Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two

by Jane Bonander

  Rachel clasped her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to know anything more, but found herself asking anyway. “What… what happened to her?”

  “Jason found her and told Buck—”

  “Buck?”

  “Buck Randall, her husband. Jason’s closest friend.” She studied Rachel further, as if trying to decide whether to go on. “He found her in the barn, behind a wall of hay bales. She’d been raped. She bled to death.”

  The picture made nausea heave up into Rachel’s throat. She forced it back. “And… this boy, Dusty, is her son?” When Dixie nodded, Rachel thought back to the morning in Jason’s office when the boy had studied her so intently. She remembered the watchful fear in his eyes. Had it mirrored her own?

  Her thoughts immediately returned to Harry. A rapist? In spite of Dixie’s convincing story, it still seemed preposterous. “I… I don’t want to call you a liar, but there must be some mistake—”

  “Why?” Dixie interrupted, her voice sharp. “Because you don’t want it to be so? Because only Indians do such terrible things? I’ve heard what happened to you, Rachel, and I’m truly sorry. No one deserves to lose so many loved ones, no matter what the circumstances. But,” she added, “what I’ve told you is the truth. Your husband was a cheat and a thief, and Harry Ritter was a murdering fornicator.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rachel moved numbly through the rest of the morning as she made rounds. She forced herself to concentrate on the burn victims, but whether she believed Dixie’s accusations or not, the words had upset her. If Dixie had tossed them at her angrily, as Nell would have done, she’d have thought it was merely to hurt her. To shock her. To drive her away. But Dixie hadn’t even raised her voice.

  She had to talk to someone. But not here. Not on the reservation. If any part of what Dixie had told her was true, whatever happened between Jeremy, Harry, and these people was something they certainly couldn’t talk about rationally. She, as well as anyone, knew that.

  After finishing rounds, she returned to Dixie’s cabin. She poured herself a cup of coffee, taking it with her to the window. She stared out at the bright, clear day and watched the smoke meander torpidly into the air from the outdoor fire and the chimneys. No breeze disrupted its upward path.

  Her thoughts went back to her first days in Pine Valley, when everywhere she turned, people gave her cold, hard looks. Now that she thought about it, most of them were Indians. The others, like Mrs. Weaver at the general store, had looked at her with more pity than anything else. And after Jeremy’s funeral, she remembered that the marshal had wanted to say something to her. Ivy had hushed him up.

  She’d noticed quick, secretive glances between them many times, usually after she’d said something about Jeremy, but she’d thought little of it. At least, she hadn’t wanted to pursue it. And even that day at the cottage, when she and Ivy had come to pick up her things, Ivy had been ready to tell her something, but the marshal had walked in. Ivy had looked relieved at the interruption—and not only because she was always happy to see the marshal. It had been obvious to Rachel for weeks that Ivy’s brusque manner covered the heart and soul of a woman in love.

  She smiled softly. Not that Ivy would ever admit her feelings to anyone. A strange yearning cramped in Rachel’s chest as she remembered the night she’d sneaked into the restaurant kitchen for a glass of milk. She hadn’t bothered to bring a light, for the moon was full and had flooded the room with a white glow.

  Ivy and the marshal had come out of Ivy’s private little suite of rooms, hand in hand like young lovers. They hadn’t noticed her, and she’d held her breath, hoping they wouldn’t. It wasn’t because she wanted to spy on them; she didn’t want to embarrass them or interrupt them.

  Ivy’s black hair had flowed over her shoulders and down her back. As the marshal had bent to kiss her, he’d buried his fingers in the sable mass. At that point Rachel had turned away, feeling like a voyeur. Her own loneliness had only been compounded by watching the lovebirds. But she did wonder why they were so secretive about their affair. Ivy had been widowed years ago, and as far as she knew, Marshal Tully had never married.

  She felt something rub against her foot. Looking down, she watched as Matthew’s kitten attempted to climb her ankle. She scooped it up into her arms, listening to its tiny, asthmatic purr.

  “So, little guy, did you have a nice nap?”

  The kitten climbed onto her shoulder and nibbled at her earlobe as she continued to look outside. Absently stroking the pet, she watched as life went on beyond the confines of the cabin.

  Suddenly feeling restless, she put down her coffee cup and gently dumped the kitten onto the bed. Grabbing her cape, she slipped into it and hurried outside. She approached the outdoor fire where a small group, including Jason, was engaged in animated conversation. He stood tall among the others, his bearing fierce and determined. She realized his height had been one of the things that had disguised his heritage, for the Indians she’d seen in Pine Valley and here, at the reservation, were considerably shorter and rounder.

  As she neared, they stopped talking, turned and stared at her. She wanted to evaporate like smoke into the air, but Jason motioned her closer.

  “It’s all right, Ben. I think Rachel should hear this,” he said.

  Ben, a short yet well-muscled man with long black hair and shoulders that seemed too wide for the jacket he wore, scrutinized her carefully, then turned back toward the others. “As I said, I’ve changed my mind, you know… I don’t want my boy to learn the White ways.”

