by Denise Dietz
“Because Tonna said that’s what you’d say. It ain’t true, ’specially the last part. I believe Cat loves you greatly. He just don’t want you to see him.”
“Why? His scarred face?”
“Ain’t so terrible to look at no more. It’s been medicined, and the sun’s tanned it good.”
“Then I don’t understand—”
“Luke. He’s got a wicked tongue. Lit into my friend Mac with that tongue after Dimity’s death till Mac couldn’t think clear. Now Luke’s pullin’ the same stunt on Cat. Luke’s like a bloodsuckin’ tick ’neath a pup’s skin. No matter how hard puppy scratches, the tick burrows deeper. Every day Luke tells Cat how much better he looks, which ain’t no lie. But Luke says it in a voice that’s too slick. Cat won’t have mirrors in the house, so he don’t know the truth.”
“I didn’t realize . . . Jane never said . . . I don’t care how Cat looks!”
“Somehow Luke’s learned ’bout Cat lovin’ you, and he tells Cat you’re seein’ this man or that man and watchin’ polo or dancin’ till dawn at the Antlers.”
“And Cat believed those lies? Of course he did. I have to see him, convince him Luke’s wrong.”
“Tonna and me was hopin’ you’d say that. Will you come callin’ real soon?”
“Not soon. Today. I hate automobiles as much as you do, but I want to get there before darkness, so I’ll have my chauffeur saddle up our new Cadillac. Please come with me. Janey can hostess my Fourth of July party. Tomorrow she can return Avalanche. I think she’d purely enjoy a horseback ride.”
“Cat’s mule-headed,” Percy warned. “It won’t be easy.”
“Sure it will. I’ll just tell him the truth.”
* * * * *
It wasn’t easy at all.
When Flo arrived at the ranch, it was late afternoon. Luke offered an effusive greeting, which Flo cut short by saying, “Where’s Cat?”
Small eyes glittered from the expanse of Luke’s bloated face. His nose was flat and wide, he weighed at least three hundred pounds, and she understood why Janey had compared him to a hog.
“My brother’s mending fences out on the range, Mrs. Lytton,” he said. “Or can I call you Flower?”
“May I borrow a horse, Mr. McDonald, and would you be kind enough to point me in the right direction?”
“Follow our pastures west toward the mountains. Percy’ll saddle up one of my prize palomino mares.”
Cat’s prize palomino mares, you slug! Turning on her heels, Flo followed Percy, who walked toward the barn. Thank goodness she’d changed into blue jeans and boots.
It took another hour before Flo’s dainty mare whinnied and Flo heard a response from a great golden stallion. Cat whirled about in his saddle. Watching her approach, he said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello, Cat McDonald.”
“Get off my ranch!” he shouted, adjusting his Stetson’s brim so that it shadowed more of his face.
“Why are you so angry?”
“Because you rode here uninvited.”
“If I remember rightly, the last time you visited me it was without an invitation, thank God.” She dismounted. “Would you like to know how your daughter fares?”
“No. Yes.”
“Get down off your high horse, Cat. I don’t cotton to shout at the sky.”
“Cotton? Mighty plain talk for a rich lady, Mrs. Lytton.”
“Mighty plain talk for a parlor house girl, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“For years you believed I was a fille de joie.”
“Are you saying you’re not a rich widow?”
“Certainly I’m wealthy. Is that a sin? I’m also very lonely.”
“Tell me about my daughter,” he said, dismounting.
“Tonnagay is very beautiful and very spoiled.” Flo leaned against her saddle. “Are you pretending not to hear me? I said I was lonely.”
“I suppose it gets downright lonesome to watch polo during the day, then drink and dance all night.”
“I’ve never done those things, no matter what Luke says.”
“How the hell do you know about Luke?”
“Percy.”
“He has no right.”
“He has every right, especially since he loves you too.”
Cat picked a handful of grass and sifted it through his fingers. “Are you saying you love me, Fools Gold?”
“With all my heart.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
“I’ve never denied my love for you, Cat, not since the cave-in.”
“You gave my child to another man!”
“I’ve made many mistakes, but regarding Tonnagay, I had no choice.” When he didn’t reply, she placed her foot in the stirrup. “Well, I’ve said my piece.” The mare pranced away. “Please help me up into the saddle. Why won’t you come closer? Your scars?”
He spun around, facing the mountains. “I don’t want to see your love become disgust.”
She stared at his straight back and broad shoulders. “You can’t possibly believe that. Do you think so little of me? Do you honestly think I fell in love with your face? Would you love me less if it were the other way around? Would you feel repelled if my ear was raggedy or my cheek scarred?”
