Cheyenne Captive

by Georgina Gentry - Iron Knife's Family 01 - Cheyenne Captive

  She stared into the flames and remembered another fire, another time. And in the flickering blaze, she saw a man’s bronzed, gentle face. Yes, a million years ago, a vain, silly schoolgirl had run away on a stagecoach and a fierce, passionate man had awakened her to womanhood. She could never go back to what she had been, never be the same again. Tears blurred her eyes and the image of the man in the flames and she leaned back and closed them. When she opened them, Mrs. O’Malley knocked stubbornly on the door.

  “Are ye all right. Lamb? It’s straight up six o’clock and you know how your father is about dinner.”

  “I’ll be right down.” She jumped to her feet, jerked a green cotton dress from the closet, and was still buttoning it as she rushed toward the stairs. Six o’clock meant dinner in the formal dining room day in and day out, month after month, year after year. No one ever questioned it because it was one of Father’s inflexible rules. It was one small thing he used to rule with an iron fist. Several times, when she was small, she had come to the table late and been sent back up the stairs without dinner as punishment. She had forgotten how unhappy she had been in this dismal house, had always been. The big grandfather clock in the hall struck six times and the deep chimes echoed through the house.

  They were all already seated as she rushed into the large, burgundy dining room.

  Her mother stood up at her end of the table a little unsteadily. “Summer, my dear! I’m so glad you’re home!” She put her arms around Summer’s neck and kissed her with warmth and Summer hugged her. She had forgotten how thin and vulnerable Priscilla always looked as her gaze swept over the expensive rose-colored dress. Although in many ways she was a carbon copy of her daughter, Priscilla had a little gray among the blond strands now and the dark shadows under her eyes seemed to have deepened in the months Summer had been gone.

  David smiled encouragement at Summer as she walked to the opposite end of the ornate mahogany table. Had she never noticed before how her parents faced each other like adversaries the length of the long table?

  “Hello, Father.” She gave the lean, hawklike man a quick peck on the cheek without any real warmth as he half stood, frowning at her with ice blue eyes. His sharp, prominent nose and the way his thin hands grasped the arms of his chair reminded her of a bird of prey.

  “Hello, my dear,” he said. “I’m surprised you are late to dinner. You remember the rule: six o’clock straight up, you know.”

  “Sorry.” Summer gritted her teeth. She had been lost for weeks and he could only scold her for being late for dinner. Nothing had really changed while she was gone.

  She smiled down at Angela and tried to hug the child who stared back at her with no give to her stiff little shoulders at all. Summer noticed a black furry tail sticking out from under Angela’s chair but said nothing but “My! How you’ve grown! You’re becoming such a beauty, Angela.” She was becoming a beauty, Summer thought, but there was something missing in her that other little girls seemed to have. Warmth? A capacity for love?

  The child fixed a baleful, icy gaze on her. “Tell me about the Indians.”

  “Angela!” David and Mother said in unison, looking both pained and annoyed.

  “Now, now!” Father boomed, smiling at his favorite as Summer stumbled to her chair in confusion. “It’s just natural curiosity. No need to scold the child!”

  Summer sat down in her chair, looking at the reflection the large oil chandelier cast on the sparkling, crystal wine goblets that, in turn, created little pinpoints of light on the deep burgundy walls.

  “Well, now.” Mother put her glass down with an unsteady hand and Evans sighed disapprovingly as he refilled it with red wine. “Isn’t it wonderful that we’re all here together with the holidays so close and all?”

  “It’s delightful,” David agreed too heartily as the butler brought the heavy silver server of roast lamb to the head of the table and Father served himself.

  “Oh, it’s going to be a great holiday!” Summer put in desperately as she picked up the fine silver fork, placed the imported damask napkin in her lap. She caught David’s eyes and they confirmed what she had already guessed. Mother was drinking more than usual these days.

  Priscilla had already drained her glass and held it up. The stuffy British butler paused with the decanter and looked toward Father who shook his head and scowled. “You’ve already had enough, my dear,” he said. “Let’s not play the fool tonight, shall we not?”

