To Find You Again

by Maureen McKade

  "You don't know a lot of things, Emma." Her mother busied herself with punching down the rising bread dough. The scent of yeast wafted through the kitchen. "You don't know how I prayed day and night for your safe return after you disappeared. You don't know that I never gave up, even when your father insisted you were dead. You don't know the nights I had to wake your father from a nightmare as he called out your name." She wiped her floury hands on a sackcloth. "When you were returned to us, we called it a miracle. But your father couldn't bear people talking about you after what you'd been through. He's the one who decided to keep you away from town after you recovered from your wounds. He didn't want you hurt by those who'd once been your friends."

  She walked over to Emma and laid her hands on her shoulders. "When you left to find the Indians, your father was devastated. He swallowed his pride and asked Ridge Madoc to find you—that's how worried he was. Then you came back with a child and told us you were married to one of those people who kept our daughter from us for seven years." Her voice faltered and she cleared her throat. "How do you expect your father and me to feel?"

  Had she been that selfish to not even notice her parents' grief? She'd learned of Sarah's the night before she'd run away to find Chayton, but she hadn't even considered her father and mother's feelings. She'd only seen their unbending strictness and assumed they were ashamed of her.

  "I'm sorry," Emma whispered. "I didn't know."

  She embraced her mother, who hugged her back, and something inside Emma fractured and broke. All the lost years; years she'd matured while her parents prayed they'd find their little girl. Only the Emma who came back to them had evolved into a widow with a child of her own. The adolescent her mother and father prayed for no longer existed. It was no wonder they seemed like strangers to her, too.

  "More cookie?"

  Emma glanced down to see Chayton standing beside them. She smiled. "What do you think, Mother? Would another cookie spoil his appetite?"

  Martha Hartwell, her eyes shimmering with moisture, but with a smile much like her daughter's, thought for a moment. She stepped over to the tin and handed him a cookie. "This is the last one for now, Chayton."

  The boy's face lit up. "Thank you, Grandmother."

  "You're welcome—" She glanced at Emma then back at her grandson. "Chayton."

  "Thank you," Emma mouthed.

  Her mother turned away to surreptitiously wipe her eyes. "I don't feel like a grandmother. I used to call my grandmother Nana." She faced her daughter once more. "Do you think Chayton would mind calling me Nana?"

  "I think he'd like that." Emma looped her arm around her mother's. "I know I would."

  Although Emma was tired, her mind raced. She rolled onto her back and placed her hands behind her head to stare at the whitewashed ceiling. From the trundle bed beside her, Chayton murmured in his sleep. She thought she heard the word "Nana" and smiled.

  Only her father remained to be won over by his grandson. Emma suspected that would be a near-impossible task, despite what her mother had confessed earlier.

  While eating dinner, she'd tried to see behind her father's stoicism. However, when he'd scolded Chayton for using his fingers to eat a piece of chicken, she decided her mother was simply making excuses for his callous nature. Emma had argued with her father, pointing out that Chayton was doing extremely well with a spoon and fork considering he'd never used either until the previous week. She'd ended up getting the cold shoulder the rest of the meal.

  The clock downstairs struck twelve.

  Emma sighed. Although she hadn't had one of her dream visions since the night Chayton's village was attacked, her sleep had been restless. Waking often, she found herself reaching for a hard, warm body, but found only cool sheets. She missed Ridge, especially during the long nights. She missed the tickle of his hair against her nose while she lay on his shoulder, and the deep vibrations in his chest when he laughed quietly. But mostly she missed how he made her feel when they joined.

  Desire encircled her, heated her blood, and made her body ache. She pressed her thighs together, determined to overcome the need.

  She wondered if Ridge missed her even a little bit.

  Although it was late, Ridge remained awake. The bull he'd bought that morning stood tethered to a twenty-foot rope far enough away that he wouldn't bother Ridge, but close enough that he could hear the animal if something bothered it. Ridge also trusted Paint to let him know if a dangerous predator—two- or four-legged—came close. The bull was foraging, and alternated between contented snorts and chewing the tender sprouts of spring grass.