“You turned away at the hospital. Even you couldn’t look at—”
“Spit!”
“Spit?”
She heard the semblance of a smile in his voice. “Yes, spit. You were hurting and your hurt was my hurt. I turned away to hide my tears. I didn’t want you to think I felt sorry for you. Look at me, Cat. If you see one flicker of disgust in my eyes, I’ll ride away and leave you alone forever.”
“Forever is a long, long time,” he said, making an about-face.
The setting sun blinded her. She took a few steps forward until Cat’s body tucked the sun out of sight. With a sigh, she took off his hat and tossed it aside.
Thick dark hair. Eyes the color of a summer leaf.
“Are you going to faint, Fools Gold?”
“I never faint . . . hardly ever . . . once.”
On tiptoe, she caressed his face with her fingertips, ran her lips over his left cheek and chin, kissed each ridged scar, every white line of damaged tissue, until she found his mouth. Pulling away, she gasped for breath. “My legs don’t have any strength, Cat. Oh, God, I want you so badly.”
He swept her up into his arms. “Have you no shame, Fools Gold?”
“None. We’ve never loved on a bed before. Why should this time be different?”
“I’ll make a bed for you.” He walked toward a copse of trees, stopping every few steps to find her mouth and take her breath away.
“Hurry, Cat! No. Kiss me again. I can’t wait to feel you inside me. I hope you can’t wait, either.”
But when he placed her on the thick bed of leaves, their haste diminished. Slowly, they removed every stitch of clothing. This time there would be no barriers between them, not even cotton, denim and leather.
He traced her soft curves while she tracked his hard muscles. He caressed urgently, a Chinook wind. She responded fiercely, a mountain lion clawing at his back and shoulders.
When he would have waited, she incited his entry, arching her body to meet his. When he would have withdrawn, she twined her long legs about his waist, capturing him inside until his hot need began to build again.
“You little devil,” he said, after she’d allowed him release.
“I’m only half alive without you, Cat. Without you, the world is a black-and-white movie, no color at all. Why does the darkness seem so much brighter now?”
“Darkness . . . night . . . we’ve lost the sun.”
“No, my love, we’ve found it again.”
* * * * *
Cat and Flo were married at Aguila del Oro. In attendance were Johanna and Steven Lytton, Alan and Dorothy Tassler, Jane Percival, Tonna, Percy, Sally, Lorenzo, Marylander and Jack. Cat’s brother Dani
el was in Rome and Mike wouldn’t allow his newly pregnant Katie to travel the long distance. Lucas was not invited.
As Flo walked down the living-room aisle, she saw the right side of Cat’s face, his flawless profile. I prefer the left side, she thought.
In a strange way, his scars were a cynosure that attracted rather than repelled. If Cat’s face graced movie screens again, the two ladies in Cincinnati would probably faint from love, not fear.
Flo spoke her vows, thinking how most people spent their entire lives searching for gold, believing the discovery of the precious ore would buy happiness or health or harmony. Some took time to enjoy their dreams, like Kate and Mike, Jack, Lorenzo and Sally, and, at the end of his life, Edward. But some, like Ned and Suzy, kept searching, never content, never at peace.
During the reception that followed, while Cat danced with Marylander, Flo beckoned to Tonna and led her toward a newly constructed cottage.
Tonna smiled when she reached the bedroom. Spread across a white bedspread were fresh flowers: red roses, snapdragons, lilies and daisies. A wall mirror reflected the blooms.
“This is the house for your wedding journey?”
Flo felt her cheeks flush. “Cat and I plan to honeymoon in New York, visit Kate and Mike. Then we’ll satisfy a promise Cat made and ride to the gold hilltops. I had this cottage furnished for you and Percy. When Cat agreed to live at Aguila del Oro, I thought you might be in danger. Lucas and his damned Ku Klux Klan. Cat loves you both so much, and so do I . . .” She paused, searching for the right words. “Would you prefer to live in the main house?”
Tonna walked to the bed, scooped up an armful of flowers, and hid her face within the exquisite blooms.
Flo wished Jack stood beside her. He’d want to memorize Tonna’s beaded braids and dark eyes—oh, no! Tonna’s eyes were filled with tears. Flo hugged her, crushing the flowers. “Why are you crying? I swear these aren’t servants’ quarters. Cat regards you and Percy as his parents. We have room for Percy’s white horses and John McDonald’s palominos, not to mention those stupid hogs. Cat will transfer the stock, despite Luke’s threats, and we want Percy to be in charge. Won’t you please think about it? I need you.”
