Reckless Desire (12 page)

“When I got back to my lodge, my wife was dead. She had given birth to the child, and bled to death, while I was gone. The baby was dead also. It was a boy.

“I could not stay on the reservation after that. I knew if I ever saw that doctor again, I would kill him with my bare hands. I left that night, and as I was wondering where to go, I remembered that the grandson of Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky had once mentioned that you lived in Bear Valley, so I came to you.”

The men fell silent again, and I brushed the tears from my eyes, determined to do everything in my power to make Cloud Walker’s life happy. He was so young, and he had suffered a great loss. Impotent rage filled my heart as I thought of the doctor who had held a human life so cheaply that he had played cards while a young woman and her child died. I would not have blamed Cloud Walker if he had covered the man with honey and let the ants eat him alive. It would have been his fate in the old days, and he deserved it no less now.

I was immediately ashamed of my uncharitable thoughts. I had no right to judge the man.

Shadow and Cloud Walker soon became good friends. Cloud Walker especially enjoyed Shadow’s stories of the old days. He was much like Hawk, I thought sadly, and wondered if they would ever be content to live in the white man’s world. Sometimes, listening to Shadow reminisce about the old days, I saw a deep sadness in his ebony eyes and I knew that, even after all these years, my husband still yearned for his old way of life. I couldn’t blame him. I too sometimes longed for the days when Shadow and I had lived with the Cheyenne, when we had snuggled together inside a cozy hide lodge, certain that the future held only happiness for the two of us. I missed seeing the curly-haired buffalo running across the plains, their shaggy heads lowered, their tails sticking straight up like flags. I missed the sound of the warriors chanting as they danced around the campfire, their copper-hued faces painted in celebration of a victory over an enemy. I yearned to hear the soft, rhythmic beat of the drums as the old men spun stories and tales of long ago, of the days before time began when Heammawihio created the earth and the sky and the People.

Cloud Walker caused quite a stir in Bear Valley. Until his arrival, Shadow had been the only full-blooded Indian in the valley, but the people were used to him. They bought his horses, talked with him in town, knew his family. But now Cloud Walker was here. He was a stranger, silent and withdrawn, unknown. The women studied him from the corners of their eyes, wondering, somewhat fearful. The men stared at him openly, unabashed in their curiosity, yet a little ill at ease in his presence. The Indian wars had been over for years, but memories were long. Many whites still thought of the Indians as an inferior race. They believed the women were lazy, without morals or ambition. They thought the men were wild, savage, hungry for blood and white women.

I knew that such beliefs were false, but old ways and old ideas died hard. The people in town knew nothing about Cloud Walker, and gossip spread like wildfire in the wind. He was a spy from the reservation, sent to scout our strengths and weaknesses. He was Shadow’s illegitimate son from a past affair. He was an outlaw hiding out at our place. He was a renegade guilty of killing a man back on the reservation.

The rumors flew for several weeks, many of them so farfetched that they were laughable. Cloud Walker never confirmed or denied any of them. He simply went his own way, undisturbed, and eventually the people in town began to accept him for what he was, an unhappy young man who worked hard and wanted only to be left alone.

PART TWO

Chapter Fifteen

Mary was thrilled with life in Chicago, the second largest city in the nation. It was said that there were forty-five hundred millionaires in America; many of them lived along Chicago’s lake front in lavish mansions that looked more like medieval castles than homes. Mary did not envy them, the rich and famous people who dwelled in such splendor, though she sometimes spent an idle moment wondering what it would be like to have a private steam yacht with a crew of fifty, or to own a private railroad car with her initials carved on the side.

No, she did not envy the wealthy people who inhabited those huge estates. She felt rich enough just owning a gramophone and a piano and a telephone. She had always loved music, and she played records by the hour, humming while she did her chores. The dusting and sweeping, mopping and polishing, cooking and mending all went by so much faster if she could listen to her favorite songs while she worked.

Once a week she took piano lessons from a robust German woman named Gretchen Mueller. Mary was a little intimidated by Mrs. Mueller, but she delighted in her own growing ability to read music and play the simple songs her teacher placed before her.

