Eagle’s Song (20 page)

She looked at him with a gleam in her eye. “Does it have a bed?” His eyes raked over her in a way that made her eager to get to the cabin. He grinned and laughed as he started walking.

“Yeah, it’s got a bed—a homemade one with rope springs, but a damn good feather mattress that’s new, and I washed all the blankets and pillow cases. I
cleaned up as best I could, swept the floor. It’s just rough pine. You need to wear slippers or you might get a splinter in your foot. You can use the top of the heating stove to cook. That’s all there is right now, but I think I have enough money to buy a real cookstove once we have a bigger place.” He stopped walking. “You
do
know how to cook, don’t you?”

She scowled at the remark. “Of course I can cook! I’ve been doing it for myself for six years now.”

“I’ll bet you had a cook and a maid most of your life, and at school or working for the mining company, you probably mostly ate food cooked by the lady who ran the boarding house where you stayed—or ate out at restaurants. Admit it, Georgeanne Temple Brown. You don’t know a whole lot about cooking.”

She sighed. “Does that disappoint you?”

He broke into a grin again. “Hell, no. I’ll do the cooking myself if I have to, as long as I’ve got you with me.”

“I’ll learn. I promise.”

“Yeah, you probably will. If you can learn how to be a geologist, I guess you ought to be able to learn how to cook an egg.” He laughed. “You’ve got guts, Georgie, coming here like this. And if you want to work at what you do, it’s okay with me. There are mines and assay offices around here, and there’s a college in Fort Collins. Maybe you could teach geology there part-time or something. I don’t want to keep you from what you love.”

“I love
you
. For now I only want to be with you and to know this is real.”

They walked another half mile to the sorry little cabin, and Georgeanne told herself to be brave. He’d promised to build her something better; she had no doubt he would do just that. Zeke Brown was a man of his word.

“Welcome home,” he told her, setting down her bags.

She tied the horse to a hitching post and turned to him. “I want to see that new feather mattress.”

They both laughed as he picked her up and carried her inside. She screamed when he threw her onto the mattress, then sank into the thick down. She sat up and pulled off her hat. Tossing it to the floor, she began undoing her high-button shoes. Zeke pulled off his boots and his shirt, and again Georgeanne was reminded of her father’s cruelty when she saw his scars. She’d seen them when they’d made love again at Masonville after marrying, and it tore at her heart to think what he’d suffered for loving her. She held out her arms. “Come here, Mr. Brown.”

He removed the rest of his clothes and climbed onto the bed. “I am at your command, Mrs. Brown.”

They had been apart a whole week, an eternity for two people so full of passion. This time they needed no preliminaries. He had to be inside of her, and that was that. He pushed up her dress and yanked down her drawers, and quickly she welcomed his manhood inside her. It was just as she’d hoped and dreamed it would be—pure pleasure. As far as she was concerned, Zeke Brown was more man than any other male in Colorado.

Eighteen

June, 1894
…

Hawk headed his horse down the hill, following the trader he’d hired in Williston, North Dakota, who, he’d discovered, was headed for a little town called Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan. Letters from his grandmother had told him his father was living somewhere near Moose Jaw, with a small village of Cree Indians. He had married a Cree woman and had a son by her. He was glad his father had found companionship, and that he had a little half brother. He wanted to laugh at the thought of it: here he was twenty-one years old and he had a baby brother. Apparently some young Cree girl had caught his father’s eye … or perhaps she had deliberately seduced him. After all, in spite of being forty-six years old now, Wolf’s Blood was still a handsome man, Hawk had no doubt.

His heart pounded with anticipation. His father would be very surprised to see him. Hawk had not even been sure he could find him, but he had not seen the man in seven years, and he was determined not to go home to Denver to an apprenticeship with a law firm until he did see his father again. Once he got involved with a job, maybe one day opening his own law firm, it could be several more years before he could take the time to see Wolf’s Blood—maybe never.
He was certain the man would never come back to the States.

The trader, who was driving a huge freight wagon loaded with supplies, reined in and waited for Hawk to come up to him on horseback. He pointed to a small building down the dirt road. “That’s the post where the Indians trade,” he said. “Moose Jaw is about a mile up ahead. It’s most likely somebody at that post would know whoever it is you’re lookin’ for. Why can’t you tell me his name?”

“Personal reasons. Thanks for helping me.” Hawk tipped his hat to the man and rode off. The trader shrugged in curiosity and went on into town.

It felt good to Hawk to be riding again. He’d taken a steamboat from Omaha up the Mississippi as far north into North Dakota as he could go, then had purchased this black gelding from a rancher there, along with a saddle. The horse wasn’t the quality of those his father used to raise, but it was sturdy enough. He had left a box of books as well as a trunk of clothes stored in Omaha, bringing along only the supplies he’d need for a journey into the wilds of Saskatchewan.

He would be forever grateful for the financial support Jeremy had continued to provide him, and he intended to one day pay back every penny of it. For now, he had to see his father before he started working, and he had decided not to tell the rest of the family what he was doing. They didn’t even know for sure he was on his way home. This had been a last-minute decision once he’d reached Omaha.

