Silken Savage (28 page)

“You’ll pay for this, Tanya,” he shouted after her. “I’ll have my turn!”

Suellen Haverick was now in Pueblo, awaiting the arrival of her parents from California. She was staying with the preacher and his wife, and had been there long enough to spread many tales and malicious rumors about Tanya. The pastor’s good wife, whose only sin was a tendency to gossip, had enhanced and enlarged upon Suellen’s stories, spreading them throughout the congregation.

Many of the townsfolk had been aware of Tanya’s return, some having seen her on her walks. Realizing she had been with the Indians and still dressed and behaved strangely, they were reluctant to approach any of the Martin family, but their curiosity was aroused. Many of the men had dealings with George and Edward in their businesses, and the Martins were a respected family in the community. Wives shopped at Martin’s Mercantile and belonged to sewing circles and charity committees with Elizabeth and Sarah. They were well-liked, but that did not stop the gossip.

Some people tried to discount the tales for what they were; malicious gossip. Others wondered how much truth there was to the stories, especially since Tanya was so reclusive. In the month the girl had been home, few had seen her except on her walks, and then she was always accompanied by the huge, frightening animal. She never shopped or attended church services with her family, as Melissa now did. She never attended any teas or social functions with her mother and sister, and the Martin women spoke little about her when asked.

With so much left unexplained, it was no wonder curiosity ran rampant, and Suellen’s tales made it worse. Wonder and whisper though they might, most folks were drawn up short by the thought, “It could have been one of our family, but for the grace of God. What if it were our daughter …sister …
me?”

The talk reached Tanya’s ears, mainly through Julie’s tirades, and though she felt sorry for the consternation it caused her family, she had problems of her own. Her whole existence revolved around waiting for Panther. With her family she was silent and withdrawn, but alone in her room, she would break down and weep torrents of tears.

“Why?” she wondered. “Why are you so long in coming, my love? Where are you tonight? Are you thinking of me; yearning for me?” Her heart cried out to him in her anguish.

As the weeks dragged by, she began to worry more and more. Panther was ever in her thoughts and often in her dreams. She would wake in the still of the night thinking she had heard his voice, trembling with longing. Many times she would awaken herself with deep, sorrowful sobs, having dreamed that something terrible had befallen him and he was never coming for her. Her heart would be thundering in her chest, her palms clammy with fear for him, tears coursing down her cheeks.

At such times, she would sit awake for hours, staring out the window. She would clutch her arms about her waist and rock to and fro, keening silently in her sorrow, her heart aching inside her chest.

“Oh, Panther, my love, what am I to do without you? What can be wrong? What is keeping you from me?” By this time, Tanya was sure something was drastically wrong, or Panther would have appeared to take her home.

Looking up at the bright stars, she vowed, “If you cannot come for me, then, I shall find you, my heart. I will find a way to escape with our sons, and I will come to you.”

“Feel my love reach out to you; my heart cry out for you; my arms ache to hold you near. I long for the touch of your hands, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips on mine. Being away from you is killing me slowly. No physical torture can be this cruel! My heart is being torn from my breast and crushed to pieces, and I cannot endure the agony of it. Without you I shall die!”

There were rare moments during her lonely vigil when she would suddenly feel very close to Panther. It was as if his spirit was in the room with her, comforting her. Tanya could almost sense his presence, feel his warmth.

At times words would spring to her mind, almost as if he had whispered into her ear.
Have faith, little one. We will be together again. I love you, Wildcat. I love you, my wife, my heart, my life.

A warmth would flood her being then, and salty tears blur her vision as she held closely to this illusion; and when it faded she would be left sad but consoled, her strength and faith renewed for a while longer.

Hundreds of miles to the south, Panther was lying on a pallet, fighting for his life. The gaping hole in his shoulder was slow to heal, threatening to putrefy at every turn. Only the avid ministrations of Shy Deer and Walks-Like-A-Duck avoided this. Twice daily they cleaned his wounds, applying salves and dry dressings, praying all the while. This, and Panther’s fierce will to live, held his spirit in this world by a slim thread.