  Ridge had traveled longer that day than he planned, but he'd felt a sense of urgency that had only increased as the hours passed. It wasn't anything he could pin down, but a general feeling of unease. He didn't think it involved his home, but suspected it was more Emma who drew him.

  During his long hours in the saddle, she was never far from his thoughts. What was she doing now? Was she being shunned in town?

  He had no doubt everyone now knew about Chayton, which meant they probably knew his part in finding her son and bringing them back to Sunset. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him. What troubled him the most was the fact Emma was facing the gossipmongers alone.

  He ate a piece of jerky and washed it down with water. His stomach protested even that small amount of food.

  After scouting around his camp and checking on Paint and the bull one last time, he settled into his bedroll. As if of its own accord, his hand found the leather moccasin beneath his saddle that he used as a pillow. He fingered the child's soft boot, as well as the scrap of paper within it.

  Yours, Emma.

  He savored the entire note, but especially those two words. He rolled them around, over and over in his head, and had even spoken them aloud where only Paint and the bull could hear him.

  He was acting like a lovesick fool. Emma had no intention of marrying again, and even if she did, her father would never allow her to wed him.

  Ridge crushed the moccasin and the note in his fist, and shoved them back under his saddle.

  "I don't think this is a good idea."

  The trepidation in Sarah's voice made Emma wish she hadn't asked her sister if she wanted to accompany them to the reservation.

  "Nobody will know," Emma reassured. "With Father and Mother gone all day, and Rory thinking we went on another picnic, we won't even be missed."

  "But what if someone sees us? Or Father and Mother return early? Or—"

  "You can stay here if you want, but Chayton and I are going," Emma said firmly.

  Sarah stood beside the buggy for a long moment, her expression undecided.

  Chayton grinned down at her and clapped his hands. "Go for ride, Aunt Sarah."

  Emma smiled as Sarah surrendered to her nephew. When it came to Chayton, Sarah had no defense against his innocent charms. Their mother, too, was fast becoming a willing subject of her grandson. It seemed all Chayton had to do was smile and gaze at them with his big brown eyes and they'd do his bidding.

  For Emma, her mother and sister's acceptance was a miracle. The only stumbling stone was her father, who spoke to Chayton only when necessary and not a word more. His hardheadedness aggravated Emma and confused Chayton.

  Emma slapped the reins against the horse's rump and the sturdy sorrel headed down the road. As Sarah answered Chayton's endless questions and added to his rapidly expanding English vocabulary, Emma allowed her thoughts to wander.

  She'd been home ten days and this was only the second time she was leaving the ranch. The first had been to give Ridge the book and that had only been a short foray. Her father had forbade her to set foot off Hartwell land and her mother agreed with him, although her reasons were bound with affection rather than censure. The smidgen of guilt Emma felt for disobeying now was inspired by her mother's loving concern rather than her father's strictness.

  Emma was worried about Talutah. She'd had a dream last night for the first time in over two weeks. A spo
tted owl had come to her with a tiny mouse in its talons. The mouse moved feebly within the owl's grasp. When Emma had awakened and the dream vision faded, Talutah was heavy in her thoughts.

  The drive to the reservation took two hours and by that time, even Chayton was tired of riding. The boy brightened at the sight of the tipis, but Sarah's pinched features revealed anxiety and fear. "I've never seen so many Indians," she whispered.

  "It's all right, Sarah. They won't hurt us," Emma reassured.

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because many of them are friends," Emma replied with more confidence than she felt.

  Emma spied Shimmering Water and stopped the buggy. She hopped down and turned to help Chayton, only to find him on the ground, already beside Sarah and holding his aunt's hand. Emma smiled at her son's protectiveness.

  "Ha, Shimmering Water. We have come to visit." Emma greeted her friend, the Lakota words sounding awkward across her tongue. In addition, Emma's clothing—a brown calico skirt and white muslin blouse with a twilled silk shawl and a matching bonnet—made her feel out of place among those she'd lived and worked with. She introduced Sarah to her friend.

  The sparkle in Shimmering Water's eyes was gone, and her dark hair lay dull and lifeless across her shoulders. "Winona. I did not expect to see you again."

