Reckless Heart (6 page)

We must stop them now, while we can. The words sent a shiver down my spine, and yet I knew what he meant. The valley was growing every day. Counting the ten new families Shadow had mentioned, there were now seventeen families in Bear Valley. We had a church now, and a school. Charlotte Brown, Paul’s mother, was a bona fide school teacher. Charlie Bailey, Lucinda’s father, was talking about building a hotel next year. And Frank Fitch was making plans to open a saloon, though there was some doubt that the ladies in the valley would allow it.

Yes, we were growing. There was no doubt about it. I could understand why the Indians were concerned.

Troubled, I glanced up at Shadow and found myself wondering, guiltily, if he had ridden with the Indians who had burned out the Henry family. Unable to help myself, I stared at the lone white eagle feather in Shadow’s hair and found myself wondering if the enemy he had killed to earn that feather had been red or white.

“He was a Pawnee,” Shadow murmured, reading my thoughts, and I could not hide my relief.

His dark eyes held mine for a long time before he said, quietly, “I think it would be better for both of us if we did not meet again. It will only lead to trouble and unhappiness for all concerned.”

“Oh, you sound just like my mother!” I wailed unhappily.

“She is a wise woman, Hannah. Perhaps you should listen to her advice.”

“I wish I were an Indian girl,” I muttered sulkily, and Shadow granted me one of his rare smiles.

“Things would certainly be less complicated,” he allowed.

“How would you court me, if I were an Indian girl?” I asked. “Is it romantic?”

“I suppose so,” he said with a shrug. “I never gave it much thought.”

“Well, think about it,” I insisted. “Would you bring me flowers and take me picnicking in the woods?”

“Not quite. When a Cheyenne warrior is interested in a girl, he makes himself a flute, usually in the shape of a bird. Sometimes he paints it with the likeness of a horse, because horses are believed to be ardent lovers and hard to resist. At night, the warrior plays his flute outside the girl’s lodge. The notes are sweet and low, and every flute has its own sound. Sometimes the warrior follows his girl to the river, or waits for her there, hoping to catch her alone.”

“That sounds romantic,” I said, and smiled as I remembered that Shadow and I often met by a river, as we did now.

“I suppose, but the warrior rarely manages to see his sweetheart alone. Indian mothers keep a close eye on their daughters, especially when they know some warrior is after them.”

“How do you find time to be alone, then?”

“In the evening, the maidens stand outside their lodges, each wrapped in a big red blanket. If a girl is interested in a particular warrior, she holds the blanket open when he walks by, inviting him to join her. When they are standing very close, the girl covers them both with the robe.”

“That doesn’t sound very private,” I remarked skeptically.

“It isn’t,” Shadow allowed. “But we have very few pregnant brides.”

“Very funny,” I retorted, punching him on the arm. “Suppose they decide to get married. What then?”

“The warrior’s father would send a go-between to speak to the girl’s family. If her family approves the match, the warrior leaves a number of horses outside the girl’s lodge, preferably stolen horses, not only as a token of his affection but to prove to her family that he can provide for a wife.”

“Stolen horses!” I exclaimed. “How awful!”

“Horse stealing is viewed a little differently among my people,” Shadow explained with a grin. “I know it is a hanging offense among the whites, but to the Tsi-tsi-tsis it is an art. It can be a lot of fun, too. Anyway, if the horses are accepted, the girl’s mother sets the date for the wedding.”

“Does the bride wear white?”

“Usually.”

“Is there a big ceremony with music and dancing?”

“No. On the day of the wedding, the bride is placed on a blanket and carried to the lodge of her future father-in-law and left there. Most couples live with the husband’s family until they collect enough skins for a lodge of their own.”

“Hmmm… Shadow, if I were an Indian girl, would you bring my father horses?”

“I would offer your father my entire herd,” Shadow replied solemnly. “But you are not an Indian girl, and I think your father would gladly see you dead before he would let you go away with me.”