Today he wore only cotton pants and shirt, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up against the summer heat. He reached the little clapboard building and dismounted, noticing an old Indian sitting on the porch of the trading post with a bottle of whiskey in hand. It had sickened him to see the hopelessness of those
on the Sioux reservations on his way here, and apparently things were even worse for Canadian Indians, who got no government help whatsoever. His father had been right. The only way to beat the white man was to beat him at his own game—in the courtrooms, and through Congress.

He stepped inside the little building, and the rich scent
of
tobacco filled his nostrils. A very pretty young Indian woman stood in a corner eyeing some colorful ribbons. A little Indian boy he guessed to be about three stood beside her. The boy looked up at Hawk when he came in, his almost-black eyes staring in curiosity. Suddenly he smiled, showing dimples, and Hawk thought what a fetching child he was. He nodded to the lad, then couldn’t help noticing the mother again. There was a dark, exotic beauty about her, and he thought how easy it would be to take an interest in a pretty Indian girl. He’d made up his mind that was the kind of girl he’d end up marrying one day, but for now he had to concentrate on his career.

He turned to the bearded white man behind the counter. “Can you tell me where I might find a Cree village around here? Maybe you know if there is a Cheyenne man living there named Wolf’s Blood?”

“Wolf’s Blood?” The man scratched at his beard. “Sure.” He pointed to the woman in the corner. “That there squaw can tell you where to find him. She’s married to him.”

Hawk cringed at the word squaw, but decided not to make an issue of it. He turned to look at the woman again. She was already staring at him curiously, a defensive look in her eyes. “Who are you?” she asked.

Hawk grinned. So, this was the pretty thing who had given his father a reason to live. “Are you Sweet Bird?” He stepped closer. “I’m Hawk, Wolf’s Blood’s son.”

She gasped, joy filling her dark eyes, then tears.
“Hawk! Your father talks about you all the time.” She looked him over. “He says you went far away to the white man’s land in the East, to one of those fancy schools, to be a man of law. He says one day you will be in Congress, perhaps!”

Hawk laughed lightly. “He says that, does he?” He looked at the little boy. “Is this Little Eagle? My brother?”

“Yes!” She put her hands on the little boy’s shoulders, saying something to him in the Cree tongue. “Hawk,” she said, pushing him lightly toward Hawk. The boy turned away shyly, grasping his mother’s skirts.

Hawk noticed Sweet Bird wore a white woman’s dress, probably a hand-me-down someone had traded in at the post. It was a little too big for her, but that did not hide her shapely figure or detract from her beautiful face.

“I cannot believe you are here!” she exclaimed. “Wolf’s Blood’s son! He has never dreamed anyone would come all the way up here …” Her eyes teared more. “How did you know where to come?”

“Grandmother Abbie told me.”

“Oh, of course! He talks often of his mother. I wish I could know your whole family, but it is not safe for my husband to go home.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve come here. I’ll be settling in Denver soon, and I was afraid I’d not get another chance to see him. Is he well?”

Her smile faded. “Some days are better than others. In the summer, he is not so bad. But in winter …” Pain filled her eyes.

“The arthritis?”

She nodded. “He could barely walk last winter, and my brother had to come and chop and stack wood for us because your father could not do it. Sometimes he takes laudanum for the pain.”

“Damn,” Hawk whispered.

“It is so hard for him. He is a proud man, you know.”

Hawk smiled. “Oh, yes, I know.”

She stepped closer. “It worries me. He does not want to die a crippled old man. He often talks about … about how he could perhaps die a more honorable way.”

Hawk took a deep breath against the sorrow the words created. “I’m not surprised, but we won’t worry about that now. This is today, and today you say he’s feeling pretty good. His son has come to visit. That will make him feel better.”

“Yes, it will!” She bent down and picked Little Eagle up in her arms. “I will take you to our cabin. I left him sitting on the porch smoking a pipe. He likes pipes.”

“Oh, then, wait a minute.” Hawk looked around, buying the finest pipe at the post, as well as a supply of their best tobacco. “And you pick out whatever ribbons you want,” he told Sweet Bird. She tried to protest, but he insisted, and he bought her six ribbons of different colors, also a tin box of wooden blocks for Little Eagle. The man who ran the post wrapped everything in brown paper, and Hawk carried the packages out and packed them into his saddlebags.

“The village is about a half mile into the woods,” Sweet Bird told him. “Our cabin is another half mile beyond that.”

“Well, climb up then. We’ll ride back.” He mounted up, and she handed up Little Eagle. He took his foot from the stirrup so Sweet Bird could mount, straddling the horse’s rump behind the saddle. Hawk kept Little Eagle in front of him, wrapping an arm around the boy, and Sweet Bird untied the blanket at the back of the saddle and draped it demurely over her legs.

Hawk shook his head at the idea of his father marrying
this woman who appeared no older than he himself was, but he could not help being stirred by her beauty. He headed up the pathway Sweet Bird had indicated, and minutes later they rode through a small, sorry-looking Indian village that seemed to consist mostly of old people. His heart beat harder when they rode on and the little cabin came into sight. A man sat on the porch. He rose when he saw a horse approaching, and Hawk could not help calling out to him.

