Legacies (32 page)

He had to stop her, he had to tell her. He searched for the words, fought for them, even though he knew what a blow they would be. Guilt rose again. My fault. My fault.

"I know I should ask why you've come, what you're doing here," Temple rattled on. "But I don't care."

"Yes, you do," he said quietly, but she paid no attention.

"You look tired, worn out. I'll bet you're hungry, too. Phoebe, go see what we have in the kitchen that you can fix for Lije. And make some coffee. We have real coffee," she told him.
 

"With not an ounce of chickory in it."

Lije looked past her at Susannah. She knew he wasn't here to visit. Her gaze was full of apprehension and questions.

"How is your father? I wish he could have come with you," Temple added wistfully.

"He's here, Mother. Outside." He saw the shock overtake her expression—and the fear that followed. "He's been shot. Deu is with him."

Temple swayed. She had lived so long in fear of this day that, for a moment, she couldn't react further. The words she had dreaded to hear had actually been said.

But he was alive. The Blade was still alive.

"Where is he? Take me to him."

Struggling under The Blade's leaden weight, they carried him into the house and up the stairs to the master bedroom. When they had maneuvered him onto the bed, Temple sent Phoebe downstairs to fetch her medical basket.

"Sorrel, I want you to bring those bandages we planned to take to the hospital at Fort Gibson." She pushed her daughter toward the door. "And be quick about it."

"How did it happen, Lije? There's been no word of fighting in the area." Eliza carefully untied the sling that supported his bandaged left arm and shoulder.

Lije hesitated fractionally, then replied, "A Union patrol jumped us. He took a bullet in the shoulder. It broke the bone. Deu and I set it the best we could, but there wasn't much we could do. He was shot in the back. The bullet is still in there." He saw no reason to mention Kipp right now.

Temple dropped the boot she had pulled off his foot at the same instant that Eliza turned to look at Lije. A second later, she retied the sling. "Help me roll him onto his side and remember to be careful of his shoulder."

"Where are my scissors?" Temple went to look for her sewing basket. "We'll have to cut his shirt and jacket off of him."

Within minutes the clothing lay in pieces on the floor. Eliza took one look at the wound low in his back and said, "He needs a doctor, Temple."

"The closest one is at Fort Gibson," Lije said. "As soon as the Union army finds out he's here, they'll arrest him and hold him prisoner."

"Master Lije is right," Deu inserted. "Those Union soldiers would like nothing better than to get their hands on one of Colonel Watie's troop officers. Master Blade is getting a reputation to match the colonel's."

"Then we'll have to take the bullet out ourselves." Temple stared at her husband's lean, muscled back. His skin, the color of teakwood, looked smooth, except for the dark hole that was so close to his spine. Somewhere inside was a bullet.

Temple could feel herself shaking and knew she had never been so afraid in her whole life.

"Temple, are you sure—" Eliza began.

"Yes!" Temple whirled on her, rigid and pale with determination and fear.

Eliza paused, then said quietly, "Very well, I will do it. Susannah, you can help me."

"He is my husband. I—"

"Exactly." Smoothly and efficiently, Eliza took charge. "Lije, you and Deu help me shift The Blade onto his stomach. We will need more light, Temple. It would be a good idea to close the drapes, too. We wouldn't want a passerby to wonder what we're doing up at this hour of the night."

 

After the bullet was removed and the wound bandaged, Eliza announced, "His breathing seems good. His pulse is weak but steady. I don't think we can expect more than that yet. What he needs now is rest and quiet."

Lije lingered by the bed while Eliza gently shooed everyone else, save Temple, from the room. He looked down at his father, jaws clenched, his insides all knotted up, a hand squeezing at his heart. On the bed table was the porcelain basin in which the tweezers, a small knife, and blood-soaked pads of cotton cloth were lying. The bullet was there as well. Lije picked it up. It was still sticky with drying blood. He looked at it for a long second, then curled his fingers around it, making a fist.

"He will be fine, Temple," Eliza murmured somewhere behind him.

"Yes." The tautly whispered response, riddled with anxiety and uncertainty, sliced through Lije like a saber.