Bicycling was also something Mary enjoyed. Soon after their arrival in Chicago, Frank bought a tandem bicycle. Cycling was all the rage in Chicago, and Frank and Mary spent many a sunny Sunday afternoon riding with their friends. Mary often felt guilty as they pedaled through the park. Back home in Bear Valley, Sunday had been a day of worship and rest, a day to visit Grandpa and Rebecca. But Frank preferred cycling to sermons.

Yes, life was good. Frank had a well-paying job at the Chicago Bank and Trust; they had a lovely home on a quiet residential street. The house was Mary’s pride and joy. It was such fun, having a home of her own. She spent her days redecorating. The master bedroom was done in varying shades of blue, the kitchen was painted a bright, cheerful yellow, the parlor was a stark and fashionable white, the dining room a subdued green.

When Frank received a promotion to assistant manager, they went on a buying spree, outfitting themselves in stylish new clothes and their home in new furniture. It was such fun to wear the latest fashions, to walk down a city street and know that people were admiring her. Frank looked dashing in a new Hart, Schaffner & Marx spring suit. Mary had jumped at the price. Imagine, fifteen dollars for a suit of clothes! They shopped for a new carriage at Sears & Roebuck, and Frank found a shiny black one he liked for thirty-eight dollars. He bought a flashy black gelding to pull it.

Six weeks after they arrived in Chicago, Frank was sent to New York on business, and he took Mary with him. The city had changed since she had seen it last some thirteen years ago. It was bigger, flashier, noisier than ever.

Sitting in their lavishly appointed hotel room, waiting for Frank to complete a business meeting, Mary thumbed through a mail-order catalog, looking for presents to send to her family. There were advertisements for a variety of goods and services: Remington Typewriters, Packers Tar Soap, Columbia Phonographs, Williams’ Jersey Cream Toilet Soap for fifteen cents a bar, Lowney’s Chocolate Bonbons for sixty cents a pound, Hall’s Hair Renewer, guaranteed to “grow bountiful, beautiful hair”, Salvacea, guaranteed to be good for bruises, contusions, earache, piles, colds, rheumatism, chilblains, neuralgia, headache, itching, chafing, coughs, and fever sores. Surely the wonder cure of the century, Mary mused, and a bargain at only twenty-five cents a box. She grinned as she read an advertisement for Smith & Wesson revolvers. “Protect your family,” the ad said, “a sense of security pervades the home which shelters a Smith & Wesson revolver.”

After much deliberation, she decided she would buy bonbons and toilet soap for Vickie and Rebecca, a new wool cloak for her mother, and a set of the Encyclopedia Britannica for Blackie because she thought he would enjoy reading about animals and places he had never seen. She could not decide what to buy for her father and grandfather. They had plenty of guns, no need for a new suit. Perhaps Frank could give her an idea when he came home.

That night, Mary forgot all about gifts for the family as Frank took her to dinner at one of New York’s finest restaurants. Mary felt quite elegant in a dress of pale blue striped velvet and black kid slippers. She wore her hair piled high atop her head, held in place with a pair of jeweled combs.

They had just been seated when there was a flurry of excitement near the door as people began to point and whisper. Turning in her chair, Mary saw James Buchanan Brady, better known as Diamond Jim, entering the restaurant. Jim Brady was quite a celebrity in New York City. He had driven the first horseless carriage in the city, tying up traffic for two hours. He was often seen in the company of J. P. Morgan, John “Bet a Million” Gates, James R. Keene, and Judge William H. Moore, all magnates of note in industry, business, and banking circles. Brady could frequently be seen in what had come to be called Peacock Alley at the Waldorf-Astoria. It was said that people came from all over the United States just to watch the most glamorous and notorious men and women of the time stroll by. Frank had told her that the Waldorf had been built on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-Fourth Street on the site of Mrs. Astor’s old mansion.

There was nothing particularly attractive about Diamond Jim Brady, Mary thought to herself as the man took a seat at a specially reserved table. He was rather portly and not especially good-looking, but he had a good deal of charm and Mary could see that he was well liked by those around him. It was said he had a two-million-dollar collection of gems, though his main interest in life was rumored to be food, and as Mary listened to him order dinner, she believed it. He ordered two dozen oysters, half a dozen crabs, a double portion of soup, and terrapin, duck, steak, and all the trimmings, including a variety of desserts.