“Father!”

He noticed the man gripped the support post tighter, half stumbled down the two short steps to the ground. Oh, he was still tall and fine looking, but the muscles of his arms were not quite as hard and defined as they once had been, and as he came closer, Hawk could see that one of his elbows looked slightly distorted. The disbelief and utter joy Wolf’s Blood’s eyes showed were all the satisfaction Hawk needed.

Sweet Bird slid down and took Little Eagle; then Hawk dismounted, stepping closer to his father. “I was on my way home from law school, and I decided … I had to see you again, Father. It’s been seven, long, lonely years.”

Wolf’s Blood just stood there staring, tears streaming from his eyes. “My … son!” he said, looking him over. “So tall and … strong and handsome you are! You are really here! You came to see me!” He shook his head. “My son!” he repeated.

“I missed you so much, Father.” Hawk embraced him, and they both wept.

“For a long time I was not sure I should write, for fear white men would come and try to take me back if they should discover where I am.” Wolf’s Blood drew on the sweet tobacco in his new pipe.

“You should know the family would never let you be found.”

Wolf’s Blood looked at him again, unable to get enough of the sight of his precious son. “So, look at you, my son, an educated man. Harvard! Only the best go there, so I am told. I was never able to sit through my mother’s simple lessons, never had any schooling past ten years old. I was happier out riding the wind.”

“You don’t think
I’d
be happier doing that?”

Wolf’s Blood took the pipe from his mouth. “You are unhappy?”

Hawk smiled sadly. “No. But freedom and a bit of wildness are still in my blood, too. But I understand life can’t be that way anymore.”

“What is it like, Hawk, in the East? How did those rich white boys treat you?”

Hawk shrugged. “Not very nicely, most of them, but I didn’t let it bother me. I wasn’t there to please them. And I showed the ones who doubted I could make it, who figured just because I looked Indian I must be stupid. I graduated second highest in my class, and by then many of those boys were my friends. I did all right but it’s good to be back home. The East is … so different … such big cities. Much bigger than Denver, if you can imagine it. Tall, brick buildings. Telephones. There is even something new, horseless carriages they are called. They’ll be showing up out here soon, I’m sure.”

“Horseless carriages? A wagon that moves without horses?”

Hawk nodded. “They use gasoline engines. They aren’t very advanced yet, but knowing the white man and his inventiveness, he will improve on them.”

Wolf’s Blood shook his head. “Horseless carriages,” he muttered. “And what is this … what did you call it? A telephone?”

Hawk grinned more, thinking what a wild and rugged life his father had lived. Wolf’s Blood sat there in worn denim pants and a blue calico shirt, his long, black hair hanging straight and streaked with gray. “You pick it up, and through wires you can talk to someone miles away. They have them in Denver now, Grandmother Abbie says. A person in Cheyenne can talk to someone in Denver, or a call can be made from Denver to Pueblo. You actually hear their voices. And Denver has electric lights now. You simply turn on a light with a switch, as long as it is plugged into wires that lead outside to the street to poles that hold wire that goes to a place where the electricity is made. It’s too complicated to try to explain. I can only say there are lights now that do not need oil, and they are much brighter than any oil lamp.”

Wolf’s Blood’s eyes showed his astonishment. “Is there no end to what the white man can do?”

Hawk nodded. “He can’t be Indian. Most of them have no true spirit, no connection with the earth and the animals. For all their riches and inventiveness, Father, most of them reveal a loneliness, and it is that loneliness that keeps them searching for greater things, exploring new lands, making new inventions, building big cities, wanting to own more and more land. Many worry little about honor and truth. Money and power seem to be their only goals.”

“Don’t get caught up in all that, Hawk. Your grandmother never was, and she
is
white.”

Hawk rested his elbows on his knees, twirling his hat in his hands. “The real power is in Washington, with Congress; and in their laws and those who enforce those laws—in the men who interpret those laws. By being a lawyer, I can have the power without riches, and I can use it in the right way. I could never be like them, Father.”

Wolf’s Blood studied him quietly. “No. You could not. Tell me what you know about the family, Hawk. I have not written my mother or heard from her in over a year. I had told her not to write for a while in case someone had noticed the letters to Sweet Bird and would figure out where I am.”

Hawk leaned back in his chair again. “I don’t know much more than you. I stayed in school year-round so that I could finish quicker, so I have not been home in two years. I know from Grandma’s letters that Iris is happy with Raphael. They have two sons now, Miguel and Julio. Nathan is married, but they have no children yet. And did you know Zeke is married?”

“No! Who did my nephew marry?”

Hawk shook his head. “According to Grandmother’s letter, he married the very same girl who got him in so much trouble down at the ranch. I think you knew about that. Grandma told you when you snuck onto the reservation to see us. That girl found him somehow, and they were still in love. She must be something, a rich girl like that marrying Zeke. And she’s a geologist! Do you know what that is?”

Wolf’s Blood shook his head. “I have never heard of such a thing.”