“Then I’ll run away!” I cried passionately.

“No, Hannah.”

I had known he would say that. Shadow was a proud and honorable man, and I knew he would not let me disobey my father nor take me away unless my father consented. And Pa would never consent.

Still, Shadow wanted me. I knew he did, and the sliver of an idea started in my mind as I pressed myself shamelessly against him.

“Why didn’t you go home last night?” I asked, caressing his cheek with my fingers.

“Because I had a feeling you would need me this morning,” he answered ruefully.

“You always seem to know what I’m thinking, or what I’m going to do,” I said, pouting a little. “It isn’t fair.”

“I know what you’re thinking now, too,” Shadow remarked with a wry grin. “And it isn’t going to work.”

“Don’t you want me?” I murmured. Boldly, I pressed my breasts against Shadow’s naked chest.

“Hannah, listen to me…”

“I love you,” I whispered as, pulling his head down, I kissed him—gently at first, then with greater intensity.

I was not prepared for Shadow’s quick response. With a sudden rush of passion, he crushed me close, covering my face and neck with kisses that seared my skin.

A quick flame of desire sparked in the deepest core of my being, and what had started as a game now turned abruptly serious. Shadow’s dark eyes burned with a fierce inner fire as he began to stroke my quivering flesh in places he had never dared touch before.

My breathing grew rapid, and I began to tremble with delight and longing, confused by a jumbled tide of emotions I had never known or dreamed of.

Shadow’s breathing was also erratic, and when I grasped the lithe muscles in his arms, I was surprised to find he, too, was trembling.

Abruptly, he drew away. “No, Hannah,” he murmured in a ragged voice.

“What’s wrong?” I cried, stung by his rejection. “You want me. I know you do!”

He did not deny it, and I was suddenly drunk with the power I had over him. Taking his hand, I laid it over my fiercely beating heart.

“I love you,” I whispered fervently. “I want to be your woman, your wife.”

“Hannah, please,” he groaned. “I am not made of iron.”

“Prove it,” I challenged, and pressed myself wantonly against him a second time.

With an animal-like cry of defeat, Shadow wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me so tight I thought my ribs would break. His kisses, long and hard, were filled with passion and desire and I knew I had won. He would not turn back now.

And then he was rising over me, and I gasped aloud at the visible sign of his aroused desire.

I had never seen a naked man before, and a sudden fear cooled my passion so that I lay rigid beneath him.

“No,” I said, trying to push him away. “No, don’t.”

But it was too late, and I shivered uncontrollably as Shadow thrust into me. A sharp pain caused me to cry out, and Shadow groaned low in his throat as he shuddered to a halt.

“You hurt me!” I accused. “No one ever told me it would hurt.”

“It will never hurt again,” he promised, and then he was moving deep inside me, evoking sensations and feelings that I had never imagined.

Once I opened my eyes, and I marveled that the earth had not changed, that the sky was still blue and the grass green, for it seemed as though the whole world should be enflamed with the glorious passion that forged Shadow’s flesh and mine into one being.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes and drew Shadow closer, until there was nothing in all the world but the two of us, bound together by our love.

I would have been content to lie in Shadow’s arms forever, and I dared not speak, for fear of breaking the magical spell between us.

Shadow sighed as he sat up, as if he, too, were reluctant to end the peaceful silence between us.

“I am sorry, Hannah,” he murmured.

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Shadow’s dark eyes held a faint hint of merry laughter as he said, with mock resignation, “I suppose I shall have to marry you now. That was your intent, wasn’t it? To tempt me into marriage with your irresistible woman’s body?”

“Yes,” I admitted happily, and hurled myself into his outstretched arms.

“Do you think it was fair, to tempt me with such sweetness that I could not refuse?”

“All is fair in love and war,” I said with a shrug.

Shadow’s mouth turned down in a wry grin. “I will come for you tomorrow,” he promised.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I slipped into my clothes. We were going to be married. Nothing could stop us now.