  Rachel wondered if Ben and his son had been touched in any way by Jeremy’s ineffectual leadership. A feeling of guilt overtook her sympathy when she realized that Jeremy may not have done everything in his power to help these people. Suddenly she was aware of the change in her feelings. Only a few days ago she’d been fearful of every Indian who breathed. Now, she was more concerned for their future than for her own.

  “How long has he been staying with the Wilson family?” Jason’s voice was subdued, restrained.

  “Two weeks. And already,” Ben added, scanning the faces of the others, “he learns that he can’t speak the language of our fathers.”

  “Ben,” an older man said, “we rarely speak it anymore.”

  “But we can if we wish to.” Ben raised his voice in frustration.

  “Have they mistreated him?” Jason asked.

  Ben shook his head. “Of course not. In some ways—” He stopped, his face showing lines of weariness. “Please, you must understand that I would never want any harm to come to my son, but… in some ways, I almost wish they had mistreated him. Then my anger would be justified. Others could see why I had to steal him back. But these Whites—they are not unkind. They have given him more material things than I ever could. He eats at their table. He wears fine clothes. They teach him with a patience usually reserved for their own. But it all comes with a high price.” He looked around at the group, his eyes coming to rest on Rachel. “Too high.”

  “How does the boy feel?” Jason asked quietly.

  Ben looked at the ground. “He was happy to see me. But I know that if I leave him there, I will lose him forever.”

  “In other words,” Jason interpreted, “he enjoys the White life.”

  Ben nodded. “Too much.”

  “Then what makes you think he won’t return of his own free will?”

  Giving Jason a long, hard glance, he answered, “Maybe one day he will, you know… But it won’t be because I agreed to it, and he will not go against my wishes. Not yet. One day, I expect him to leave. But at least he will leave knowing his heritage and why it is important not to let it die or be wiped out by the Whites.”

  Jason clamped his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”

  The man nodded and, with the others, wandered off to do something, leaving Jason and Rachel alone by the fire.

  “I suppose you’re curious to know what that was about
.”

  Rachel looked at him and her heart ached. He was magnificent, his coat collar pulled up against the cold and his dark hair a harsh silhouette against the cold winter sky. She’d discovered so many things about him since they’d come to the reservation, his commitment to these people because he was one of them, his ability to listen and dispense his knowledge sparingly. Now, with Ben’s problems, Jason’s face had taken on Ben’s despair.

  “How often does something like this happen?” She wondered if these people had tried to find other lives for themselves and their children while Jeremy had been in control.

  Jason fed the fire, jabbing at the embers to enliven them. “Many Indians have been persuaded to leave their children in the care of White families. They promise to educate them, to teach them their ways. It’s no small temptation to do this, for the children are fed, clothed, and kept warm during the cold, angry winter.” He stared out beyond the hills to the black trees that clung to the snowy mountain ridges. “It’s a tremendous temptation. Unfortunately, the price is very high.”

  As Rachel listened to him talk, she realized he sounded more and more the Indian and less the educated doctor. She also began to see that if what Dixie had told her was true, Jason would have had no respect for her late husband—with very good reason. “It costs them?”

  “Not in money.” He faced her, a wariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  “Then… then how does it cost them?” She drew away from his hard look, somehow feeling responsible for Jeremy’s alleged crimes.

  “The white culture is very enticing. I should know,” he added, piercing her with an arrogant stare. “I was raised to understand both. It puts me in an awkward, and sometimes unhappy, position.”

  The meaning of his bold look wasn’t lost on her. Though she’d learned he was part Indian just recently, she felt his love for his people was so strong, she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. Again, she realized that discovering his heritage hadn’t been a horrible shock. It still didn’t seem very important. Learning about Jeremy and Harry had been worse—far worse.

  She let her gaze slide to the ground. “I don’t understand why it would be bad to know both cultures.”

  “It wasn’t for me. It isn’t for my brothers and sisters. But we’re the exception. We were raised with every benefit the white man has to offer, yet we were never allowed to forget the language we spoke as children, the spiritual life and stories of our people, or the harsh truths that have haunted us since our world was invaded by the Spanish.”

  “How are things different for Ben’s son? Wouldn’t he benefit more from having the knowledge of both environments?”

  Jason stared off into the distance, a proud look of possession tensing his features. “This beautiful land,” he said, spreading his arms expansively toward the mountains, “is only a small part of the total lands we still own. There are millions of acres across the country still held by the tribes. The Whites want them.”

  “And you won’t sell them?”

  He shook his head. “But the Whites are clever. Very, very clever. They want to keep the tribes from congregating and gathering strength. They take the children into their homes, treat them well, educate them. The only thing they require is that the Indian child never speak his native language or practice his own religion. All the old ways have to be erased from the child’s mind. Acculturation is necessary.”

  “Acculturation?”

  “Retraining. Cleanse his mind of what he’s been taught by his own people. If that’s done, one day he’ll be as white on the inside as the white man is on the outside. Then,” he added, his voice growing sad, “he will happily sell the land to the Whites, for it will seem like the only sensible thing to do.”

