Caress of Fire (28 page)

“David,” she said warmly, “that is a fine tomahawk. Would you show it to me?”

Warily he assessed her. But a moment later he shuffled forward. “My grandfather made it for me.”

“It's very nice. Have you slain many buffaloes with it?”

“Buffaloes! I will kill white men!”

Lisette knew the boast of youth when she heard it; she'd do nothing to break his spirit. “You appear to be a very strong young brave, David Fierce Hawk. I imagine you will be a great warrior when you grow tall as your father.”

“I will.” His face lit. “You are very nice, for a white woman.”

“David,” said his mother, “go play.”

“I do not play! I prepare for war!”

“Prepare for war, then, but leave us be.”

Pulling a face, he answered, “Yes, Mother.”

Lisette smiled. David Fierce Hawk, she surmised, would grow to be a fierce man, stalwart in his beliefs, yet acquiescent when the moment was right.

As the sturdy young brave left his grandmother's lodge, Red Dawn took down the headdress. “Lisette, I believe you asked me about this. Would you like to know how I made it?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am.”

For the next several minutes, Lisette and Red Dawn bent their heads in concentration. Yet Lisette couldn't get her mind off David Fierce Hawk. It was as if something settled in her, saying, “Your family hasn't heard the last of him.”

How ridiculous. David was a mere child!

Amy Sleeps Sweetly began to bawl. With her mother's approval, Lisette changed not only the girl's clothes but also the moss lining the cradleboard. The infant widened her big, green eyes and gurgled.

“It's lovely, tending a baby,” Lisette murmured.

“You are sentimental because of your own babe.” Laurann smiled. “Such a nice trick nature plays on women, making us love babies so.”

“That is right.” Red Dawn refilled the goblets.

By the time she'd finished the second glass, Lisette felt light-headed, almost giddy, and she and the other women were chatting as if they had known each other for years. It was only natural to mention Blossom, to tell them of her tragic end.

“Such a shame,” said Laurann. “And her poor child. Weeping Willow must have been deformed awfully.”

“I hope nothing like that happens to my baby.” Lisette touched her belly. Little Hermann rolled and tossed. “I pray he'll be healthy.”

A pensive look on her face, Red Dawn brought her forefinger to her upper lip. “This white man called Frank Hatch. I wonder . . . No, I make too much of it.”

Laurann cocked her head. “Make too much of what, Mother?”

“Didn't Iron Eagle tell you? When the moon was last high, a scouting party found the tracks of seven horses. Most Cold Morning and Wind on the Trees have stayed on their trail. Our braves should return shortly. They will bring word. It might be of Frank Hatch and his brothers.”

Seven mounts? Lisette did some mental addition: if those horses had been ridden by the Hitt gang, someone was missing. She hoped that someone was Frank Hatch. Better yet, she hoped none of those seven horses was topped by either him or the men who had taken charge of the hoodlum wagon.

That would be too good to be true.

She sensed trouble on the horizon.

Edgy, Lisette waited for her husband. To the west, the sun had faded to spokes of tangerine behind the gray sky. Cooking fires blazed in the Osage village, women preparing meals, braves loitering around. One lodge past Lisette, she saw two men from the outfit, Pigweed and Deep Eddy, relaxing by a fire. A trio of Indian maidens giggled and fed them from pottery plates.

Lisette smiled. Pigweed and Deep Eddy were going to become spoiled.

She spotted Matthias, his stance bespeaking a widower's grief, watching the men and the maidens. The girls had to remind him of Cactus Blossom, and Lisette started to offer comfort, or at least a cheerful diversion, but he turned and left, leaving her to wonder,
Where are Gil and Iron Eagle?

“White lady.”

Lisette spun to the sound of that young male voice. “David, how are you?”

“Do not call me David.” He stood tall . . . for a boy only seven years of age. “That is a white man's name.”

“It's a wonderful name. Very old. From the Bible. And your parents chose it for you.”

He pulled a face, the gap in his teeth showing. “My mother picked it, not my father. Call me Fierce Hawk.”

“All right. Fierce Hawk.”

“What are you called?”

“Lisette.”

“Is it a Bible name?”

“Yes. In English it is Elizabeth.”

“I do not like Bible names. I will call you Woman of Great Stomach.”

She chuckled and smiled at the sturdy boy, hoping that young Hermann would turn out as healthy and hardy. But maybe not so opinionated.

“Fierce Hawk, do you know where your father and my husband are?”

Nodding once, he sat cross-legged and ran a thumb across the ridges of his child-sized tomahawk. “They powwow with Most Cold Morning and Wind on the Trees.”

They were the ones who had been trailing the seven mysterious horses.

“Da–Fierce Hawk, are the braves discussing a white man called Frank Hatch?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. When they saw me, Father sent me to ‘play.' ” A small, bronzed hand beat against his knee. “I wish he and my mother would not make fun of my war practice.”

