Cheyenne splendor, p.12
Cheyenne Splendor, page 12
Wannie said, “Does that mean lots of presents?”
The big Indian boy, Keso, had come inside just then. “Girls!” he snorted. “All Wannie thinks about is dressin’ up like a grown lady when she’s nothin’ but a baby!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Children!” Silver moved in to stop the fuss. “We’ve got some gifts to hand out and some cookies, too.”
The children set up a chorus of excitement.
Summer looked at her questioningly.
Cherokee shrugged. “It’s not much; I carved some wooden toys, and Silver stayed up late a few nights after the kids were in bed to make rag dolls.”
With shouts of delight, the children gathered around the tree to receive their simple toys, then trooped off to the kitchen for warm cookies and milk. Baby Garnet had dropped off to sleep in Summer’s arms.
Summer smiled at Iron Knife, content to be here in a setting that was more familiar to her than the Cheyenne’s nomad life-style.
Iron Knife sipped his coffee. “Cherokee, you’ve got two nice children.”
Cherokee nodded. “Aren’t they something, though? Never thought I’d end up raisin’ two orphan children, but I love them like they were our own.”
“I thought they were sister and brother?” Summer said as she looked toward the kitchen where shouts of delight echoed.
Cherokee shook his head. “Keso’s a street kid that I picked up in Denver; thinks he’s full-blood Cheyenne—”
“But he’s not,” Iron Knife said. “I’ve heard about him. He’s Ute, but raised Cheyenne; kidnapped years ago, I think. The two tribes are enemies. It was not my band, so I really don’t know much about it.”
Silver came in just then, leaving the children in the kitchen eating cookies. “And Wannie is half Arapaho; I was her governess when I worked for the duchess in Denver.”
Summer was curious. “There was a real duchess in Denver?”
“Not hardly!” Cherokee laughed. “Just an Indian girl named Gray Dove trying to pass herself off as Spanish royalty.”
“Gray Dove?” Iron Knife said, and there was something strained about his face that made Summer uneasy.
“She’s dead,” Silver said, “died in the fire trying to rescue her money when her saloon burned.”
“So who’s Wannie’s father?” Summer asked. Knowing the promiscuous Gray Dove as she did, it could be anyone.
“A horrible man named Jake Dallinger who’s dead now.” Silver shuddered as she remembered that horrible night just weeks ago when she’d been forced to kill the Army scout to save Cherokee’s life. “We know because of the birthmark on her hand like Jake had, but almost to the end Gray Dove thought it was—” She paused, exchanged looks with her husband, turned red, and cleared her throat uncertainly. “Well, enough of that; who’d like some more coffee?”
But Summer had seen that warning glance Cherokee gave Silver. Sweat broke out on Iron Knife’s face.
“I’d like another cup,” Iron Knife said a little too quickly. “Do you think it might snow again tonight?”
There was something here that made Summer uneasy, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She had a feeling that the other three knew something that she did not. “Gray Dove thought it was who?”
“Yes, it might snow at that,” Cherokee drawled. “I do believe Iron Knife’s right. I’d like some more coffee.”
“Good,” Silver said a little too brightly and hopped up, “I’ll get it!” She fled the room.
Cherokee rolled a cigarette. “Yes, it may snow some more after all.”
“Haven’t seen such miserable weather for a couple of winters,” Iron Knife said. “Deep snow makes it hard for ponies to find grass.”
What was going on here? All this talk of weather and coffee. She didn’t say anything else, mystified as she watched the two men, who seemed as nervous and tense as rattlesnakes on a hot griddle. The mood had changed the moment the question of Wannie’s father had come up. Was there something she wasn’t supposed to know?
The silence almost seemed to shout. Except for the noise of the children laughing in the kitchen and the wind blowing outside, it was quiet enough in the room to hear her rocker creak as she shifted the sleeping child from one arm to the other.