  Emma heard the flat censure in her voice and, although she wasn't surprised, it still hurt. She glanced at Sarah who was staring at her like she was a stranger.

  Chayton suddenly pointed at two children his own age and Emma recognized them as former playmates of her son's. "Play? Please?"

  Emma smiled. "Yes, but don't stray far."

  He released Sarah's hand and scampered away to join the children. When they began to play together, Emma gave her attention back to Shimmering Water. "How is Talutah?"

  Shimmering Water's eyes were blank. "Gone."

  Emma's heart skipped a beat. "Gone?"

  "Her spirit has joined her husband's."

  Moisture filled Emma's eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek in a maddeningly slow trickle. Images of her adopted mother teaching her, scolding her, laughing with her flooded Emma's mind. Fast Elk and Talutah had saved her life and she'd come to love them. Now they were gone. Just as Enapay and Ohanzee, the shaman who'd helped her understand her gift of dream visions, were gone. Only Chayton remained.

  "What is it?" Sarah asked, unable to follow the conversation.

  "Talutah, my adopted mother, died," Emma replied, her throat thick with tears.

  "Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry." Sarah hugged her and Emma was glad her sister had accompanied them.

  After a few moments, Emma turned back to the Indian woman. "Was her death mourned?"

  "Yes." Shimmering Water's eyes softened. "She spoke of you and Chayton at the end."

  Emma closed her eyes, willing her tears away. Talutah was with her husband. Neither of them would have to live caged on a reservation, but would now roam the plains with their ancestors.

  She drew a hand across her face and surveyed the Lakota's new home. Lodges of various sizes and quality were scattered like scabs across the flat, greening earth. In some ways it didn't look that much different from the village in the wilderness where she'd lived with them. Women continued to stir stews and soups over small fire pits, and sew beside their tipis. Children still ran around, chasing the dogs and one another. The men played dice in the shade of the lodges.

  However, where there would've been chanting and singing, there was only silence and subdued tones. The Lakota's heart no longer beat in this place.

  She glanced up to see Shimmering Water gone and the truth struck Emma. No longer would Winona be welcome here.

  "She didn't even say goodbye," Sarah commented with a frown.

  "It's the Lakota way," Emma said absently. "Our visit is over."

  "Don't you want to see her grave?"

  "They don't bury their dead. They place them on platforms." Emma swallowed back her grief. "I don't think I could handle seeing her that way."

  Her chest tight, Emma gathered Chayton and climbed into the buggy. Sarah kept a hand around her nephew's shoulders as she gazed out across the quiet camp.

  "I never imagined Indian villages were this—this sad," Sarah said.

  "This is a reservation, Sarah. It's different. The village I lived in, the People were content—they were always laughing and singing." Emma motioned to the disarray. "Here they're prisoners, so they have nothing to laugh or sing about."

  "It's not fair."

  Emma squeezed her hand. "I know, but there's nothing we can do."

  "There should be."

  "Maybe you'll think of something."

  Sarah met her gaze squarely, her chin raised. "Maybe I will."

  Pride flared in Emma at her younger sister's new maturity. Sarah had even begun questioning their father's dictates.

  After one last look at the somber camp, Emma flicked the reins over the horse's rump. She thought of Talutah and Fast Elk, but the images were from seven years ago. They had no children left to repeat their stories nor remember them, except Emma and Chayton.

  "Do you remember the story Grandmother used to tell you of White Buffalo Woman, Chayton?" she asked her son.

  His dark eyes lit with excitement and nodded. "Tell again?"

  "Many, many summers ago, two young warriors went hunting because the People were starving. A beautiful woman dressed in white buckskin approached them. Now one of those men thought bad thoughts about her, but the other one thought she was holy," Emma began.

  Both Chayton and Sarah listened intently to the story of how the holy woman brought the Lakota the sacred Buffalo Calf Pipe and instructed the People in the ways to pray to Wakan Tanka. Emma described how the holy woman rolled four times as she walked away from the village, and how she turned into a black buffalo, then a brown one and a red one, and finally a white female buffalo calf. And after she was gone, great buffalo herds appeared to give the People food and clothing and everything they needed to live.