Unconscious much of the time, he vaguely recalled the battle with Major Elliot’s troop or the bullet that had slammed into his upper chest like a mighty hammer. It had seared into his shoulder like a flaming brand, burning and shredding his flesh, tearing a hole from which his life’s blood flowed steadily.

Panther had clung to his horse with the last of his waning senses and Towering Pine led him to safety. He could not know it, but the women and children they’d gone to rescue had been saved and all of Major Elliot’s men killed.

Winter Bear had taken charge and led his people to the safety of another tribe. It was a hurried, harsh journey in snow and cold, but they’d made it without further mishap. Through long training Panther clung to Shadow’s back even in his unconscious state.

Once safe inside a borrowed tipi, Walks-Like-A- Duck had dug out the bullet buried deep in his shoulder, seared the flesh about the wound, and bound it tightly. Panther had lost much blood and his pulse was nearly nonexistent.

For two long weeks, Panther lay at death’s door, never regaining consciousness, barely stirring when his dressing was changed or broth forced between his lips. He lay unknowing and uncaring that his cousin Winter Bear was struggling to provide food and shelter for the devastated tribe. Barely clinging to life, his body and mind were too busy fighting pain and infection to worry over his wife and sons, now traveling further and further from him.

This fact surfaced only after he regained consciousness three weeks after the battle. With little nourishment, he was weak as a kitten and had lost considerable weight. His skin hung on his tall frame, and his dark eyes were sunken into his face. He could barely lift his head.

Under makeshift conditions and with little food following the massacre, Panther’s wound began to fester. That the tribe had to move to safer regions did not help. Dragged behind a horse on a travois, Panther suffered the agonies of the damned. Every jolt jarred his shoulder and made pain spear through his body, but he endured it silently, clenching his teeth until it seemed his jaw would crack under the pressure. It was with great relief that he welcomed the grey mist of mindlessness when it came.

No sooner had the tribe settled into a new winter camp, than Panther took a turn for the worse. The rough traveling had caused his wound to reopen. He had lost more blood, which he could ill afford, and his wound was beginning to fester.

For endless days, Walks-Like-A-Duck and Shy Deer labored to save Panther’s life. Tirelessly, they cooled his fevered skin, tended his wound, forced fluids and medicinal mixtures into him. Burning with fever, and delirious most of the time, Panther thrashed about so that the women feared he would tear his shoulder wound open yet again. His mind wandered. Time and again he called out for Wildcat, refusing to be calmed by Shy Deer’s sympathetic voice.

With Panther’s fever came weird dreams. He relived the massacre as Wildcat must have seen it, watching helplessly as his friends and family were slaughtered. He saw Wildcat and his sons taken prisoner by the young blond lieutenant and he raced to rescue them, but suddenly he was afoot in the snow and they were mounted on fast horses. He ran after them until his lungs were on fire and his heart ready to explode in his chest, but he could not catch them. As his legs folded under him, he heard his wife accuse, “You said you’d never let me go, Panther; that nothing would part us …”

In another dream, he saw himself as a cougar, tracking his mate. He saw her with their cubs suckling at her belly. He saw her stretching out on the ground before him, sleek and tawny, frolicking, her golden eyes gleaming. They were together in a mountain meadow when they were beset by a pack of wolves. Outnumbered, he fought desperately to save his family, but several wolves launched themselves at him at once, fangs bared, jaws snapping. One wolf sank its teeth deep into his shoulder. As he lay bleeding in the grass, he watched as the wolves herded his family into the forest and out of sight …

In another instance he visualized a crowded street in town. As he watched from afar, he saw the same young lieutenant leading Hunter and Mark along behind him, each on a long leash. The scene changed, and he saw the man walking down a street, Wildcat at his side. Her braids were undone and she wore a blue flowered dress and carried a baby in her arms. The couple smiled at one another, and the man reached out and took the blanket from the baby’s face. To Panther’s dismay, the child was not his son Mark, but a blond-haired baby with the lieutenant’s features …

Yet again the dream changed and he saw Wildcat looking out from behind the window of a house. Her face was thin, and there were violet shadows beneath her sorrowful golden eyes. Large tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks as she laid her forehead wearily against the glass pane. Her voice choked with sobs, she pleaded, “Please come, Panther. Oh, my love, please rescue us!”