Jubilant, I lifted my face for one more kiss. “‘Til tomorrow,” I whispered, and rode hard for home, aware of Shadow’s eyes on my back until I was out of sight.

Chapter Seven

Monday was not a good day. I rose early and packed my clothes, wanting to be ready to leave the minute Shadow came for me.

I looked around my room as I closed my valise. It was a nice room. The walls were whitewashed. Blue curtains hung at the window, and a matching spread covered the bed. A tall mahogany chest of drawers stood against one wall.

It would be strange, living in a hide lodge instead of a house. I wondered what the Indians did for closets, and how I would manage to cook a whole meal over a firepit instead of on a wood stove.

Yawning, I stared out the window. I had spent a sleepless night, wondering what my mother’s reaction was going to be when I told her I was going to marry Shadow with or without her blessing. I knew what my father’s reaction would be, and I was dreading it. But nothing they could say or do would dissuade me. I was Shadow’s woman now, and nothing could change that.

Noon came and went, and still there was no sign of Shadow. Mother fixed my favorite meal—roast beef and potato salad—but I had no appetite and merely picked at my food. Pa muttered under his breath about good food going to waste, but Mother didn’t say a word, merely pursed her lips and looked worried.

Shortly after lunch, Joshua rode up and insisted I go walking with him. I didn’t want to leave the trading post, but I couldn’t think of a plausible reason to refuse, so I went. I knew my mother was smiling happily as we left the house together.

As we walked down the path to the river, I could not help but compare Joshua with Shadow. Joshua came off a poor second, I’m afraid. Oh, he was tall and handsome, and a nice boy, but he lacked that elusive animal-like magnetism that had first drawn me to Shadow. Josh was lean and fit, but Shadow was more so. Where Josh was shy and a bit reserved, Shadow exuded strength and self-confidence.

There was just no comparison between the two, and when Joshua begged me to please reconsider his marriage proposal, I said “no” bluntly, hoping to close the subject once and for all.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there,” Josh demanded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yes,” I admitted, wishing he would just shut up and go home.

“It’s Orin, isn’t it?”

“For goodness sakes, Josh, it isn’t Orin. I’ve told you that a hundred times. It’s Shadow!”

I clapped my hand over my mouth, horrified to realize what I had let slip.

“Shadow!” Joshua exclaimed. “You mean that Injun kid?”

“He’s not a kid anymore,” I retorted. “He’s a man full grown. And I love him.”

“I don’t believe it,” Josh said, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Well, I’m not. Now please go home and leave me alone.”

“Does your father know? I can’t believe he’d approve of your carrying on with a red-ass nigger.”

“Of course he doesn’t know,” I muttered, wishing I had kept my big mouth shut. “You won’t tell him? Promise?”

“I won’t tell. But you had better think this over careful before you go off and do something you’ll likely regret. I…I love you, Hannah. I guess you know I’ll always be here if you need me.”

“Thank you, Josh,” I said sincerely, and liked him better at that moment than I ever had before.

“Come on—I’ll walk you back to the post. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.”

“Don’t be silly,” I scoffed. “I’ve been coming down here alone since I was a little girl.”

Joshua’s blue eyes were dark with worry as he said, urgently, “You mustn’t go out alone anymore, Hannah. Haven’t you heard? John Sanders was killed last night on his way home from the Tabor place and his little girl was kidnapped.”

“I didn’t know,” I said tremulously. “Who did it?”

“Cheyennes, of course,” he answered bitterly. “A dozen or so—judging by the arrows they pulled out of his body.”

“Poor Mrs. Sanders,” I murmured. “Kathy was their only child. She’ll be all alone, now.”

My thoughts were glum as we walked back to the trading post. A family burned out. A man killed. A child kidnapped. I couldn’t believe it. The Indians had never bothered us before. Not really. Oh, they’d stolen some stock now and then, but that was about all.

