by Karen Kay
It was an impressive mansion, at least for this part of the country.
Odd, how her viewpoint had changed.
It looked big now, magnificent. But she remembered the first time she’d viewed this home. Then, having come here directly from England and the grand estate where she had been raised, she had considered this American home, and the grounds that went with it, small and hardly worth the money she and her father had paid for it.
But looking upon it now, it appeared to her as though it were the palace of a king.
It stood three stories tall, its siding painted white; its roof, black; and its shutters and trim, green. It had a wide front porch, perfect for receiving callers, and a curved carriage lane that ran all the way up to the house.
All around the house was acre after acre of rolling hills, where the woods had been pushed back, the lawns carefully cultivated and the bushes cut and trimmed to perfection. Genevieve was amazed that, at this time of the year, her father’s lawn was still very green.
Tall trees of maple, oak and birch surrounded the house proper, the leaves beginning to change, and Genevieve, as she gazed out upon it, found that she possessed mixed feelings.
What was wrong with her? Did she have nothing but a flighty disposition?
She must, she decided, for as she continued to stare at her old home, she felt a pang of homesickness, longing to do nothing more than run to the house, go up to her old room and throw herself across its bed, never to come out to face the world again.
But she knew she couldn’t do it, and she tried her best to tamp down the urge.
How could she feel this way?
She loved Gray Hawk more than she loved anybody; she wanted to stay with him, live with him. She’d given him her word of honor to return with him, she now remembered. But, goodness, if the sight of all that luxury ahead of her didn’t sway her from her intentions—just a little.
Maybe she could persuade Gray Hawk to stay here?
She shook herself physically.
What was she doing? What was she thinking? She couldn’t renege on her promise to him. She wouldn’t.
It didn’t make sense. How could the mere view of a house cause her such doubts, and all within a few minutes?
She didn’t know.
But it did.
“That is it,” she said. “This is where my father lives.”
If Gray Hawk thought anything about it, if he was at all impressed or even daunted by such a show of wealth, he didn’t say a word. He merely inclined his head, though when he glanced back at her, his gaze was intent upon her, speculative.
He said, “Come, we had best see him at once.”
Genevieve nodded, but then she held back, pulling on Gray Hawk’s sleeve.
He turned a sharp gaze on her.
“Have you decided yet what you will say to my father?”
“Aa, yes, I have.”
“And?”
“You must decide for yourself what you will tell him.”
“But I thought that you…”
“He will ask you about what has happened to you, not me. You must tell him what you think is best.”
“But I thought that you were going to explain matters to him, tell him all about us.”
Gray Hawk shook his head. “When I took you to my village, I knew then what would be your fate there, and I made my plans so as to protect you. I do not know your father, and so I cannot make a firm decision one way or the other as to what we will do or say to him. I leave that to you. But know that whatever you decide, he must eventually be told that we are husband and wife, and that you will return with me to my people.”
She bowed her head. “Yes,” she said. “You are right.”
He paused, watching her, though his hesitation was barely perceptible. “Come, then,” he said. “I am anxious to meet your father.”
“Hello, Robert.”
Robert, who had answered the door, stared at her, at Gray Hawk, back at her.
“Milady?”
“Yes, Robert, it is I.”
“Mistress Genevieve, I…come in at once. I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to see you.” He blocked the entrance to Gray Hawk. “Shall I call the sheriff to put this one away?”
“No, Robert.” Genevieve smiled as she strolled into the entryway. “I don’t think so. I would not be here if it weren’t for him.”
“As you say, Mistress Genevieve; however, I—”
“Is my father here?”
“He is.”
“And how is he?”
“He is much improved. The medicine the doctor is giving him at last seems to be helping him. He will be even better when he sees you.”
“Will you tell him that I am here? I will await him in the parlor. And oh, Robert,” she said, before he turned away, “it is so good to see you again.”
Robert looked momentarily startled. “I had thought to never look upon you again, milady. I have felt it was my responsibility that you were stolen. It was my duty to guard you. I did not do it well. I have not been able to forgive myself for my negligence.”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
“No, milady.” Robert gave Gray Hawk a piercing glare. “I feel I could have prevented it, had I been more careful.”
Genevieve touched Robert’s arm. “It is no matter. I am here now.”
“Yes, milady.” He smiled briefly before, with a mere lifting of his chin, he assumed again the role of butler. “I will summon your father.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
Gray Hawk didn’t say a word about her exchange with Robert; he merely watched her closely. He followed her into the parlor, taking up a stance behind her, away in a far corner. Still he said nothing, and Genevieve glanced back at him once, looking to him for direction. Receiving nothing more than stoic scrutiny, she turned her attention to the door.
She didn’t have long to wait.
“Genny!” It was her father. “My Lord, Genny, I thought I’d never see you again!”
“Hello, Father.”
The elder Rohan limped into the parlor, a cane in hand.
“Father, you are up and walking about. This is wonderful!” Genevieve flew across the room into her father’s arms. “Oh, Father, how I have missed you.”