Lisette was on pins and needles to find out what was going on with Gil and the others, but she put that subject aside to ruminate over the young brave's wounded tone. Remembering what it was like to be a child not taken seriously by adults, Lisette sat down beside him.

“Grown people can be thoughtless at times, Fierce Hawk, but that doesn't mean they seek to belittle.”

He eyed her prominent belly. “When you have your papoose, will you . . .” Those quizzical eyes, an intriguing shade of brown, lifted. “I know you will be kind to your papoose. You are a nice white lady.”

“So is your mother.”

He nodded vigorously, but obviously his mind wasn't on Laurann. “Someday, can I play with your papoose? It will be a boy, won't it?”

“I think so. I shall call him Hermann.”

Fierce Hawk frowned, and for all his big-man talk, he was a typical youngster, much like Viktor and Karl. “Hair Man? Yuck. I don't like that name. Is it from your Bible?”

“No. It's from my father. But it goes back to my homeland, and before that, to Roman times. In Latin, it is Arminius.”

“I like that better than Hair Man.” Cocking his head, Fierce Hawk inquired, “What about the Romans? I do not know of them.”

“They were mighty warriors.”

“Really?” His eyes became saucer-round. “Will you tell me more about Romans?”

“I wish I could, but to tell the truth, I don't know or remember everything, and they were too great for me not to do them justice. You see, I should've listened more closely to my parents.” There was a hint for him in this. “But your grandmother has many books, and I'll bet there are one or two that will bring the Romans alive for you.”

“I don't want to read.” He rolled his eyes. “Red Dawn wants me to.”

“Well, if you want to learn about the Romans . . .”

“When your papoose gets big, will you teach him to read?”

“He will go to school.”

“Eeeck.”

“My Hermann will like school,” she said positively.

“Maybe you will have a girl. Like my mother did.” He scrunched his nose. “Girls are no fun.”

“You'll change your mind. Someday you'll find them quite attractive.”

“That's what my father says. He says I will grow strong and tall and will want a squaw.” Fierce Hawk placed the tomahawk on the ground, settled an elbow on his knee, and rested his chin on his knuckles. “I do not think I will grow to like the girls in my village. They giggle too much. If your papoose is a girl, maybe I will like her. If she does not hide her giggles behind her hands.”

Lisette grinned, then turned serious. “Fierce Hawk, my husband and I live very far away. I don't think you'll have a chance to see my baby, be it a girl or a boy.”

“When we hunt buffalo, we travel very far.” Fierce Hawk straightened his back. “If your girl does not giggle, I will make her my squaw.”

Instead of chortling at that determined remark, Lisette got the strangest feeling. That afternoon she'd thought she had not heard the last of David Fierce Hawk, and this conversation didn't seem to count against that premonition.

“Maybe we will see you again one day,” she said, patting his smooth arm. “But, Fierce Hawk, don't be disappointed when you find my baby is a boy.”

“No. You will have a girl. She will be mine. You will see.” Turning shy, he admitted, “I hope she is as pretty as you.”

“She'd better be,” Gil said, standing above them and drawing Lisette's attention. “She had better look just like her mother, boy, or I will be disappointed.”

He stood smiling down at her, and Lisette answered with a smile of her own, one that faded as she wondered what news he brought, especially when Iron Eagle appeared.

“David, go play.”

The boy grumbled at his father's orders, but waved to Lisette. “I will see you again someday, Woman of Great Stomach.”

Iron Eagle disappeared into his mother's lodge as Lisette got to her feet, Gil's steadying hand giving her support. His fingers pressed against her elbows, and he said in a tease, “You amaze me. Be they young or old, you always charm the menfolk.”

“I think it was the other way around in this instance. Fierce Hawk has me completely charmed.”

A growl rumbled from Gil's throat. “Good thing he's a wee lad.”

“Enough of this nonsense. Gil, what word did Iron Eagle's men bring?”

He stepped back, doffing his Stetson and rubbing his brow with a forearm. “Hatch and the others are camped a few miles to the east. Apparently Delmar Hitt isn't with them.”

“What do you think?”

“Later tonight, we ride after them.”

“Oh, Gil,” Lisette murmured on a sinking feeling. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. So we'd better enjoy the evening while we can.”

“I wish you wouldn't go.”

“Lisette, we've no choice. We can ride after Frank Hatch, and have Iron Eagle and his braves on our side, or we can strike out alone.”

“I ... I understand.”

“Good. And don't be fretting over it, honey. We have them outnumbered–greatly outnumbered.”

She took some solace from his statement.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Iron Eagle leaving Red Dawn's home. He walked to them. “Lisette, my mother and wife would like to see you.”

“Better go on, honey. Iron Eagle and I have a few more plans to make.”

Her mind on the events of much later tonight, Lisette headed for the lodge.
You must stop worrying. Everything will be all right. Be calm. Put it out of your mind–that's the best thing.

She made her way inside. While the Osage woman and her daughter-in-law had promised a surprise–and she'd expected some sort of frock–Lisette was more than astonished at the result. It helped to take her mind off the evil Hatch.