I wondered suddenly just how close the Cheyenne village was. For some reason I’d always imagined it to be miles and miles away because we rarely saw any Indians around the trading post. Occasionally a hunting party passed within sight of our place, and we caught a brief glimpse of dark brown bodies and feathers as they rode by on their spotted ponies, lance tips glinting brightly in the sunlight. They had seemed colorful and exciting from a distance but now, with news of John Sanders’ death, they loomed ugly and menacing.

With a start, I realized I knew practically nothing about Indians. I had no idea how they lived, or what they believed in, or what they did for fun, if anything. And while I was at it, I had to admit, if reluctantly, that I knew very little about Shadow; only that he was nineteen or twenty and that his mother had died when he was very young. Oh, but I knew he loved me and I loved him, and what else mattered, anyway?

When we reached the trading post, I bid Josh goodbye and went to my room to wait for Shadow. Looking out my window, I found myself thinking of John Sanders. Why had the Indians killed him? I remembered the night I had caught Mr. and Mrs. Sanders kissing on the porch, and the way Mr. Sanders liked to carry Kathy on his shoulder, pretending she was a princess. Depressed by my thoughts, I went downstairs to help Pa in the store. It was a busy time of day, and waiting on customers kept my mind off Mr. Sanders’ death. Every time the door opened, I expected it to be Shadow. But he didn’t come that day.

The funeral was the next day. Everybody in the valley turned out, dressed in their best, for John Sanders had been liked and respected by one and all. It was a somber group that stood at the grave site—the first grave in Bear Valley. The Indian attack had left everyone a little nervous, and I noticed the men were all carrying rifles and the women kept their children close at hand.

Since we had no preacher, Pa read over the grave, using the 23rd Psalm and John Chapter 11, for his text. Many of the women wept as Pa read, “‘I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live…’”

Florence Sanders stood beside my mother, her face white as paper, her eyes blank. She never shed a tear, nor spoke a word. I don’t think she even knew what was going on.

When the services were over, Mrs. Sanders went home with the Walkers.

Shadow did not come that day, either.

Wednesday morning a half-dozen grim-faced men rode into the trading post, led by Saul Green and Jed Tabor. “Mornin’, Sam,” Mr. Green said curtly.

“Mornin’,” Pa replied. “What brings you men out so early?”

“We’re going after them redskins,” Saul declared vehemently. “We don’t aim to let John’s death go unavenged.”

“That’s right,” Jed Tabor agreed. “We’re going after the bastards. Show ‘em they can’t go around killing a white man and stealing his youngun!”

“Yeah,” Charlie Bailey chimed in. “If we let them get away with this kind of thing now, it will only get worse later.”

“I hate to admit it,” Seth Walker said glumly, “but I think they’re right. Are you with us, Sam?”

“I don’t know,” Pa replied thoughtfully. “Just what are you aimin’ to do?”

“Get Kathy back,” Saul Green answered confidently. “And wipe out as many of those Godless savages as we can in the process.”

“Hmmm. How many men you figure to take with you?”

“Every man in the valley,” Saul answered firmly.

“That’d be sixteen men,” Pa murmured. “Eighteen counting Josh and Orin.”

“That’s right.”

“Just what are you leading up to, Kincaid?” Ted Tabor demanded.

“Just this. We don’t have one experienced Indian fighter in the whole valley. And there’s no way eighteen farmers can hope to ride into an angry Cheyenne village and rescue one little girl. No way in the world. And while you’re out getting yourselves killed, who’s gonna stay behind and protect your women?”

The men stirred uncomfortably as the truth of Pa’s words struck home.

“I know a little about Injuns,” Pa went on. “They ain’t likely to hurt Kathy none. Injuns set a store on kids. Any kids. Likely some couple lost a child of their own and the husband took Kathy to perk up his wife.”

“Then why didn’t they steal an Injun kid?” Charlie Bailey muttered.

“I don’t know,” Pa said with an impatient shrug. “Likely they would have if they hadn’t run across John and Kathy first. But that’s neither here nor there. Reasons don’t matter now. What does matter is that you’ll all be committing suicide if you ride against the Cheyenne.”