“I’m coming, Wildcat,” he answered, but she could not hear him and continued to cry …

Time and again he dreamed of Wildcat calling out to him in despair. Always he promised to come to her, telling her of his love, asking her to wait. At times it was so real he could almost touch her hair, and her tears fell like rain upon his heated skin.

Finally the day came when Panther’s fever left him, and he could think clearly for the first time in more than a moon. The snow lay deep around the tipi, and an icy wind howled against its sides. Weak, saturated with sweat, he gazed about, half expecting to see Wildcat and his sons. Instead, he saw Walks-Like-A-Duck tending the fire.

He attempted to rise, and a fierce pain shot through his shoulder. Sweat broke out in beads on his brow, and he lay back with a sigh.

“It was true, then,” he thought dismally, remembering the massacre. “Chief Black Kettle and Woman-To-Be-Hereafter are dead, along with many more of our tribe. My people are destitute, my wife and sons taken away by soldiers, and I lie here wounded and weak, unable to help even myself, let alone the others.”

When he tried to speak, his throat would not work, hut finally he croaked out to Walks-Like-A-Duck, “How long since the attack?”

He was shocked to learn five weeks had passed in oblivion. Walks-Like-A-Duck went on to inform him what had happened since. Other tribes had shared their belongings with them, but food and shelter were in short supply. Families were crowded together in tipis. She, Panther, Magpie, and Chief Winter Bear’s family were all sharing this one. The tribe was in the north of Texas Territory, and the winter was proving extremely harsh so far. No, they had heard no news of Wildcat’s whereabouts, or any of the other captives. At last she told him how seriously he’d been wounded and how close to death he’d come, warning him to conserve his little strength and not tear his wound open again, as it was finally starting to mend.

Flat on his back, warned of the consequences if he tried to move about too soon, Panther had a lot of time to think. Some of the time he spent talking to Winter Bear, discussing the problems facing the tribe. All the time he thought of Wildcat, Hunter and Mark. If it took months of searching, he would find and claim them. Also, he vowed revenge on the white-eyes for ravaging his tribe. Someday he would see them pay with their lives. As soon as he was well, and the tribe re-established, he would set off in search of his wife and sons, but first he must concentrate all his energies on regaining his health and strength.

“Have patience and faith, little one,” he called out silently to his Wildcat. “I will come for you, and we will be together again. Wait for me, and remember I love you.”

The only good thing that happened during this time was that Tanya’s parents were softening toward Hunter and Mark. Her mother could now look at the boys without cringing. The fact that the two little ones were so well-behaved and cute helped.

Mark would lie for hours cooing and smiling. He was a darling, content baby. All Hunter had to do was turn his huge golden eyes on Sarah, and she’d start to melt. He was a handsome miniature of his father, and he could enchant with those eyes of his, and knew it. By nature, he was not a shy child, and once he’d adjusted to the house, he set out to charm everyone in it.

Before long, he had Sarah on the floor playing with him, mostly when no one else was about. Gradually she stopped caring who saw her, and held the children and talked to them at any time. She’d sing lullabies and tell them stories, loving it when Hunter’s eyes lit up in delight.

Tanya had wondered how Hunter was picking up so many English words so quickly, and one day, quite by accident, she found out. As she was passing the library on silent feet, she heard her mother’s voice and Hunter’s delighted giggle. Peeking in, she saw her mother holding him on her lap.

Sarah pointed to Hunter and said in English, “Hunter.” Melissa had offered the English translation of the boys’ names.

Hunter laughed and repeated the word in his baby way: “Hun-ner.”

Smiling, Sarah pointed to herself, and with an emotional crack in her voice, she said softly, “Grandma.”

“Gran-na,” Hunter repeated.

Laughing through her tears, Sarah hugged him to her, “Yes, darling, Granna.”

Tanya slipped quietly away, deeply touched by the scene she had just witnessed, and reluctant to disturb the two. Her mouth curved into a poignant smile and one lone tear stole down her face.