by Marvin Kaye
had cost him his life to save hers; and Falke, going willingly into the furnace of the
Egyptian desert in order to be free of her and the life she gave.
"No, Madelaine. Don't despair," he said, with the urgency of one who knew
despair well. His arms went around her, and he drew her close to him as if to
protect her from the weight of grief. "It is unbearable," he murmured, pressing his
lips to her hair.
She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, hearing the pulse
quicken. "I am told one learns, in time." Her breath was deep and uneven.
He reached out to turn her face up to his, searching out secrets. "What are
you, then? I'd better warn you, I don't hold any truck with the supernatural. And
don't preach religion at me, whatever you do. I get enough of that from Maria
Ewing." He made an impatient gesture at the mention of his mother-in-law.
"No religion," she promised. "Other than that most religion is against those of
us who come to this life." She stretched out to kiss him, feeling yearning and
resistance in his mouth. "We die, but slip the hold death has on us, and we live—"
"On the Elixir of Life," he said, one hand sliding down her flank. "And how is
this mysterious Elixir obtained?"
"It is taken from those who are willing to give it," she answered quietly.
"Where there is understanding, and passion, there is also great… joy."
"Joy," he echoed, as if the word were terrible even as he pulled her inexorably
nearer, kissing her with what he had intended as roughness but what became a
tenderness of such intensity that he felt all his senses fill with her. He tried to push
her away, but his body would not answer the stern command of his will; and as
she guided his hands over the treasure of her flesh, he surrendered to her with all
the strength of his desire.
"Slowly," she whispered as she flicked her tongue over his nipples, seeing his
shock and delight. "It is better if you savor it."
"God and the devils! I am ready to explode!" He kicked back the sheet to
show her, proud and embarrassed at once. "Hurry, Madelaine. I am at the brink."
"Not yet," said Madelaine, bending to kiss him again as she straddled him. "Do
not deny yourself the full measure of your passion, for you also deny me. This is
not a race where glory goes to the swiftest." Then, with exquisite languor, she
guided him deep within her.
His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. "I can't—"
"You can," she promised, remaining very still until he opened his eyes. Then
she began to move with him, feeling his guard fall away as his ardor became
adoration; at this instant her lips brushed his throat.
They lay together until the first predawn call of birds warned them of coming
day.
"I don't want to leave," Sherman said, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You
have enthralled me, Madelaine."
"And I am bound to you, Tecumseh," she said.
With sudden emotion, he pulled her close against him, his long fingers tangled
in her hair. "What have you done to me?"
"Touched you," she answered, "And you me."
As he rose, gooseflesh on his pale skin, he brushed the arch of her lip with his
fingers. "We will have to be very careful, very discreet. They know, me women
here, that a man has appetites, but they will not look upon you with the same
understanding."
"Yes," she agreed. "I know," and turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand.
He gathered up his clothes with care and dressed quickly, listening for sounds
in the street. "I don't want anyone to know I've come here," he told her, his
manner stern. "For both our sakes."
She got out of bed and pulled on a heavy silken peignoir. "I am not about to
cry it to the world."
He paused in the door, regarding her steadily. "No, you are not," he conceded
with a curious mixture of relief and exasperation. "It isn't in you to do that." Then
he smiled, and the harshness left his face. He held his arms open, and she ran into
them.
San Francisco, 1 July, 1855
Yesterday I met Tecumseh's two children, though he tells me he
has a third child, Minnie, living with her grandparents, an
arrangement that does not entirely please him. The children currently
living with him were at a puppet show presented near the old Mission
San Francisco de Assisi. I came with the Kents…
He is clearly fond of both children, but takes the keenest delight in
his son, Willy, who is still a baby; the boy has hair almost as red as
his father's, and is quick and amiable. It is no wonder his father dotes
on him…
Most of my notes are prepared and ready and I am about to set to
work in earnest…
Sherman read the first three pages in growing disbelief. "Indians," he said to
her at last. " Indians.' What in infernal damnation do you mean with this?"
Madelaine watched him as he began to pace her front parlor, ignoring the
raised, cautioning finger Baron deStoeckl offered him. "It is the subject of my
studies." She was in a deep-green afternoon dress, and her hair was neatly
arranged, as suited any woman prepared to receive guests; the filmy light from her
curtained windows gave the whole room a soft, pale glow.
Sherman would not be stilled. "Indians! What is the matter with you? How can
you be such a romantic fool, to go among savages?" He was dusty from riding
and made no excuse for it as he prowled his way about the room, refusing to look
directly at her, for fear he might give himself away. "What do you know about
Indians?"
"Enough not to call them savages. I have been studying them," said Madelaine,
determined not to argue uselessly.