“These are for you.” Two bell-shaped cotton dresses, plus a couple of underskirts, dangled from Laurann's fingers. “Since you're interested in beadwork, we thought you'd want to do that part yourself.”

Red Dawn presented a pouch. “Beads.”

To be free of Attitude Powell's shirts . . . To have loose, comfortable clothing . . . But most of all, she was touched by these women's kindness.
“Danke.
I mean, thank you.”

“Sew on the beads,” Red Dawn ordered softly. “Soon we make ceremony.”

“And I must leave.” Laurann collected her daughter, and waved a hand. “See you later.”

Lisette borrowed a bone needle and cotton thread from her benefactress and put her fingers to flying. Within an hour beads decorated the scooped neck of one dress, a sleeveless creation of turquoise blue. With Red Dawn's assistance, she stripped out of her clothes and pulled the new frock over her head.

“Mmm, I feel free. And
comfortable.”

“And you look beautiful. Would you like a necklace to wear, and some feathers to work into your braids?”

“My husband likes for me to wear my hair loose, so I'll brush it that way. But I wouldn't mind borrowing a bit of ornamentation.”

“You will find feathers in that box beside my platform.” Nodding her head, Red Dawn rifled through a pouch. “Ah. Here they are.” She lifted a string of turquoise beads trimmed with copper medallions. “I traded with an Apache for these, many moons ago.”

“I–I'd better not borrow that. If something happened to it, I'd feel awful.”

“Do not worry, Lisette. Beads are only beads. Friends are something to cherish.”

“You are a friend I'll never forget.”

“You had better not!” Red Dawn shook a finger. “Now, let us finish making you ready for your handsome husband.”

Red Dawn provided luxuries such as Lisette hadn't seen in weeks, if ever. Water and soap. A pair of soft moccasins to replace her scuffed lace-up shoes. A jar of extract from herbs and flowers to dab behind her ears, on her wrists, and between her breasts. Of course, the necklace. And then Red Dawn held up a silver-handled hairbrush.

“I haven't seen one of those since I left Germany.” Lisette ran the bristles through her hair. “Where did you get it?”

“My daughter gave it to me when she married Iron Eagle.”

“You and Laurann are fortunate to have each other.”

“I think so. She is a fine daughter.”

Never had Lisette missed her own mother so.

From outside the lodge, she heard the tattoo of drums, the voices of Osage Indians gathering around the fire. She eyed Red Dawn. “What is the occasion?”

“Our braves will dance for rain.”

“Would that we should all dance for it. And for peace.”

Red Dawn offered a hand. “I am not too old. And you are not too with papoose.” She paused. “Maybe you are too far along. I would say your time will come in less than a moon.”

“Oh no. Three months.”

“I have borne seven papooses. And I have watched the growth of many more from other women. I say, one moon.”

Lisette glanced at her stomach. She felt Hermann move within her. Her hands closed over the mound. “Three months.”

Red Dawn clicked her tongue in the motherly fashion. “You do not know how to count the moons.”

Maybe I have lost track of time, Lisette thought. It seemed as if an eon had passed since that day she lay with her husband for the first time. Again she surveyed Hermann's keep. God in heaven, she appeared ready to pop.

No wonder Gil hadn't touched her in days.

Who would want a grimy woman wearing a tight shirt and tighter britches? Well, she was rested, freshened, and looking her best, thanks to Red Dawn. She'd
make
him want her–tonight.

Before he rode after Frank Hatch.

“Red Dawn, let's celebrate . . . rain.” Oh, how nice it would be to make love with the rain beating down. Throwing back her head, Lisette laughed. “I love . . . the rain.”

“Come. We dance.”

Lisette loved to dance; it had been a wonderful pastime in her younger days. All of a sudden, despite her love of it, she felt self-conscious. Here she was, big as a barn . . .

“I shouldn't,” she replied. “I am too unattractive. People will laugh. My husband will think me–”

“We dance for rain, not for men. And no one will laugh.”

“When I dance, I'd rather it be for my man.”

“That is all right, too.”

 

 

When his wife emerged from Red Dawn's lodge, Gil handed Iron Eagle the pipe he'd been smoking. A phalanx of braves, cowpokes, and Osage women were gathered in a large circle around a fire, Gil sitting next to his host. He had the urge to make a spectacle of himself by charging to his feet and hauling Lisette into his embrace.

Her sleeveless, low-cut dress would have drawn dropped mouths in white society. Gil was pleased they weren't there, since the dress showed Lisette's long and graceful arms to their best advantage. And the soft skin of her chest was enough to make him want to yank her into the woods.

Firelight caught on the metal of her necklace, and Old Son took notice.

Gil gave himself a mental shake after that thought. By the time they reached the railhead, her pregnancy would be too far advanced for bedchamber frolics. But he'd overheard Red Dawn say
–Forget it!
Once their daughter was a few weeks old, Lisette would be clothed in nothing but baubles.