Iron Knife cleared his throat and avoided looking at her. “So how goes the white man’s war? Are the bluecoats and the gray-clad ones still fighting each other?”
Cherokee shrugged and stared into the fire, not looking at her, either. “I don’t know much more than you do, except what little news we managed to get while I was in Denver.”
“Well, here I am, everyone.” Silver came into the room, smiling with a wide, nervous grin. “Here’s fresh coffee all around!”
Summer watched her pour, puzzled over the things that had been said—and left unsaid—in the past few minutes. There was something secretive here, what was it? Wannie looked to be about five years old. That meant the pretty little girl was conceived somewhere late in 1858, the year Summer became Iron Knife’s woman. Gray Dove had been in love with Iron Knife. Could it be . . . ? No, of course not. She must not even think about it. Summer managed a weak smile. “Cherokee, were you a soldier?”
He nodded. “As you can tell by my accent, no doubt, I fought for the South, but ended up a prisoner in a Yankee hellhole. To get out, I volunteered to put on the blue uniform and go west to fight Indians; that’s how I met Iron Knife.”
“Our hunting party found him on a riverbank many miles from here, half-blind and lost.”
“I got my sight back and, with Iron Knife’s help, made it to civilization. I was luckier than many Southerners.” Cherokee sighed. “Lord only knows what happened to my old colonel. Shawn O’Bannion may be dead for all I know.”
That name sounded familiar somehow, but Summer didn’t know why. “Shawn O’Bannion?”
“He owns a big Tennessee plantation called Shannon Place. I don’t know if he’s even still alive, but invading Yankees have probably burned Shannon Place to the ground by now.”
She remembered then where she had heard the name. “I—I suppose it’s a common enough name, but the one I’m thinking of was a poor immigrant gardener.”
Cherokee sipped his coffee. “He’s an Irish immigrant, all right, can tell by his accent. Don’t know much about his past except that he went west as a young man and struck pay dirt in the California gold rush. He’s one of the richest men in Tennessee—or was before the war.”
Shawn O’Bannion. Could it be the same one? Hardly likely. What difference did it make? She realized the other three were staring at her curiously. Summer held her coffee cup up. “Well, Merry Christmas and here’s to a happy New Year for us all!”
“Hear! Hear!” They held their coffee cups high in a toast while the sounds of laughing, playing children drifted from the kitchen.
Summer lay staring at the ceiling long after the last lamp had been blown out for the night and all the children were asleep. The couple was in bed in the spare room of the cabin.
Iron Knife pulled her against him. “Tomorrow, we’ll rejoin the Cheyenne.” She stayed stiff in his arms as he kissed her cheek. “Little One, is something wrong?”
“Should there be?” It came out more tersely than she had planned.
He chuckled. “When a woman answers a question with a question, a man knows he’s in big trouble.”
“Now, unless you’ve done something you wouldn’t want me to know about, why would you think that?”
A long pause. “What kind of question is that?”
“You tell me.” She didn’t know herself why she was upset; it was just a vague suspicion that kept gnawing at her vitals like a mouse chewing away. It was discomforting enough that she couldn’t sleep.
“Summer, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Then there’s nothing to discuss!” She rolled over in bed, her back to him. She wasn’t sure whether she was angry or hurt. She yearned to blurt out her suspicions and have her lover laugh them off because, of course, he loved her more than life itself.
Instead, he sighed heavily and punched up his pillow. “Fine, we won’t talk about it. After this thing with Angry Wolf, I suppose you’re tired and—”
“You’re saying I’m a hysterical female!” She rolled toward him, raised up on one elbow, seething.
“I didn’t say that—”
“You all but did! What a typical male reaction!”
“This is a typical male reaction!” Before she could move, he reached up, pulled her down to him, and kissed her deeply, passionately while she tried to break away.
She must not let him wear her down, get her mind off the subject with his kisses that had always melted her so.