"Studying! A nice word for adventuring! But what do you know about them?"
He put down the pages in triumph.
"Not nearly enough," she answered steadily. "That is why I study them, to end
my ignorance."
"But you do not know what they are like; you prove that by what you're saying
now," Sherman persisted. "You are one of the dreamers, thinking you have come
upon discarded wisdom or neglected perceptions. You haven't a notion what kind
of superstitious, bloody barbarians they are."
"Some might say the same of me," Madelaine interjected in an undervoice, then
spoke up. "I have already spent time among the Osage, the Kiowa, the Pawnee,
the Arapaho, the Cheyenne, the Ute, the Shoshone, and the Miwok, without
anything untoward happening to me. I am working from my journals and other
records I have made. For my book."
Sherman stared at her, aghast. "Is that what you are doing in America? Living
with Indians?"
"For the most part, yes," said Madelaine, her face betraying no emotion.
"Don't you know how dangerous that is?" Sherman insisted, this time looking
directly at her. "You think that they are noble, but they are not. I have fought
Indian skirmishers, while I was mapping in the South for the army. I know what
they can be. I do not need a pitched battle to show me the cruelty they embody."
"They did me no harm, and I do not think they would ever do me any," said
Madelaine. "Once they realized what I wanted to know, and were convinced of my
sincerity, they were most cooperative. They permitted me to study them. As I
expected they would do, since they are reasonable peoples." It was not quite the
truth. "Most of them," she appended, aware of Sherman's keen gaze.
"You were luckier than you had any right to be," said Sherman brusquely,
breaking away from the spell of her violet eyes.
"How can you say that?" Madelaine asked, unable to keep from responding to
his challenge, though she realized he was deliberately provoking her. "What danger
is one European woman to them?"
"I was referring to the danger one European woman was in from them, little as
she is willing to acknowledge it," said Sherman dryly. "I have some experience of
Indians, remember. I have seen Seminole, Madame, and I know to my cost what
implacable enemies they can be. They killed troopers who were doing them no
harm whatsoever. They would ambush a few men and pick them off with arrows
and blowguns. Indians are dangerous. And if the European woman is not willing to
heed me, then be it on her head."
Baron deStoeckl cleared his throat. "Perhaps each of you has a point? In your
own ways," he suggested in French. "I do not mean to increase dissension, but it
seems to me that there is good reason to concede as much to each other."
Sherman rounded on him, his brows drawn down, his mouth a thin line. "I do
not want any misfortune to befall her."
"And I do not want any misfortune to befall my Indian friends, since they have
endured so much already, although they do not complain of it," said Madelaine,
sensing that Sherman might understand this better then he admitted. "You know
that many of them have been forced to change their way of life since the
Europeans arrived here."
"As Europeans were forced to change their way of life when they came to the
American wilderness." Sherman sighed once, his breathing strained. "It was not
like visiting another European country, coming to this one. It still isn't, though we
have cities and a few of the amenities of life. Not as we do in the East, of course,
but this is not the frontier, as it was when I was here eight years ago. Then there
were only a dozen streets in the whole of San Francisco." He sat down abruptly,
his face draining of color as the severity of his asthma attack increased.
Madelaine recognized the symptoms; she asked Baron deStoeckl to tend to
Sherman for a moment so that she could fetch something that would ease his
labored breathing.
"Certainly," said Baron deStoeckl.
"No need," wheezed Sherman.
"Because it offends your pride to be helped?" Madelaine suggested, then
excused herself and hurried toward the back of the house, calling to Olga to assist
her. "I have a number of large stoneware jars in the cellar. Will you please bring
me the one with the green seal. At once."
By the time Olga returned, Madelaine had made a hot brandy toddy, and as she
peeled off the seal with a knife, she explained, "This is a very old remedy. I
obtained it while traveling in Egypt." She poured some of the contents into the
toddy. "If you will seal the jar again and put it back where you found it?" As Olga
obeyed, Madelaine took the toddy and hurried back to the parlor where she could
hear Sherman trying not to cough as he labored to breathe.
Baron deStoeckl was patting Sherman on the back and frowning when
Madelaine moved him aside and held out the cup and saucer to her stricken guest.
"What's this?" Sherman demanded with difficulty.
"A toddy. It will make you better directly," she promised. "Drink it before it is
too cool to help ease your trouble."
Sherman glowered at her, but took the proffered cup and winced as he sipped.
"It's hot." When the cup's contents were half gone, he was noticeably improved,
his breathing more regular and less labored. "Thank you, Madame," he said as
soon as he was sitting straight once again.
"Finish the toddy, Mr. Sherman. You are better but not yet restored."