  "That's beautiful," Sarah said when Emma was done.

  "It is, isn't it?" Emma swept her hand across her eyes. "It's part of Chayton's legacy and I want to make sure he knows the Lakota teachings, and learns how to read and write in my world."

  Sarah brushed a strand of hair from Chayton's forehead. "I'd like to learn more about the Indians, too."

  Emma smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but a rider in the distance caught her attention. She watched as the horse drew nearer, until she could make out an Indian mounted on the pony. Frowning, she eased back on the reins and halted the buggy.

  "Do you know him?" Sarah asked.

  The brave's face grew clearer and Emma worried her lower lip. "It's Hotah. He's from the village Ridge and I stayed at."

  "Why isn't he on the reservation?"

  "He was banished the day before it happened."

  Hotah stopped his horse close to the buggy, his dark face impassive but his gaze raking up and down both Emma and Sarah.

  "What are you doing here?" Emma asked in Lakota, hoping he couldn't hear the frantic beating of her heart.

  Hotah narrowed his eyes. "I have come for Chayton."

  Emma instinctively shifted to shield Chayton from Hotah's possessive gaze. "He is my son."

  "I will teach him to be a warrior so he may ride with his people."

  "No. He stays with me. With my people."

  Although Sarah didn't understand the words, she comprehended the tone and wrapped an arm around Chayton's waist, holding him snugly against her side.

  "He is one of the People," Hotah said, his nostrils flaring.

  "He is also white." Although trembling on the inside, Emma met his gaze. "Leave us, Hotah."

  His lips curled in a sneer and he pressed his horse closer to Emma. He grabbed her wrist. "Chayton is Lakota. I will take him and join Crazy Horse."

  "No!" Emma twisted to escape his grip, but his fingers dug into her skin cruelly.

  "Let her go!" Sa
rah shouted.

  Hotah glared at Sarah.

  The sound of galloping hooves startled Emma and Hotah released her. He leaned close. "He is not yours. I will have him." Then he kicked his horse's flanks, escaping as the other rider neared.

  Emma's heart pounded against her ribs and her breath came in stuttered gasps. She didn't know if she was more angry or frightened. Blinking, she focused on the arrival who was dressed in black trousers and a gray shirt, with a wool vest.

  "Miss Hartwell, are you and your son all right?" the blond man asked.

  Emma nodded, recognizing him as Ridge's cavalry captain friend out of uniform. "Yes, thank you, Captain Rivers," she said stiffly. She couldn't forget nor forgive what he'd done to her Lakota friends.

  Captain Rivers looked at Sarah. "How about you, ma'am?"

  "I'm fine, thank you," she murmured.

  "Who was that?" Rivers asked Emma.

  "He lived in the village you attacked," Emma answered tartly.

  The man's jaw muscle clenched. "What did he want?"

  "Chayton."

  "Your son?"

  Emma nodded, the fear expanding once more. Her fingernails dug into her palms. "What're you doing here?"

  Rivers placed his crossed wrists on his saddle horn and grinned. "I was just out for a ride."

  Emma narrowed her eyes. "Why don't I believe you?"

  He shrugged indolently. "Believe what you want, Miss Hartwell." His gaze flickered over Sarah and back to Emma. "What're you doing out here?"

  "We were visiting friends."

  "Talutah?"

  The name brought a rush of fresh grief. "She's—" Emma glanced at Chayton "—passed away."

  Rivers shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Ridge told me how much she meant to you."

  "Maybe it's better this way," Emma said quietly, then had to ask, "Why did you release Pony Cullen?"

  "I didn't. Colonel Nyes wouldn't hold him on my word and released him."

  "He's a murderer!"

  "You don't have to convince me, but it wasn't up to me." Captain Rivers's face became as hard as granite.

  Emma searched his features for a sign of deception, but there was only cool anger. It was obvious Rivers didn't agree with the colonel, which meant he and Ridge hadn't deceived her. The captain had planned on prosecuting Cullen.