Beverly Jenkins (30 page)

The sincerity in his voice touched her, bringing back a familiar warmth reserved only for him. He was her closest friend, and seeing him now after so many years filled her with a special kind of joy. “So what brings you out here? Are you still working for Mr. Fortune’s
Globe?”

“Yep. I’m here to do a feature on Floral Hall.”

“Floral Hall’s in Topeka, city boy. You missed it by about two hundred and forty miles.” Cara couldn’t resist teasing him.

He laughed at the old endearment. “I’ve been to Topeka. I’m interviewing ‘dusters in the area.”

“Really?” Cara told him about here experiences at Floral Hall, and gave him the names of people in town he should seek out. She made a special mention of the Three Spinsters, then added, “I met my husband at Floral Hall.”

“The big man upstairs?”

“The big man upstairs. I hope he didn’t scare you too badly.”

“No, not
too
badly. A lot badly.”

They laughed.

“When I saw that gun, well—we city boys don’t encounter guns like that much back East. All I could think was that I was about to be shot for looking in on an old friend.”

“I don’t think he would really have shot you.”

“You weren’t facing him, Cara. He looked like an angry African sea deity protecting his queen.”

Cara laughed at his description. “William, I don’t think African sea deities carry forty-fives.”

“Yours does. How come you never wrote me about him?”

“We got married a bit suddenly, last November.”

They shared a look.

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me.”

She nodded. “It started out real complicated, William, but I think we have things sorted out now.”

“Tell me this, and I won’t pry any further: Do you love him?”

She’d never lied to him. “Yes, I do, very much.”

“Well, he seems to love you, too, very much.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the way he ordered my eyes off his wife. He
wasn’t laughing at the time. He loves you pretty fiercely, in my opinion.”

“Fiercely?”

“Fiercely.”

Cara made some fresh coffee, and while they waited for it to brew, talked about a myriad of subjects. All the while, she tried not to stare at the changes time had wrought in this special friend. The tall, reed-thin young man-child she’d known years ago, now towered over her by at least a foot. He’d grown into a strikingly handsome man. His caramel-skinned good looks and jet-black wavy hair reminded her in a small way of Miles Sutton. However, William had none of the spoiled boyish lines so prominent in Miles’s face, and one had only to look into her friend’s eyes to see the kindness Miles lacked.

“Are you heading back soon?”

“Not for a while. I’m due in Denver day after tomorrow. I’m also supposed to look into some other things while I’m out this way. What do you know about Oklahoma?”

“The usual things: Indian Territory, Boomers, Payne. I know the government is talking of opening the land to settlers, but other than that? Chase is the one to talk with about Oklahoma. He and his men were stationed there last summer.”

At first, William didn’t understand. “Stationed there?” His brain finally made sense of what she’d said and he asked wondrously, “Your husband’s a soldier?”

Cara nodded. “With the Tenth—”

“The Tenth? Why, they’re the most decorated—Cara, go get him. Mr. Fortune will have my hide if he finds out I met a buffalo soldier and didn’t get a story. There are rumors floating around about the government making the territory a Black state. Do you think he’s heard anything concerning that?”

Cara had heard the rumors before; no one in the plains set much stock by them, however.

“People back East don’t really believe that, do they?”

“Some do, some don’t. The Missouri, Kansas, and Texas Railroad Company is supposedly behind the push. A contingent of A.M.E. ministers met with the Congress last spring to ask the government to do for them what they wouldn’t do for Payne and the Boomers.”

“They aren’t going to give the Territory to any colored people. Can you imagine what kind of fit the rest of the country would throw?”

“It could happen, Cara. At this late date, the railroads don’t care who the settlers are. Their chief concerns are laying track and charging freight. They can’t expand without people, and evidently they don’t envision much profit in having only Indians as passengers. Go and get your husband, please.”

Cara had no idea whether Chase would consent to being interviewed, but she excused herself and went up to see.