Madelaine watched him sternly as he drank the rest and set the cup and saucer
aside on the rosewood end table beside his chair. "Very good."
"I am pleased you think so, Madame," said Sherman with a wry smile. "What a
stern taskmistress you are."
"I am concerned with your well-being, Mr. Sherman. Who else would handle
my affairs as well as you have done?" This was intended to return their
conversation to more formal tones, but it did not succeed.
"What other banker would care enough to ignore the impropriety of your
studies?" Sherman countered with a gesture of capitulation that made the sharpeyed Baron deStoeckl raise his brows in surprise.
"I doubt you will do that, Mr. Sherman. I suspect you will adopt a flanking
strategy and try to wear down my resolve through a series of skirmishes, like the
Seminole." Madelaine did her best to make this a teasing suggestion, one that
could not be taken seriously by either man.
Sherman grinned. "Yes, a series of skirmishes along your flanks would be
most… rewarding."
The Baron lifted his hands to show he was helpless against these blatant
flirtations. He leaned down and made one last attempt. "My good friend William, I
think you are taking advantage of our hostess."
"I would certainly like to," said Sherman incorrigibly. Now that he was feeling
markedly better, he was seized with high spirits. "A covert campaign is required."
"God and the archangels!" Baron deStoeckl burst out. "What of your
reputation? What of hers?"
Sherman regarded his friend with a canny look. "What danger are we in? You
will not repeat what we say here, will you? I know Madame de Montalia will not,
and neither will I, so where is the problem? You will keep our secret." He got up
and strode to Madelaine's side, purpose in every line of his body. "Don't preach
to me about good sense and prudence. Not now. Not here." With that, he caught
her up in his arms and bent to kiss her.
Few things flustered Madelaine; this unexpected demonstration unnerved her
thoroughly. She felt her face redden, and when she could speak, she said, "What a
burden you are imposing on your friend. Think, Tecumseh." She glanced at the
Baron, about to apologize for the impropriety of it all when Sherman took her by
the shoulders and nearly shook her.
"Damn it, woman, I want someone to know." Sherman looked down into her
eyes, and his sternness vanished. He went on quietly. "I want at least one man I
can trust to see what I feel for you, so that I will be able to talk with him about
what you mean to me when… this is over."
"When your wife returns," said Madelaine.
"When you leave," said Sherman.
Baron deStoeckl bowed to them. "You may rely on my discretion," he
promised them in French.
San Francisco, 21 July 1855
After an absence of sixteen days, Tecumseh has returned to my
bed. This time he had no hesitation, no awkward beginnings. His
embraces were long and deep and he undertook to follow my lead, to
find out how long he could build his passion before spending. He was
merry as a boy with a prize, and he romped with me for more than an
hour before fatigue finally
overcame him. When I woke him an hour
before dawn, he was as refreshed as if he had passed a full night in
slumber, and was in good spirits when he left. He promised to come
again in three nights, and said he would find good reasons for us to
be in one another's company without attracting undue attention or
gossip, which pleased me very much, for it is enervating to live with
such close scrutiny as attends on single women in this city. I pointed
out to him that this would require careful planning, to which he
replied that he is very good at strategy and swore he would relish the
opportunity, thinking it worthy of his talents…
The warmth of the day was quickly fading before the chilling fingers of fog
came, caressing the hills from the west. As they turned down the steep hill, the
wind nipping at their backs, Sherman signaled Madelaine to swing her horse off
the main road to the wooded copse, indicating through gestures that they could
then dismount and put on their coats.
"The Spanish call those two hills the Maiden's Breasts," he said to her as he
lifted her out of the sidesaddle under the trees. He indicated the slope they had just
descended. "I like yours better." He took the reins from her hand and secured
them to one of the low-growing oak branches, next to where his grey was tied.
"Less hectic to ride, I imagine," said Madelaine in spite of herself.
"I wouldn't say that," Sherman whispered as he bent down to wrap her in his
arms, his lips seeking hers. He took his time about it, feeling her warm to him; it
promised well for the night ahead. When he moved back, he said impishly, "Isn't
there any other land you would like to inspect, with the prospect of making an
offer to purchase? I would have to escort you to advise you and negotiate for you,
wouldn't I? I could not allow you to venture abroad without suitable protection. I
would be remiss in my duties if I did—everyone would agree to that." He bent
again, and moving the thick knot of hair at the nape of her neck aside, kissed her
just under her ear. "Where you kiss me, Madelaine. When you pledge me your
bond." His lips were light, almost playful.
It took her a while to gather her thoughts, and when she did, she struggled to
voice them. "That is a good notion, on its own; never mind the chance for privacy