Mary glanced at Frank, her eyes alight with wonder. Imagine, they were in the same restaurant as Diamond Jim Brady. A short time later, Lillian Russell joined Diamond Jim at his table. Her entrance caused quite a stir as men craned their necks to get a glimpse of her. It was said that Diamond Jim was sweet on the actress, and they certainly gazed adoringly at one another, Mary thought, smiling.

“You look like a little girl on Christmas morning,” Frank remarked, smiling indulgently at his bride.

“I feel like one, too,” Mary said happily. “Who would ever have thought we’d actually be in New York City, eating in the same restaurant with famous people.”

“Stick with me, Mary Smythe,” Frank said exuberantly. “And one day you’ll wear diamonds and rubies, too.”

“Really, Frank?”

“You can count on it. I intend to be rich and famous myself one of these days. You just wait and see.”

“You don’t have to be rich and famous for me,” Mary said softly. “I love you just the way you are.”

“You’ll love me more when I’ve made a name for myself,” Frank promised. “Wait and see.”

Mary had fun in New York. She spent her days shopping and sightseeing while Frank attended to business. At night they went out on the town. They saw Lillian Russell perform, and Mary laughed heartily at the antics of the comic opera star. In truth, she thought the actress was a little short on acting ability, but her singing was wonderful. Another night they saw Bob Fitzsimmons acting in a play called
The Honest Blacksmith
. Fitzsimmons had once been a blacksmith and during one scene he actually clanged away on an anvil, shaping horseshoes.

On Sunday they went bicycle riding in Central Park, and there, riding a bicycle built for three, were Diamond Jim Brady, Lillian Russell, and another man who Mary later learned was Diamond Jim’s cycling adviser, Dick Barton. Mary was surprised and amused when she found that Mr. Barton carried a gallon of orange juice on his back in case Diamond Jim got thirsty.

Like the other cyclists in the park, Mary could not help gawking at Diamond Jim and his companions. Imagine, a bicycle built for three! How like Brady to be different, to have something bigger and better than anyone else.

Mary and Frank spent two weeks in New York, and Mary loved every minute of it, but she was anxious to get back to her own home in Chicago, her own things.

In the days that followed, they made many friends. In Chicago, for they were a young, attractive couple always ready for a good time. Some of Mary’s new friends were quite wealthy, and while Frank seemed to fit right in with their new crowd, Mary often felt like a fish out of water. True, it was fun and exciting to mingle with their new friends, but Mary lacked some of the finer social graces that were inbred in the beautiful women she was now associating with.

And they were beautiful. They styled their hair in magnificent pompadours and wore crisp shirtwaists and long, flowing skirts. They played golf and tennis with gusto and grace, making Mary feel clumsy and incompetent by comparison. They knew all the latest songs,
A Bicycle Built for Two
,
She Is Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage
, and
She Was Happy Till She Met You
. The men sang songs they heard in the beer gardens, songs like
The Man on the Flying Trapeze,
and
There Is a Tavern in the Town
.

Mary’s new friends had never known fear or hardship, nor could they imagine it. Life was meant to be fun and they pursued it religiously.

Sometimes Mary thought back to her life in Bear Valley, and it seemed like a dream from long ago. The parties and church dances and walks in the woods all seemed so childish compared to the fancy balls and midnight dinners and trips to the theater that made up her days now. She recalled her childhood, living on the reservation with her parents, being hungry and scared, and she knew that her new companions would never understand, and for that reason she never mentioned it.

She refused to get homesick for Bear Valley. After all, she loved the city, the skyscrapers, the parks, the electric trolley cars, the churches. Chicago was the home of the twenty-two-story Masonic Temple, the tallest building in the world. Chicago. It was noisy and exciting and there were so many things to see and do, so many interesting places to go. Yes, she loved the city. And yet there were times when she was surrounded by noise and people that she longed for the quiet beauty of Bear Valley, for the sight of vast, empty prairies and snow-capped mountains, for breathtaking sunrises and the quiet song of a bird.

But she did not dwell on those things too often. Frank was handsome and charming, and she sometimes felt a twinge of jealousy when he laughed and flirted with one of their lovely new friends. Frank assured her that all the little smiles and touches meant nothing. Everyone did it. It was expected. After all, he pointed out, didn’t the men in their crowd flirt with her?