Chase had intended to get dressed and go downstairs, but had made the mistake of sitting down on the bed. The soft mattress offered a seductive invitation to lie back. The bed seemed to sense he hadn’t slept in two days and further beckoned him to savor stretching out on something other than a hard bunk or the damp, cold ground. He closed his eyes. Two beats later, sleep swept him away.

Cara found him asleep, sprawled naked across the bed, snoring as loud as a locomotive. The sight brought forth a soft smile. Careful not to cause a
break in the resonating yet rhythmic snores, she covered him gently with the quilt. Then, unable to resist, she bent to place a whispered kiss on his brow, and slipped out.

Downstairs, William plainly showed his disappointment. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m making an ass of myself over this, but being able to meet a buffalo soldier is indescribable.”

“You’re as bad as the children. You should have seen them the first time they met him.” And she thought to herself, Hell you should’ve seen
me.

“Well, he is quite impressive,” William allowed. Remembering the gun, he added, “Very impressive.”

They spent a few more minutes talking and then William had to leave, but promised to return the next day.

While Chase snored on upstairs, the day slid into night. Telling herself the man was full-grown and therefore did not need to be checked on every fifteen minutes, Cara instead sat down to write letters soliciting donations for the new school.

When the clock struck midnight, Cara pushed her chair back from the kitchen table and stood, stretching once more. She doused the lamp in the center of the table, then walked over to the one she’d left lit in the adjoining front room. A tiptoe reach lowered it from the niche in the wall so she could carry it to light the way through the darkness and up the stairs.

Halfway up the staircases, she heard a polite “Excuse me” come from a voice below. It startled her so badly, she almost dropped the lamp.

A man stood in the shadows below. “Who are you!?” she asked in a panicked voice, almost tripping as her foot blindly searched for the next step.

“A friend. Is my brother here?”

His brother? Cara wondered if she could run to the rifle in her room before the man pounced.

“May I light the lamp again?” he asked.

Her mind darted to Chase. Trust him to be sleeping like the dead while she stood there terrified by Lord-only-knew-who.

But the man hadn’t made any threatening gestures yet. Maybe lighting the lamp would show him he’d come to the wrong house; later she’d deal with how he’d gotten in here in the first place.

Knowing this could be the worst mistake she’d ever made in her life, Cara instructed shakily, “Go ahead.”

He stepped out of her line of vision, and a moment later the first floor once again glowed with soft light.

“I trust this will be better,” he said, coming back to the foot of the steps. Cara could see him clearly now. His dress, though shabby, differed none from that of the other men in the area. The thick coat, trousers, and large, weather-beaten hat that threw shadows across his face were damp with moisture from the rain outside.

He slowly removed the hat, and Cara stared in amazement at the black waterfall of hair cascading past his shoulders. “You’re an Indian!” she gushed stupidly.

“No kidding.”

And he spoke perfect English! He also had the nerve to be a handsome Indian, Cara thought needlessly, still struggling with fright and wonder.

“I think you’ve made a mistake. No Indians live here.”

Smiling, he contradicted, “No mistake, little sister.” Cara bet that smile of his left maidens weak wherever he went.

“You are Cara Jefferson, am I correct?”

Cara nodded horselike in reply, but did not understand, then a small memory came back. The day Chase came to her classroom he’d mentioned— “You’re Dreamer of Eagles.” Good Lord, she had a Sioux brave standing in her front room.

“You know of me,” he stated in pleased tones.

“You gave Chase his
siyotanka.”

“Ah, the army dog has played the flute for you.”

Army dog? “Yes, I mean, no, he played it for my students.”

“The gift of the
wagnuka
is not for children. If he played the love flute, it was for you.”

“Chase is asleep. I’ll see if I can wake him.”

“No, don’t bother. Tomorrow is soon enough. I’ll bed down outside if that’s suitable?”

Cara couldn’t very well ask him to leave; Chase would skin her alive if she turned his brother out. “Do you need blankets, bedding? There is an extra bedroom up here, and you’re welcome to it.”

He went silent for a moment, and Cara felt that dark gaze of his scan her before he asked seriously, “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you’re probably terrified I’ll scalp you in the night, you agree to let an Indian you’ve never seen sleep upstairs in your spare bedroom?”