  Priscilla reddened and Angela laughed. Summer looked at the tall, lean man at the end of the table and recalled how seldom he smiled. Did he love any of them except Angela? Had he ever loved Mother or had he always treated her so coldly? She looked into the smug, smiling face of her younger sister and had an almost terrible urge to reach across the table and give her a good shaking.

  Summer took a bite of the lamb and mint jelly. It was tasty, of course, but her memory went to deer meat roasted simply over a small fire pit. It suddenly dawned on her that Father was addressing her.

  She looked into his ice blue eyes. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you.”

  “You’re getting as bad as your mother.” He frowned as he peered at her. “I merely asked after the health of your uncle Jack.”

  “Oh, he’s fine. He sends his regards.” It was an effort to keep from smiling at the memory of the dour man standing open-mouthed, staring after the departing stagecoach. She wouldn’t tell Father about that, of course. “Do tell me about Harvard, David,” she stammered, ducking her head so she could avoid the glare of the cold eyes.

  “David’s doing fine at school,” Silas Van Schuyler said crisply as if he dared anyone to doubt it.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, sir,” David began hesitantly. He paused with his fork halfway to his lips and Summer felt dreadfully sorry for him.

  “Yes?” It wasn’t a question, it was a dare.

  “As a matter of fact,” David rushed on manfully, “I’ve been thinking of another field rather than business.”

  “Nonsense!” Father paused in gulping his meat and Summer thought again how much like a hawk he looked. “You’ll need all those commerce classes to take over your rightful place in my businesses.”

  David looked a little desperate now and Summer saw Mother give him just the slightest shake of her head but her brother plunged in despite the warning. “I don’t think I’m cut out for business!”

  Angela smirked. The brat was really enjoying this, Summer thought miserably.

  “Ridiculous!” Silas dismissed the idea. “Now if you’re wanting to ship out on one of our vessels for a while, get to know the business from the ground up, I couldn’t approve more! Did it myself as a youngster. Different business then, of course.” He leaned back in his chair. “My grandfather built his fleet of ships on slavery and my father enlarged it on the illegal profits of blackbirding.’”

  “What’s ‘blackbirding’?” Angela’s pale eyes gleamed with interest as she slipped another bite off her plate to the cat under her chair.

  “Please, Silas!” Priscilla protested weakly. “I’m not sure this is suitable conversation for the child!”

  Father grinned almost maliciously at Mother before he turned back to the curious child. “A ‘blackbirder’ was someone who ran slaves past the blockade after the idiot government decided no more blacks could be imported into this country. My great-grandfather started out working someone else’s ship up in New York harbor where my family landed after they came from Holland. I miss the fun I had as a youngster of helping my father outwit those ships that lurked out there, trying to catch us bringing the slaves in.”

  The child smiled at the idea. “Are we like pirates?”

  “Not exactly.” Father fairly beamed at her as he pushed his plate back. “Although a few of the jealous have been known to call me a ‘robber baron.’”

  “What did you do with the slaves when you got them here, Papa?”

  “Sold them, of course, Sweetie, and made good profits doing it. Only on
e time we had to take a loss. A U.S. frigate moved in on us sudden-like and we couldn’t be caught with the evidence, so we threw them all overboard!”

  Angela laughed with delight. “Didn’t they swim away?”

  “No, of course not!” He leaned back and smiled faintly at the memory. “Those leg chains made them sink like rocks!”

  Summer saw Mother’s face pale and she herself tried to blot out the image the story brought to mind.

  “Silas,” Priscilla said again, rather weakly. “I do wish you wouldn’t tell those stories! She might repeat them to the girls at school.”

  “I am damned tired of you and your blue-blooded, snobby ways!” Father roared, throwing his napkin down across his plate. “I’m not ashamed of how my family made its money! Look at that prissy cousin of yours, Elizabeth Shaw! They may be the cream of Boston society and own half the textile mills in the state, but I happen to know Robert Shaw’s grandfather was a rag picker in the slums of London!”

