a running stream, was his favorite place to stop. Especially in the summer. Winter, however, was a challenge. He had no shelter here, as he never stayed more than one night. But if need be, he could take down trees and make a lean-to. Since Miss Laurie’s horse had left them, they were down to half the food and, more troubling, only one blanket and a lean-to was a thought, but he decided against it. He did not smell snow in the air. He would build a fire big enough to still have coals burning in the morning.

  He surveyed the area. It would be a little work, but he could fell a pine. He turned and marched back to the horse. “I will take down a tree. I need you to gather kindling.”

  Barely in the extra coat all the way, she nodded. “All right.”

  Within a few hours, they were seated cross-legged several warm feet from the huge fire clawing at the sky. “Why did you build it so big?”

  Long Feather chuckled. She had not guessed the reason. “Your horse is at the reservation by now. Did she not run off with your bedroll and extra blanket?”

  “Yes, but—” She stopped, bit her bottom lip, and looked at his bedroll, still bundled on the saddle, now sitting at his feet. “You did it to keep me warm.”

  “Yes and no.” From the saddle bag also at his feet, he tugged free a slab of jerky and started tearing it apart. “I built it big to keep me warm since you will be using my blanket.” Grinning, he handed her half the dried meat.

  “Oh, but I shouldn’t. The fire is warm. These coats are warm. You should use your bedroll.”

  “I can’t let Woman-Who-Holds-On catch a chill. The children would never forgive me.”

  “But you’ll get cold.”

  His mind traveled back to many times when, in his youth, he had been hunting game or men, looking for food or a victory. A chill in the air and hard ground beneath him were small matters. “It is just one night.”

  She took the meat and chewed absently on a corner of it for a few minutes, her gaze on the fire. “What happened to your family?” she asked gently. “I assume you were married. Do you have a wife? Children?”

  Though Possum Woman had been gone many years now, Long Feather could not think of her without a pang of grief. He missed her and always would, and the boy child they’d never had a chance to name. “I had a wife of my own. She was much in my heart.” The only woman he’d ever joined his spirt with in love. “She died when soldiers attacked our village, our unborn son with her.”

  Miss Laurie gasped. “I’m so sorry.” She shook her head and lowered the jerky. “How do you not hate all whites?”

  “For a time, I did.” The blood and battles came back to his mind easily, painfully. “As the years have passed, though, I have come to understand three very important things. Not all White men are evil. Not all Cheyenne are good. And, if the Cheyenne are to survive, the hate must stop somewhere.” It did not mean he loved the white man, but he would not allow men like Glenn to stir up feelings in him that would benefit no one but them.

  “You are wise and forgiving, Long Feather. You humble me. As a follower of Christ, I’m expected to offer forgiveness. I admit, it would be difficult, perhaps even impossible in your circumstances. Your loss is more than I can imagine.”

  “It is not forgiveness. I won’t live in the past.” He drew his knee in closer and rested his arm on it. “I am more what you call a realist. My people have fallen to the white man. Yet, we survive. If we keep hating, keep fighting, we won’t even be able to claim that.”

  “We have taken so much from the Indians.”

  “Much of it we gave away. The tribes turned on each other. If we had stood together, united, I believe we could have turned back the flood of white settlers.” The darkness that tried to rest on his heart was heavier tonight. It would be easy to succumb to it and let the hate sprout anew. He refused, though, to accept its company, especially when he had Miss Laurie here. “Your people won the war, but there are still small battles my people fight and win every day.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as accepting we may be defeated,” he shook his head, “but we are not broken.”

  19

  Long Feather had delivered Laurie to the reservation, stayed only a day, and then vanished. As she stoked the fire in her tipi and waited for the children to join her, she wondered about Red Bird and Laughing Deer. She had seen Long Feather huddled with them in earnest discussion last night, but he had spent little time with them. He had eaten with the old chief Laughs-in-the-Snow, slept in the chief’s tipi, and then was simply gone this morning, without a good-bye.

  Not that he owed Laurie one.

 
Still, she would have liked to have seen him off, ask about a possible escort back to the ranch in a few days.

  Her hand froze. Her thoughts were divided and the realization cut her.

  She dropped the stick in the fire and settled on her knees. The more she saw of Long Feather the more her thoughts drifted to him…and away from God.

  She let her eyes skim over the images of horses and warriors and buffalo herds painted on the walls of the tipi. The flicker of flames in the daylight almost gave them the illusion of movement. The simplistic drawings reflected the things she loved about the Cheyenne—their honesty, directness, lack of pretense.

  But she had to love them all. Equally.

  And she had to love God more.

  I do love You, Lord. I believe You sent me here to love these children, these people. But Long Feather awakens feelings in me that I thought had died. If it’s wrong for me to allow this, I pray You’ll make Your will clear.

  The tent flap whipped open, spilling bright sunlight into the tent. “The day is filled with sunshine, Woman-Who-Holds-On.” Little Ten Bears stepped inside, his round, brown face beaming with hope. “May we sit beside the creek today for our lessons?” Only eight or so, pudgy, and always smiling, he lit up her heart. The boy dropped beside her, black hair streaming down his shoulders, and she had to fight to keep from hugging the stuffing out of him. “Pleeeease,” he begged, quivering with anticipation.

  “You,” she tapped his little, pug nose, “always want to go outside. But you want to skip rocks more than you want to learn.”

  He grinned up at her through long, thick lashes, his eyes, dark as mahogany, glittering with mischief. “If I try very hard to pay attention for a little while, then may I skip rocks?”

  She laughed and mussed his hair. “If I get the first throw.”

  20

  After a week, Martha’s orders for Angela to rest before jumping back into the ranch’s routine felt more like a punishment than a gift. She dragged her fingers down a row of books in the library but not a single title caught her eye.