“And I, you. Oh,” he said, taking her in his arms and hugging her. “Don’t you ever do this to me again. Was it terrible? I have worried about you night and day. The Indians didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No, Father, I’m fine, and I have not been hurt at all. As a matter of fact, the Indian standing behind me is—”
“Here for the reward. Yes, I will see to him shortly, but first—”
“He is not here for the reward, and there is something I must tell you…” Genevieve stopped for a moment. “What reward?”
Her father put his arm around her shoulders and escorted her toward the sofa, which was positioned right in the middle of the room. He said, “All in good time, my dear. I’ll answer all your questions in good time, but first, won’t you sit and have a cup of tea with me?”
“Tea?” Another luxury she hadn’t experienced in quite some time.
“Yes, I have ordered the kitchen maid to bring us a spot of tea.”
“I would love it, Father. I would genuinely love it.”
“Well, come over here, Genny, and sit. Robert, will you see to the maid?”
Robert nodded and left the room, returning shortly with an elderly kitchen maid, who came in wheeling a cart full of tea and cakes. The maid picked up a cup and the teapot.
She took one look at Genevieve, and then at Gray Hawk, who stood over in the corner, spear in hand.
Gray Hawk stared back at the maid, motioning toward her with his spear. The elderly woman backed away, the teacup rattling in her hand while a moan, more resembling a squeal, escaped through her lips. She took another step backward, then another, the cart quite forgotten.
Robert came over toward the woman, unaware of her predicament,
and was just about to dismiss her when the lady suddenly dropped the cup, the teapot still in her hand. Robert had just rescued the cup and saucer and was on the verge of grabbing for the teapot when the woman turned, shrieking something about her precious head, and ran from the room as though it, or she, were inhabited by demons.
Tea splattered everywhere.
The elder Rohan didn’t notice, being slightly hard of hearing and having his back to the door.
Robert sighed, shaking his head, and went in search of more tea.
“I say, my good man.” The elder Rohan glanced toward the door. “Now where did Robert get to?”
“It doesn’t matter, Father,” Genevieve said, having witnessed the entire affair. “I think there may be…”
The kitchen maid suddenly ran through the hall, crying out something about Indians, tearing at her hair and throwing off her apron as she ran.
“… a problem with the tea,” Genevieve finished.
The outer door opened, then closed with a thud, while Robert, his uniform now spotted with tea stains, stepped back into the parlor, a fresh teapot in hand.
“Ah, there you are, Robert. Won’t you see to the maid pouring us a bit of tea?”
“Yes, Lord Rohan,” Robert said.
Robert finished settling the teapot back on the platter. Wheeling the entire tray over toward the center of the room where the elder Rohan and his daughter were seated, he proceeded to pour the tea.
“Thank you, Robert. But, please, will you fetch the kitchen maid to see to the tea?”
Robert nodded his agreement, serving the tea himself anyway, handing one cup first to her ladyship and then to his master.
“And Robert…”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Won’t you see to a new uniform, or mayhap a clean one?”
“Yes, Lord Rohan,” Robert said as he straightened and, proceeding back to the door, again assumed a butler’s stance.
But outside of Robert’s uniform, the elder Rohan didn’t notice a thing. He said, turning to his daughter, “Thank God you are home.” He grabbed Genevieve’s hands across the center table that separated them, and he looked at her, really looked at her. “My, but you surely do resemble an Indian. Did you stay with them long?” He scanned her up and down before he glanced around the room, his gaze coming to light on Gray Hawk. “Did you say that this man with you is here for the reward?”
“No, Father. This is Gray Hawk, and he is here to—”
“Later, my dear. Later. I will see that he gets the reward. But first,” her father again patted her hand, “tell me all about what has happened to you.”
“Of course I will, Father, it’s just that…” Genevieve glanced up at Robert, who stood at the entrance to the room. If her father thought that Gray Hawk was here for a reward, then Robert must not have told the elder Rohan that Gray Hawk was one and the same man who had captured her. She shrugged and said, “I guess it was quite dramatic. But it’s all over now, and it really wasn’t so bad. And Father, what reward?”
“I want to hear every detail. Please, Genny, go on.”
“I will, Father, but I would feel better if I knew what sort of reward you posted. Did you—”
“Oh, it was just a trivial thing. Nothing, really.”
“Father…?”
He took out a handkerchief and coughed into it before he said, into the hanky, “I put up a five-thousand-dollar reward for your return. See? It was nothing.”
“Five…thousand…”
“Nothing, you see?” He put the handkerchief away. “Now, tell me, how did you escape? And how were you able to return? Did this man with you hear about the reward and come and steal you away from that demon? Is that how it happened?”
She paused, looking back at that “demon,” before she said, “Not quite. I… Father, I have something to tell you, and I think that you…”
Genevieve suddenly rose, brushing down her buckskin skirt as she did so. Why couldn’t she say it? It was simple. All she had to do was utter the words, “Father, I’m married.” She swallowed. She said, “Would you like some more tea?”
“Not now, dear.”
“Well, I believe that I would. Would you excuse me for just a moment?”