  “Sir,” David said manfully. “I wish you wouldn’t speak that way to Mother.”

  Summer’s hands trembled as she watched Father turn his angry attention to her twin. “And I wish your blue-blooded mother would quit sticking her mouth in where it doesn’t concern her. She married me for my money, now how dare she get squeamish about how it was made!” His face was dark as thunder as he looked to the delicate blond woman at the other end of the table. “I’ll run the business, my dear, you look to your drinking! You seem to do that well enough!”

  Priscilla staggered to her feet, overturning her chair in doing so. With a whimper, she ran from the room.

  Angela laughed. “Papa’s right! She drinks too much!” she said to Summer.

  Gritting her teeth, Summer fought the urge to reach across and grab the child. “Angela, you are a monster, and, Father, you are a rotten bastard!”

  Then she, too, raced up to her room and slammed the door protectively behind her. Rain beat against the windows as she flopped down in front of the fire and saw the image in the flames.

  “Oh, my darling!” she whispered. “I can’t live in this unhappy house! I’m not even sure I can go on at all! What am I to do?” But no answer came to her and finally weariness overcame her and she dropped off to sleep.

  The rain had turned to snow at dawn. Summer awakened with a start as Bridget, the cook, knocked timidly, then entered with a breakfast tray.

  “Good to have you home, Miss Summer.” Bridget’s nose wiggled when she talked and Summer thought of a small mouse.

  “I’m glad to be home, Bridget,” she lied as she accepted the tray and took a gulp of the dark, rich cocoa. Hungrily, she reached for the salted kippers and hot, buttered muffins complete with port wine jelly.

  With a sigh, she watched the cook scurry away. Summer was not sure how she could live in this miserable household. Only the fact that she might possibly be carrying the Cheyenne warrior’s child cheered her and gave her some hope to cling to. The consequences would be terrible, of course, but worth it.

  Mrs. O’Malley peeked into the room as she finished her cocoa. “Feeling better, Lamb? Did you sleep in that dress?” She didn’t wait for Summer’s nod before continuing. “Your father says he understands how tired and out-of-sorts you were last night and says he forgives you.”

  Summer didn’t answer, having played this charade before. Somehow, she wasn’t sure she had done anything to be forgiven for but she never seemed to do anything right.

  “Now, Love.” The Irish maid rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. “Your friends will all be wantin’ to call on you this morning, so I must get you ready. How shall I do your hair?”

  Summer closed her eyes, remembering his big hands stroking and brushing her hair, tangling his fingers in it as he braided. Tears came to her eyes. “What ever you think,” she answered quietly.

  “Ah, now here’s something nice!” She could hear the maid’s voice echoing from the depths of the closet. “I don’t believe you’ve ever had this on.”

  Summer didn’t argue with the maid as she brought the clothes out, helped her out of the rumpled green dress, and laced her into the tight corset and hoop. The skirt Mrs. O’Malley selected was a full, bright blue wool with the matching “polka” or “monkey” jacket that had been in style several years. The new dance was all the rage but the jacket also looked like something an organ grinder’s monkey would wear. Actually, Summer knew the military look with its braid and brass buttons had come into style because of the Crimean War the British had just finished fighting.

  “I’ve got the curling iron heating, Love.” Mrs. O’Malley bustled about, helping her with the tiny, handmade shoes.

  Summer was submitting to the hot iron and wrinkling her nose at the smell of burned hair when a knock sounded at the door. “Mum?”

  “Yes, Evans?”

  “I’m asked to announce your friends from school. Miss Peabody and the two Misses Osgoodes are awaiting you in the music room.”

  “Very good, Evans. Tell Bridget to serve tea there in a few minutes.”

  As she heard the butler’s footsteps fading, she wished she could send down a message that she was ill and unable to come down. But that was what Priscilla would do and she was definitely not her mother. Resolutely, she stuck out her chin, gathered up her skirts, and descended the stairway.