“The spirits did not bless me with children.” Tears coursed, unheeded, down Tonna’s smooth cheeks. “I’ve always felt Cat was my son. Dimity did not want him, was blind to the goodness of his soul. Now you offer me a chance to live next to my son. I do not know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
“My heart sings.”
“Mine, too.” Flo felt limp with relief. “Together we must banish the demons from Cat’s mind. For starters, I’ve placed mirrors in every room. I have a feeling he thinks he married a very vain woman, but I don’t care. We must exorcise Cherokee Bill’s ghost.”
Tonna stared directly at Flo. “Do you believe Cat the son of an outlaw?”
“I don’t give a damn if he is or isn’t, and I’ve told him so. Anyway, in the eyes of the law Cat’s legitimate. He was born of legally married parents. Luke doesn’t have a case, even though he claims to have found a new will. I believe it’s a forgery and we’ll prove it in court. I just don’t want Cat waging war until he’s secure about his appearance.”
“Cat is as stubborn as the Chinook wind that fathered him. It will not be easy.”
This time Flo didn’t say “sure it will.”
Tonna said, “May it be delightful, my house. From my head may it be delightful. To my feet may it be delightful. Where I lie may it be delightful. All above me may it be delightful. All around me may it be delightful.”
“How beautiful,” Flo breathed, awed.
“In the old days the Navajo would have a celebration to bless their hogan. This ceremony is known as the gogan aiilan. If not done, dreams plague the dwellers, toothaches visit, flocks dwindle, and the house will be basic.”
“Taboo?”
“Yes.” Tonna walked outside. “For a house blessing, friends gather to feast and smoke. The shaman warns the evil spirits away. There are many words, but my husband must share in the blessing and sprinkle corn meal.”
“Will you teach me the words? I want to bless the house I now share with Cat.”
“I will teach you the words tomorrow. I do not believe the spirits require you to play shaman on your wedding night.”
Hours later, Flo climbed the staircase, entered the bedroom, and stared at the new four-poster. “Would you do me a great favor, Cat?”
“Sure.”
“Grab the quilt from our bed and join me outside. There’s a place near the stream, filled with wild flowers, protected by tall trees.”
“You cotton to spend the nights of our marriage outdoors? I must warn you that a certain portion of my anatomy might freeze during the winter months.”
“Just tonight, Cat. Please? I want to bless this house with Tonna’s words before we bless our union inside. At any rate, we’ve never made love on a real bed.” She grinned. “I’m not sure I know how.”
Hand in hand, they stood in the hallway and listened for the sounds of silence. Like two errant children, they tiptoed downstairs and out the door and sprinted toward the woods.
The air smelled of spruce.
They gathered leaves, moss, grass, and, as one, sank down onto the spongy ground. Cat removed their clothes, wrapped the quilt loosely around their bodies, and ran his fingers over the swell of Flo’s breasts.
“From your head may it be delightful,” she murmured, returning his touch. “From your feet may it be delightful. Where we lie may it be delightful.”
She felt him penetrate and reached toward the sky with both hands as if she might capture a star. “Oh, Cat, my love, my life,” she cried. “Delightful man.”
Author Postscript
My determination to present authentic history has necessitated a scrupulous adherence to the findings of research, but all names, characters and incidents are either products of my imagination or are used fictitiously. Based upon a solid framework of fact, I have never knowingly changed a date or circumstance, except for the date of the Gillette bullfight.
Although many historians seem to imply that filmmaking took a widespread leap from New Jersey to Hollywood, there were years in between when filmmakers were looking for the right scenery and lots of sunshine. H.H. “Buck” Buckwalter, an agent for the Selig-Polyscope Company of Chicago, made short films in Colorado from 1904 to 1909. Colonel Selig, himself, arrived in 1911 with cowboy star Tom Mix. Stories have been passed down about how Mix and his buddies would shoot lemons off the glasses in the local bar.
The most intriguing gamble of all was the creation of the Colorado Motion Picture Company. A tragic event in that company’s brief history involved the drowning deaths of star Grace McHugh and cameraman Owen Carter during a river-crossing scene in the silent film, Across the Border. After reading about that incident, I began the intensive research that would lead to my writing of The Rainbow’s Foot.
About the Author
When she was very young, Denise (Deni) Dietz developed a love for sagas, especially the Angélique series by Sergeanne Golon. Deni’s fifth-grade teacher was gobsmacked to hear her rambunctious student state that someday she’d write novels inspired by her favorite series (and her favorite book at the time, The Thorn Birds). It has taken years to achieve her goal, but Deni says, “If you drop a dream, it breaks”. Deni, who lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, novelist G.K. Aalborg, and her chocolate Labrador retriever, Magic, likes to hear from readers. Her e-mail address is [email protected].
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