There was a lot of mumbling and grumbling and cursing while the men talked it over. They finally allowed as how Pa was right, but Ted Tabor and Saul Green were still spoiling for a fight when they rode off.

Things were quiet the rest of the day. Time and time again I found myself at the window, hoping to see Shadow striding through the gate. Later that afternoon I walked outside the stockade, longing to see the man I loved riding up the path from the river.

But he didn’t come that day either.

I hadn’t said a word about going off with Shadow, but my folks both knew he was the cause of my unhappiness. Mother’s eyes were worried when she looked at me, and after asking if there was anything she could do, and receiving a negative reply, she left me alone to work it out by myself.

Pa suspected I’d had a fight with Shadow and he put his arm around me and said, gruffly, that it was for the best.

Thursday came, but Shadow did not.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Plagued by nagging doubts and nameless fears, I lay awake, wondering why Shadow had changed his mind. Had he lost interest in me, now that I had so freely given him my most precious gift? Had he ever really loved me? He had never said so—not in words, anyway. Had my unexpected passion disgusted him? Or had he decided Mother was right after all, and that we were better off apart?

With a sigh, I faced the fact that Shadow was not coming for me. Something, or someone, had changed his mind about marrying me. I was sorry now that I had seduced him. Not because I had lost my virginity, but because my body desperately craved fulfillment. I yearned for the touch of Shadow’s flesh against my own, for the harsh rasp of his breath against my cheek, for the melding of our two spirits into one being.

Restless and unhappy, I crept silently down the stairs and went outside. I shivered as I stepped into the yard. A hint of the coming winter chilled the air, and I drew my wrapper tight around me as I walked to and fro across the moon-dappled ground. Shadow had mentioned that his people were preparing to move south for the winter, and I wondered if they had gone yet. And if he had gone with them.

I knew so little about Indian ways. I wondered how Shadow spent his days. And nights. I wondered, painfully, if he had an Indian girl in the village. Was he, even now, serenading her with a flute shaped like a dove? Or, worse yet, cuddling with her beneath a big red courting blanket. The thought filled me with such a sense of loneliness that I could hardly bear it, and I thrust the image from my mind. However, no sooner had I done so than another even more insidious fear sprouted into being, and I found myself wondering if Shadow had been one of the Indians responsible for the death of John Sanders. I had grown up on stories of Indian treachery. Knowing Shadow, loving him, I could not believe they were true, and yet with so many tales of butchery and mayhem, some had to be based on fact.

I could not imagine Shadow killing and scalping a helpless white man just because of the color of his skin. And yet John Sanders was dead. I had seen his body. And I had seen the arrows that had killed him. And they were Cheyenne arrows.

Florence Sanders was staying with the Walker family. I had seen her just the day before when Mother and I went over for a visit, but Florence Sanders never even knew we were there. Stony-faced, she sat in a straight-backed chair staring out the window, one of her husband’s shirts clutched tightly to her breast. She never said a word. Not one word.

“She hasn’t eaten a bite since John was killed,” Carolyn Walker told us. “Nor slept either. She just sits there, staring out the window. I don’t know what will become of her, poor thing.”

There had been something eerie about the way Florence Sanders just sat there, her face completely void of expression, her eyes staring vacantly at the empty land. I had been glad to leave.

Head aching with troublesome thoughts, I turned to go back to the house when one of Pa’s redbone hounds rushed out from under the porch. Straight as an arrow, he ran toward the stockade gate and began scratching at the gate and whining low in his throat.

In less than a minute, all the dogs were howling. Their cries sent a shiver down my spine, and I was suddenly conscious of being alone in the yard. My imagination, always vivid, began to conjure up all kinds of danger lurking in the dark. I knew most of my fears were groundless, but the threat of Indian attack was real. The death of John Sanders had proven that.

Just then, Pa’s favorite hound began to bark shrilly.