With the deadly bullet still clenched in his fist, he glanced one last time at his father, then turned and moved away from the bed. His mother stood at the foot of it, her hands wound tightly around the tall, carved bedpost, her gaze riveted on The Blade. He wanted to offer some comfort and reassurance to her but, feeling none himself, he laid a hand on her shoulder as he passed.

Pausing in the outer hall, he reached back and pulled the door after him. When it was inches from the casing, he heard his mother speak and stopped to listen.

"I am tired, Eliza," she murmured tightly. "I am tired of it. Do you realize how long I have been going through this? Not wondering
if
he were going to die, but
when?"

"I know."

Showing no indication that she had heard the quiet reply, Temple continued. "How many days, months, and years have I spent alone, wondering where he was, whether he was still alive? Every time he left . . . every time I told him goodbye, I knew it might be the last time I would see him, that there were those who wanted revenge for that treaty he signed nearly thirty years ago. Thirty years, Eliza. I have been worrying about him for all these years and now he lies there. Maybe this time, he really will die. Oh, God, I don't want to lose him." She choked on a sob.

"Of course, you don't."

There was the sound of a long, indrawn breath and the whisper of a sigh. "I have told myself so many times that it will be all right; now I'm not sure I believe it anymore."

"He will make it," Eliza insisted. "I don't know why I believe that, why I feel so certain of it, but I do. You have to believe it, too. He will need you."

"I know."

Hearing the sound of soft footfalls on the stairs, Lije moved away from the door, leaving it ajar. Susannah paused near the top of the steps.

"I was on my way to find you," she said. "Phoebe fixed you something to eat. It's in the dining room."

Lije nodded and followed her down the stairs to the dining room. His glance strayed to the empty chair at the head of the table. His father's chair. A plate of food, a side dish of cornbread, silverware, a cup, and a molasses pitcher were all arranged before the chair immediately to the right of it. Lije pushed it all to the other end of the table and sat down.

It was a sight that tore at Susannah. Something more was wrong. She had known it the instant she saw Lije and he told them about The Blade. She doubted that he'd said more than a dozen words since. All the while Eliza had been removing the bullet, Lije had simply stood there, holding a candle close, saying nothing, showing nothing.

Yet, somewhere beneath that grim-lipped silence, Susannah sensed a rage that went beyond justified concern for his father's condition.

Smothering a troubled sigh, she crossed to the sideboard. "The coffee smells good, doesn't it? Shall I pour you a cup?"

He nodded.

She pulled his cup closer and filled it while Lije drowned his cornbread in a pool of dark molasses. As she started to set his cup back in front of him, Susannah saw the bullet lying on the table. A chill of revulsion shivered through her.

"Heavens, where did that come from?" She went to snatch it up, but his hand closed over it first. She looked up and met the cold challenge of his eyes.

"I'll keep it."

Susannah drew back, straightening. "Lije, don't. He's alive."

He picked up the bullet and rolled it around with his ringers, staring at it. "Kipp is dead."

"Kipp?" she said in a startled echo. "Where? When?" Then the full import of his words hit her, and she sank into the nearest chair. "Oh, my God, you're saying The Blade was shot by—How—" She knew what to ask, but she couldn't get the words out.

There was a small, vague shake of his head. "Kipp must have been with the Union patrol that jumped him. I didn't see what happened." His voice held no emotion. "When Deu and I found him, he was still conscious. He said he had killed Kipp. He wanted me to tell Mother he was sorry."

"Did you—"

"No. She has enough to deal with now." Lije continued to finger the bullet. "The army can notify her about Kipp or the major can tell her himself if he recovers."

"Don't say it that way, Lije. He
will
recover."

Letting the silence build, he slipped the bullet in his vest pocket, picked up his fork, scooped some seasoned pinto beans onto it, chewed them, then washed them down with a drink of coffee.

Susannah watched him with worried eyes. Everything he did was too controlled, too emotionless. She could feel the frustration and tension building inside him. It was like being in a closed room and knowing a fire raged on the other side of the door. She could feel the scorching heat even though she couldn't see the smoke or hear the roar of its flames.