“Of course, my dear, but…”
Genevieve stepped over toward the tea tray, grabbing hold of the teapot as though it were a lifeline. She said, “Robert, would you like some?”
Robert shook his head, giving her an odd look, but her father hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss.
She glanced toward the corner of the room. There stood Gray Hawk, one hand holding on to his spear, the other was resting casually on his hip. He leaned on one foot with the other slightly forward. He looked relaxed, but Genevieve knew it was just the opposite. He stood alert, poised, ready for action at any moment.
“Gray Hawk, would you like a spot of tea?”
“Saa,” came the reply from Gray Hawk, and her father looked up suddenly at the man.
“What tribe is he from?”
“The Blackfeet,” Genevieve answered.
“The Blackfeet? Oh, my, Genny! You did it!” Her father sat forward. “You have brought back a Blackfoot Indian with you.”
“Yes, Father, I—”
“That’s my girl. I…tell me, Genny, did he just say ‘no’?” And when she inclined her head slightly, her father said, “Algonquian. The Algonquian say ‘no’ in the same way, as do the Cheyenne.”
“Yes, Father,” Genevieve said. “I stayed with Gray Hawk’s people for a while, and I have come to believe that the Blackfoot language is related to the Algonquian. It could be a significant discovery.”
“Oh, Genny.” Her father’s eyes lit up all at once. “This is something that even our young Mr. Toddman has yet to discover. There may still be hope.”
“Mr. Toddman?” She sent a sharp glance to her father. “What has he to do with this?”
“Oh, it’s a long and quite boring story, and I’ll tell you in more detail later. But first…”
“Father?”
Her father gave her a sheepish regard.
She said, “I thought Mr. Toddman went back to England—that is, after he tried to spend all of our finances.”
Her father shook his head. “I’m afraid not. That young man went out and got himself a Blackfoot Indian and is even now, as we speak, writing up all his observations of the fellow in an effort to discredit me. And I’m afraid I haven’t been able to do more than stand back and watch. But now that you’re back…and you actually spent time with these people… Genny, there is hope!”
“I see. And his father? What does Mr. Toddman’s father, the Earl of Tygate, say about all this?”
“I don’t think he knows, Genny. If he did, he would be heartbroken. I certainly haven’t had the heart to tell the earl. We have been friends for too long for me to do more than watch, but now… now I can outfox that young man, Toddman. We can do it together, Genny. We can finish this book.”
Genevieve smiled at her father. “I’m so happy for you, Father, and yes, I will help you, as will Gray Hawk, but there is something else I must tell you.”
“Yes, yes, my dear girl. There is so very much you must tell me.”
“No, Father, you don’t understand. I think this will be a shock.”
“It doesn’t matter, Genny. I’m just so happy you are home again.”
“Yes,” she said, “I am home again. But, Father, please, I must tell you that I am not here for long.”
“I know, Genny. As soon as possible, we must return to England and—”
“No, Father. I am talking about something else.”
“Yes, I—”
“Father,” she said, pacing forward to come and sit directly before him. “Father, I am married.”
She saw her father’s eyelids flicker farther open. “Who…”
“Father, I don’t know how else to tell this to you. Please, try to understand. I am married, and…I am married to this India
n who stands behind me. Father, let me introduce you to my husband, Mr. Gray Hawk.”
She stood and motioned Gray Hawk to her side. She said, as casually as if she did this every day, “Mr. Gray Hawk, my father.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Genevieve Rohan stared out the window, her attention momentarily diverted by a flock of geese flying south in perfect arrowhead order. It was a little late in the season for the birds to be making the trip, she decided, the month being late October, or perhaps because she was farther south, herself, the geese migrated later in the year. She didn’t know.
She brought her attention back toward the landscape that surrounded the house. The crisp feel of autumn was definitely in the air, and the leaves here in St. Louis were at their peak for the season, the yellows and golds, oranges and reds reminding her that soon she and Gray Hawk would need to leave here.
She drew in a deep breath.
What was wrong with her? Of course she would leave with Gray Hawk. She loved him. She had given him her promise. It was only that…
A breeze blew in through an open window, bringing with it the fresh scents of grass and fallen leaves. She sniffed. It reminded her of the outdoors, of the prairie, of the open space, of freedom. She had loved it there; she missed it, and yet…
A brief gust suddenly scattered the papers on her desk.
She made a grab for her notes and stood up, shuffling the papers together and placing them out of range of the blowing wind.
Sighing, she stepped to the window, intending to close it, but instead of doing so, she watched as a gardener, clippers in hand, strolled past.
Almost a month had elapsed since she had first introduced her father to Gray Hawk—a full month, during which her father had neatly pretended that none of her adventure had happened: not her capture, not her adoption into the Blackfoot tribe and particularly not her union with Gray Hawk.
She might have worried about her father and his mental condition, since he seemed continually absentminded about these things, never quite remembering that she and Gray Hawk were a couple, even to the extent of placing their rooms at completely opposite ends of the house.
But she worried for nothing. In all else, her father appeared to be in full possession of his senses.