Cara didn’t move. No one deserved to sleep outside.

“Well, don’t worry, little sister. You, I’d never scalp. I may risk my brother’s wrath and steal you, but scalp you? Never.”

Shaken, Cara gave him directions to the room and bid a hasty good night.

The Indian’s last remarks, serious or not, ruled
out any thought Cara had entertained of sleeping alone. Shoving at Chase’s broad brown back, she whispered, “Move over.”

He was still sprawled over much of the bed’s surface, and despite the wood she’d added to the fireplace, the room was freezing. “Chase, wake up. I want to sleep, too.”

Finally, the dragon rippled and came to life. “Hello.”

His sleepy smile made her heart puddle into her knees. “Hello yourself. Move over.”

He mumbled something, then slid over to the side closer to the door.

Cara burrowed under the covers, shivering. Beneath her the sheets still held his heat, and she slid around, basking in it, thinking he could warm her bed anytime.

“Chase?”

“Mmm . . .”

“Dreamer of Eagles is here.”

In the firelit darkness, Cara waited for some type of reaction. It came in the form of one long arm pulling her close until their bodies nested together like spoons.

“That’s better,” he affirmed with a sluggish whisper. His manhood against her hip didn’t seem sluggish at all.

“He said he might steal me, Chase.”

Silence.

“Chase?” She turned over until she could see his face in the light from the roaring fire. “He wants to steal me, did you hear?”

“Don’t worry. After he finds out you talk all night, he’ll give you right back.”

Twisting around, she tried to put distance between them, but the heavy arm around her waist held.

“Settle down,” he warned, “or I’ll think you’re trying to keep me awake for some other reason. As you can tell, I’m more than up to the challenge. In fact . . .”

“I’ll be quiet,” she promised quickly, feeling his hands begin to explore. “No, you won’t, you’re never quiet.” She stiffened and he chuckled against her hair. “You’re so easy to tease, I just can’t resist sometimes. Go to sleep Cara Lee. We’ll fight in the morning.” A second later, his snoring resumed.

C
ara had awakened to her husband’s lovemaking, Dreamer’s pounding on the bedroom door, and William’s noisy arrival out front. The only saving grace of the morning was that Chase had taken over, ordered her to dress at her leisure, and rushed from the room. He’d even organized their guests to help him cook breakfast.

Now, washing up, Cara listened to the men discuss a wanted poster that William had brought.

“Cara,” Chase said, “please come take a look at this.”

Drying her hands on her apron. Cara walked over and stood beside her husband to get a look. The man pictured in the drawing was dressed as a member of the clergy.

“William brought this with him from back East. The man’s wanted for gulling a bunch of folks. Posed as a representative of one of the big colonization societies.”

“It’s a pretty common dupe back East,” William explained. “A man like this one will come to a small town pretending to be a member of a society. Once he convinces the people he can gain them a berth on the next boat to Liberia or wherever they want to go, he takes their money for passage and disappears. Few of these swindlers
are ever caught, but this one bilked an unusually large number of people, and Mr. Fortune wants him found.
Globe
agents all over the country are showing his picture around.”

“Look at the picture closely, Cara,” Chase prompted. “Recognize him?”

The thin-faced man had light skin, wore glasses, and sported a beard and mustache. “Nope. I’ve never seen him before.” She turned to William. “What happened to the people?”

“Thinking the representative to be legitimate, they sold valuables our friend had not already taken for their passage, then they came to New York or Maryland to board the ships. Since no arrangements had been made, whole families wound up on the docks penniless. Only a small percentage had enough funds to return home. Others had given him the deeds to their land as collateral and had no home to return to. The benevolent societies were able to help a few, but when the numbers were overwhelming, people were forced to fend for themselves.”

Cara looked at the poster again. With all the horror and stumbling blocks inflicted on the race, she could only feel contempt for someone getting fat by ruining his own people. Like Mr. Fortune, she wanted him caught. “I really wish I could help, but I don’t recognize him.”

Chase glanced up at her. “Take another look, but this time try to imagine him without the beard and eyeglasses.”