  Before she could open the music-room door, the voices inside drifted to her. “What do you suppose those Indians did to her. You know what I mean.” Susan Osgoode said.

  “Why, Sister, what a terrible thought!”

  Maude Peabody’s deep voice floated to her. “I’m sure the Indians wouldn’t have dared do anything at all! Remember the money and influence of the Blackledges and the Van Schuylers.”

  Summer smiled. She could almost imagine Maude’s plump form, her large, deep-set eyes. Only Maude could have chained herself to the State House doors and lost the key. It would never occur to the Boston girl that Indians would not be impressed by money and social position.

  “But what about those terrible stories we read in the papers about the horrid, unspeakable things savages do to white women?”

  “That proves my point!” Maude answered glibly, “Everyone knows when a real lady is touched by a black or a savage, she is supposed to kill herself to erase the shame!”

  Summer leaned against the door a long moment, her mind going back to powerful arms sweeping her up, big hands pulling away her clothing. Her skin tingled with the remembrance of his touch. If it were shame, she wished the could be shamed forever!

  But she swallowed hard and pulled herself together before she flung open the door. “Good morning, girls!”

  “Summer! We’re so glad to see you! You look wonderful. You honestly do!”

  She watched them exchange worried glances, afraid she might have overheard them as they rushed forward to hug her and exclaim how well she looked.

  Evans entered with the large silver tea service. “Shall I pour, Miss Summer?”

  “No.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I can manage.” And she poured as he retreated from the room.

  The conversation was too hearty and too bright, Summer thought wearily as she sipped her tea and looked around the music room past the prim Osgoode sisters. It was on the south side of the first floor and done in pastels with pale Chinese rugs on the light wood floors. A very fine grand piano stood in the corner and a harp was positioned near the fireplace.

  Summer found it very hard to make small talk with her former classmates but she tried. She had lost both her innocence and her heart in the past weeks. There was such a chasm of emotion and experience between her and the silly schoolgirls because it was not likely they would ever experience such passion and devotion. She lost track of the conversation and merely smiled and nodded now and then as the girls prattled on while she enjoyed the strong, hot tea.

  She suddenly realized Maude was asking a question of her for the second time. “Sorry, my mind wandered. What did you say?�
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  Maude’s sallow skin reddened. “I asked, casually, of course, whether David was in town for your homecoming?”

  “Yes, certainly. He met my train. But he’s going back probably tomorrow, I think.”

  Maude did have the most unfortunate habit of choosing unbecoming colors, she thought sympathetically. Bright purple was not her shade at all.

  Maude looked disappointed at her news of David and promptly announced that she really must be going.

  The Osgoode girls suddenly gave the same excuse. Summer protested that they had really just arrived but she was rather relieved as she saw them to the door and climbed the stairs.

  She ran into David in the upstairs hall. “Why, David, you should’ve come down. You just missed seeing Maude Peabody.”

  “Good!” He smiled grimly. “I’ve been lurking up here for an hour, afraid to walk past the music-room door for fear her ears would perk up at my step.”

  Summer smiled in spite of herself. “Now, David, that’s not fair! Maude adores you!”

  “So does Grandmother Blackledge’s King Charles spaniel who bears an uncanny resemblance to your friend and has about the same amount of brains.”

  “Well, her eyes may be a little large and her nose a little pug—”

  “You’ve just described Grandmother’s dog!” He laughed in delight. “But the dog is at least quiet most of the time while Maude makes inane chatter. Just because she is an only child with a rich, widowed father and Silas would love an alliance with the Peabody banking interests—”

  “Maude wouldn’t make a bad wife for you.”

  “She wouldn’t make a good one!”

  Summer bestowed a warm look of devotion on him and decided to abandon that conversation. “What were you trying to tell Father last night?”

  “I’m trying to tell him I’m going to drop out of Harvard and do whatever it is that I want to do which is not slaughter whales for oil! I may try to make a living with my painting or go into medicine or the ministry.”

  Summer was aghast. “Father will be furious! I can’t remember when anyone didn’t do exactly as he wanted—”