She pulled out of his powerful arms and made a big show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Men always think that’s the answer to everything.”
He smiled up at her. “Last night, you thought it was a pretty good answer.”
She gritted her teeth, wanting to smack him for pointing out how vulnerable she was to his charms. Instead, she lay down, turned her back on him and tried not to weep, but the tears came, making the mattress shake ever so slightly.
“Summer?”
She didn’t manage to stifle a sob, although she tried.
“Little One, what is it? What’s happened?” He put his arms around her, holding her close, murmuring to her, stroking her hair.
She wanted to melt against him, cry against his chest. Instead, all she could do was hold herself rigid and fight to stop her tears. She wanted to ask but was terrified to hear the truth. “I—I guess I am more tired than I thought.”
“That’s what I said.” She hated the smug tone of his voice, yet what had always attracted her to him was his almost swaggering masculinity, his protective savagery, his primitive arrogance. But, oh, he could be such a gentle and sensitive lover. He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get some sleep then; we’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.”
They lay together, with her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She still didn’t have the answer to her unasked question, and she couldn’t bear to bring it up again because he might tell her what she most dreaded to hear. “We’re going back tomorrow?”
“Umm.” He sounded distant, sleepy. “I’m feeling stronger, and I want to report to the council about Angry Wolf.”
She stared up at the ceiling. “Ne-mehotatse, dearest,” she said finally. I love you.
She waited for him to say he loved her, too, but what she got was the gentle sound of his breathing. He had dropped off to sleep. Damn him! She had wanted him to lie awake and hold her awhile, kiss her tenderly, say sweet things, tell her over and over how much he loved her, but he had drifted off to sleep. My marriage to a warrior is, after all, much like any marriage, she thought, disappointed and disillusioned. Once you become a wife, they take you for granted except when they get aroused. The rest of the time, they expect you to behave in a non-hysterical way, be “sensible, ” and go to sleep. Maybe things would look different to her tomorrow. However, tonight, while he slept, she lay looking at the ceiling, her soul in turmoil while she tried not to cry.
Things didn’t look much different to her in the morning, but Summer said nothing as she gathered up her things and thanked Silver for her hospitality. She thought she could never draw an easy breath again until she knew for certain whether her man had ever betrayed her with Gray Dove, that easy slut of an Arapaho.
Silver hugged her as they went out to the horses. “We loved having you, come back any time.”
“We enjoyed it,” Summer said.
Cherokee pushed his hat back. “Will you two be in any danger because of this Indian war?”
“No more than any of the other Cheyenne.” Iron Knife lifted Lance and Storm up on their little pinto ponies. “You’re the ones who ought to be worried, my friend, up here in the wilderness. I’ve hung a medicine object on your gate post that will tell warriors you are friends and should be left in peace.”
“Thanks,” Silver said. “If you two ever need anything, you know where to find us.”
“And, Cherokee, if you ever need to get a message to us,” Iron Knife said, “that medicine object will give you safe passage among our warriors across the plains.”
Summer put little Garnet in a cradleboard, then hung it from Starfire’s saddle. “I’ve got another old friend in Denver, Todd Shaw.”
“I know him.” Cherokee nodded and put his big arm around Silver’s shoulders.
Summer hesitated, looking at little Wannie. The pretty, dark little girl was playing dress-up in Silver’s old clothes and teasing Keso, who kept muttering that if she didn’t stop, he’d dunk her in the horse trough, high-heeled shoes and all. Yes, Wannie looked like her Indian mother, all right, and someday, she’d be a great beauty. Her big brother and Cherokee would have a difficult time keeping suitors away from her then. Gray Dove. Summer tried not to imagine the lusty Arapaho beauty in Iron Knife’s arms.
“Summer?” Iron Knife said.
“What?” She came out of her thoughts with a start. The others were looking at her strangely.
“I said, we’re ready to go.”