  “And what if Ben’s boy chooses to go back?”

  Jason shrugged. “He might, but I don’t think he would dishonor his father. He hasn’t been gone long enough to be permanently swayed by the Wilsons’ wealth.”

  “So… so the dance last night is something the people in Pine Valley would like to stop,” she answered with a flash of insight.

  He nodded. “It’s an affirmation of the old ways. It binds us together.”

  “Did… did Jeremy try to stop these ceremonies?” It was when she’d first met Joseph and John Hart in Jason’s office that she’d heard the term “Big Head.” She also remembered the look of pure hatred John had given her when they’d spoken of the dance and how they hoped there would be no trouble.

  Jason studied her. “This was the first we’ve had here in many years.”

  “Because… because Jeremy would have stopped it?”

  He gave her a curt nod, but said nothing.

  She looked at Jason. He looked more Indian now than she’d ever dreamed he could. “You… you want everyone to remember how it was, don’t you?”

  “They must,” he answered, his black eyes glistening brightly. “Or we’ll disappear forever. Our children and our children’s children will never know their own history.”

  Rachel remembered what Joseph had told her about the dance house. “Do they really believe the dance house will save them if the world comes to an end?”

  He studied her, the distaste for her naïveté darkening his features. “Don’t you believe that your prayers will save you?”

  “Well, yes, but…” A flashing memory from her childhood stopped her cold.

  …If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take…

  Suddenly she saw the dilemma. She saw the Christian culture clashing with the Indian, and the pain the Indian people would go through when they tried to hang on to what they knew.

  “Is that all you have to say?” he asked, no longer watching her but gazing off into the distance.

  She studied his profile. An ache developed in her chest as her love for him grew. He was like no one she’d ever imagined. He was a man with the struggle of two cultures warring within him and she was a part of the culture that was trying to wipe his people out. Anything she said would be meaningless. Nothing she said would be enough.

  “I… I had a long talk with Dixie this morning.”

  He picked up a stick and threw it into the fire. “And?”

  She gave him an apologetic smile, one he didn’t acknowledge, and shrugged. “I… I didn’t know you were part Indian.”

  He looked at her, surprise briefly flaring in his gaze. “Half Karok,” he supplied, his voice filled with fierce pride.

  She didn’t know what else to say. It had been foolish to bring it up at all. It was no longer important.

  “My father was from Spain. His hair was even lighter than yours, or so I’m told.”

  All of this information was important only if he wanted to share it, although she realized she was intensely interested in his history. “She said you have a sister.” She gazed at the handsome man before her. “She must be very beautiful.”

  He snorted, his jaw set defensively. “For an Indian, you mean.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you meant it,” he answered with a smirk. “By the way,” he added, his voice harsh. “We’re leaving for Pine Valley in the morning. Be ready after breakfast.”

  She nodded, frustrated that she couldn’t bridge this formidable gap that had sprung up between them. He’d already made up his mind that she found him different now that she’d discovered he was an Indian. It was useless to try to convince him that his heritage suddenly meant less to her than her own. Fighting the urge to cry, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone by the fire.

  Jason stared after her. So that was why she’d seemed so distant. She hadn’t known he was a half-breed until Dixie told her. A sick feeling, a sensation foreign to him, burned inside him. He’d thought she’d known. He’d thought that was the reason she’d nearly fainted when he’d first offered her a job. But it was obvious that she hadn’t. Her entire attitude toward him had changed since last
night.

  Last night.… They had almost made love in his cabin. He sensed that they would have if Buck hadn’t been there. She’d been ready for him, he knew it. And she would never know how ready he’d been for her. He wanted her like he’d wanted no other woman, not even Regina, and he still didn’t understand why. Now he’d never know, and that was best. But he wondered why, then, the ache continued to squeeze his heart.

  Rachel turned sideways on the buggy seat and watched the trees enclose the reservation. The sun was warm, the weather positively balmy. She thought about March in the Dakotas and shivered involuntarily. There could still be snow as high as her upstairs bedroom window, as there had been many winters. She didn’t really miss it, but she did realize that without a sharp delineation between seasons, she might not remember when things happened. She’d always thought in terms of winter, summer, spring, and fall.

  The last of the cabins disappeared behind her, and she felt a sadness in her chest. She’d made some friends, people who had prejudged her because of Jeremy, she suspected. And, she thought humbly, she’d done some prejudging of her own. But not anymore.

  The winter sun was wonderful and warm. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face toward it. The awful news that Dixie had disclosed about Jeremy and Harry still weighed heavily on her mind and her heart. She had so many feelings about it. A part of her told her it was all rubbish, too melodramatic to be real. Another part of her chided that where there was a rumor, there was often a thread of truth. Dixie’s disclosure had been more than rumor. Especially regarding poor Harry. She made a face. Poor Harry. She’d have to stop thinking of him as a victim. She’d have to force Ivy to tell her exactly what had happened.

  Suddenly she realized that Jason must have known all of this, yet not told her. Swinging around on the seat, she studied his profile. Her heart bumped against her ribs. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known. Just looking at him did funny, warm things to her.