"You haven't told me everything that happened, have you, Lije?"

His upward glance was cool and brief. "I told you everything I know." "Did you?" she persisted.

His look came back hard and sharp. "I wasn't there." His voice was abrupt and full of guilt. A thick, angry sigh broke from him, and he pushed the fork onto the plate and rocked back in his chair, hooking an arm over its straight back and grabbing up his coffee. "I wasn't there," he repeated into his cup and took a quick swallow of coffee, then lowered the cup, staring into it. "I should have been with him, but I wasn't. It's because of me he's lying up there."

"Why? Where were you?" Susannah asked in a low, prompting voice.

"I took a detachment out to scout for enemy patrols." The line of his mouth turned grim with the memory. "I knew Kipp was back in the Nation. I saw him when we attacked the supply train at the Cabin Creek crossing. I knew he would be looking for his chance to come up against the major . . . my father. I thought—" He bit off the rest of his words, his mouth closing in a taut line.

"What did you think?"

A sigh spilled from him. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I thought if I took the point, I could spot Kipp first. I thought—" With a shake of his head, he dismissed that thought and brought his chin level again, rocking forward and shoving his cup onto the table. "I was gone too long, rode too far in front. I should have known Kipp would slip in behind me. I should have stayed with the major. I should have been there. It's my fault."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" Susannah came to her feet and swept away from the table. She slammed the coffeepot on its hot pad and whirled back to meet Lije's startled look. "What happened was tragic, but you are in no way to blame for it, Lije Stuart."

"You don't understand,"* he began with impatience.

"That is obvious. Just what would you have done if you had been there?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "Thrown yourself in front of your father, taken the bullet that was meant for him? Then you would be lying in that bed upstairs, and your father would be berating himself.". She saw his rejection of her words and sighed in frustration. "Be realistic, Lije. Even if you had been with him, there may not have been anything you could have done to prevent what happened."

"I'll never know that, will I?"

She pressed her lips together, then tried again. "That bullet in your pocket came from Kipp's gun.
He
is responsible for your father lying in that bed. No one else."

He picked up his fork again and proceeded to eat. Susannah watched him, waiting for him to say something. After the third bite, Lije remarked, "I didn't think I was hungry, but this tastes good. Better than the hardtack and jerky I ate this morning."

Susannah pulled a chair out and sat down. "You are deliberately changing the subject, aren't you?"

He ignored that and said in a blandly conversational tone, "Did you ever learn how to shoot that derringer of yours?"

Surprised by the question, Susannah frowned. "Derringer? Who told you I had a derringer?"

"Rans Lassiter, a lieutenant with the Texas Brigade." He gathered a forkful of the molasses-soaked cornbread.

Susannah hesitated, conscious of her own quickening heartbeat. "He said he knew you." It had been nearly a year ago, yet her memory of him remained fresh and sharp. "I have often wondered. Is he still in the territory?"

"His unit returned a couple weeks ago or so."

"Then he has been away."

Lije treated her to a slow, assessing look. "You made a very definite impression on him."

"Did I?" She tipped her head down to hide the sudden glow of pleasure she felt.

"He swung by Oak Hill on one of his patrols. On his return, he told us it had been burned to the ground. A few days later we learned you and Eliza had come here."

Susannah was briefly warmed by the news that Rans had come by to see her. Then another thought intruded. "Did he give you my message about Diane?"

Once again Lije's jaw tightened. "He did."

"She's here, Lije. At Fort Gibson," Susannah told him. "She came to take care of her father after he was wounded."

"I saw him get hit." Lije cut off another chunk of cornbread with his fork, never looking up to meet her eyes. "How is he?"

"Better. He returned to limited duty last week." She hesitated, then knew she had to tell him. "He was hit in the left arm, Lije. They were able to save it, but the damage appears to be permanent."

"His arm is crippled?" He concentrated on the last few bites of food on his plate, pushing at them with his fork.

"Yes," Susannah said, then hurried to add, "It's the risk a man takes when he goes to war. Jed said so himself."