“Oh, of course.” They said their goodbyes again, turned and rode out, Lance and Storm loping their ponies ahead down the snowy trail. When she turned to look back and wave, Keso was giving Wannie a piggyback ride to the cabin. Summer waved at the little family as the Evans turned and went up the steps.
Iron Knife smiled. “Did you see the way that Wannie torments Keso?”
“He’s a half-grown boy”—Summer shrugged—“she’s a little girl. Bratty sisters have always made life miserable for brothers.”
“It’ll be interesting to see how they get along in ten years or so.”
Summer didn’t answer. She didn’t want to discuss the Evans’ adopted daughter; it made her think about Wannie’s mother, even though she knew she should push all this from her mind and forget it. It was a Pandora’s box that she might not be able to close the lid on if she ever opened it. Right now, she wished she didn’t even have her suspicions because they tormented her. She tried to tell herself that even if it were true, it was over and done a long time ago, and that it didn’t matter. Then why hadn’t he told her about it?
“Little One”—Iron Knife rode alongside her—“you are very quiet and thoughtful this morning.”
She looked at the long shadow she was throwing on the shimmering, crusty snow instead of looking at him. “I—I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“I love you, Summer Sky.”
She looked up sharply, wondering if he knew, deep in his heart, what was troubling her. Usually, she would have said, “I love you, too,” but now, she said nothing, merely returned to staring at their silhouettes dark against the snow. Could anyone ever really know what another human being was thinking? She had thought she had known him so well; that there were no secrets between them. Now she wondered if there were other things she didn’t know?
They returned to their Cheyenne band. Old Pony Woman and Pretty Flower came out to meet her, and she realized she was glad to see them—except that Summer soon learned the warriors were planning a revenge raid on Fort Sedgewick, near the town of Julesburg. That knowledge made Summer sad. She couldn’t even think about what would happen a few days from now when the warriors attacked. Added to that was the terrible suspicion that at the Evans’ cabin, the other three adults had tried so hard to end any discussion of Wannie’s parentage. Her suspicions deepened as the day wore on, and she lay sleepless that night in their tipi after the children were asleep.
“Summer Sky,” Iron Knife murmured, “you are angry with me for making love to you in the mine?”
“I lost control; now I wish we hadn’t.”
He turned over and looked at her in the glow of the fire. “Is that what has been bothering you? You have been so silent and moody.”
“Is there any reason you should be so suspicious?”
A long silence. “All right, my little love, let’s get this out in the open, shall we?”
“There’s nothing to discuss, unless you know something I don’t.”
“I have a feeling I’m being accused of something. I wish I at least knew what it is.”
“You should know that better than I!” Her voice rose in spite of all she could do.
He clapped his hand over her mouth. “Summer,” he said, his tone cold, “I am not sure what this is about, but a woman does not embarrass her man by screaming at him loud enough that others in the camp might hear.”
She did the first thing that came into her mind; she bit his hand.
He gave a low cry of indignant pain and shook the injured fingers. “If you were anyone else, I’d break you in half for that and you know it.”
“Go ahead, hit me; you’re bigger than I am, hit me!”
“You have tempted me too far this time!” Before she could react, he grabbed her, flipped her over his lap, jerked her buckskin shift up and paddled her bare bottom thoroughly while she fought and kicked, trying not to wake her children.
“You arrogant bastard! How dare you do that! How dare you use violence against me!”
He yanked her up, then pulled her skirt down. “You hurt me first,” he reminded her, “and what’s sauce for the goose, as the white man says, is sauce for a gander!”
She was in a fury as she pulled away from him. “I didn’t think you’d do it!”
“May I remind you,” he said with cool logic, “that you dared me to do it.”
“But I didn’t think you would!” She was crying from sheer anger now, and the more she cried, the angrier she got.
He reached out to her, and she slapped his hand away. “Don’t ever dare me, Little One. You are my woman and I will not be pushed around or led around by the nose like some damn fool white man.”
