Читать книгу Cheyenne Wife - Judith Stacy, Judith Stacy - Страница 10

Lily stood beside the mound of fresh-turned earth and the wooden casket that would be her father’s resting place for eternity, cold despite the heat of the midafternoon sun that bore down on them.

Augustus had passed away peacefully in his sleep during the night, just as Oliver Sykes had predicted, with Lily at his side.

Hiram Fredericks had made the funeral arrangements; he seemed to be in charge of such things, much like everything else at the fort.

Oliver Sykes, who had worked diligently to heal her father, had arranged for his casket to be built, then had laid him in it. Lily didn’t know who’d dug the grave, here among the other wooden markers outside the fort.

Fredericks read from the Bible, the thin pages rattling in the breeze, his white hair undulating on the unseen current. About a dozen men—most of whom Lily didn’t know—gathered there also. She wondered if they wanted to pay their respects, or simply craved a diversion from their daily routine.

Jacob Tanner, the young man who worked in the kitchen and had brought meal trays to her and her father, stood near the back of the gathering, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes lowered respectfully. Lily appreciated his presence and felt his intentions were honorable.

Not in attendance was the Nelson family, the people her papa had paid to drive their wagon and assist them in their journey. Nor were the men from the wagon train, who’d come with them to the fort, present for the service.

Lily sniffed, choking back tears—bitter tears. Augustus deserved so much more at his passing. The presence of his friends and business associates in Saint Louis who really knew him and would have truly mourned his death. A carved, marble marker befitting a man of his stature, rather than a simple wooden cross. Men—knowledgeable men—who would have stepped in.

Someone who would tell Lily what was to become of her now.

She touched her finger to the corner of her eye, catching another tear. In the plain wooden casket lay her father. More of a stranger to her now than she’d ever imagined. She’d thought she knew what sort of man he was, but after his deathbed confession last night, she obviously did not.

Could it be true? she wondered as Fredericks’s reading of Bible verses droned on. Had Augustus really lost their entire family fortune?

Sitting at his bedside last night, hearing his confession, Lily had thought it was simply more of his nonsensical fevered ramblings. He’d been incoherent for days. He’d talked to people who weren’t there, flailed his arms against unseen foes. Surely something in his dying mind had prompted this delusion, fabricated the loss of his business empire.

But didn’t the mere fact that they were here in this forsaken wilderness give credence to his confession? Her father had lived his entire life in a large comfortable home, waited on by a number of servants, his every need catered to by others. When he’d told Lily of his dream to go West and explore new lands, she’d thought it odd. So unlike him.

Yet it made perfect sense if he’d indeed lost all his money and wanted to start over in Santa Fe.

It also explained why he’d been so reluctant to have Lily accompany him on this trip.

Other thoughts floated through Lily’s mind as the men, gathered around her father’s gravesite, sang a hymn.

Last Christmas she’d wanted to travel to Memphis to spend the holiday with her friend’s family. Augustus had told her no. When she’d asked for funds to commission several new gowns, he’d never sent the money; she thought he’d simply forgotten. Just before her graduation, he’d appeared unexpectedly at her boarding school and met privately with Madame DuBois. Now Lily wondered if there had been a problem with her tuition; that would explain why some of the other girls had whispered behind their hands as Lily passed them in the halls.

Fredericks gently touched Lily’s arm and she realized the service had ended. The men nodded toward her, putting on their hats, respectfully touching the brims, then drifted away. Jacob lingered a moment as if he wanted to say something to her, but finally he wandered away after only a respectful nod.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, her voice tight, barely more than a ragged whisper. She fought off another swell of emotion. “Thank you very much, both of you, for arranging everything.”

Oliver Sykes, standing on the other side of her, nodded. “It was a nice turnout.”

“I thought the Nelsons would be here,” Lily said, gazing around as if she might see them. “They helped us all along the journey. We’d gotten to know them quite well, I’d thought.”

“Oh, they left already,” Sykes said.

“Left?” Lily looked back and forth between the two men, an odd feeling tightening her belly. “What do you mean they left?”

“Gone on to Santa Fe,” Sykes explained. “Them and those other fellas from the wagon train who drove in with you. They all left at dawn.”

“But…” Stunned, Lily just gazed at the men. They’d gone? Left her behind? Abandoned her in this place? Without so much as a farewell wave?

“But my father paid the Nelson family to look after us,” Lily said, desperation creeping into her voice. “They’re supposed to do the cooking, drive the wagon, take care of the horses.”

The two men exchanged a troubled look that squeezed Lily’s stomach into a tight knot.

“This isn’t hardly the best time, right here at your father’s funeral, but I guess you’ve got to be told.” Sykes pulled at the back of his neck. “I mean, you’ll find out, sooner or later.”

Lily pressed her lips together, afraid to ask what he was talking about.

“Last night…” Fredericks cleared his throat. “Well, last night, your horses were stolen.”

“Stolen?”

“Yeah, and your wagon was looted.” Sykes shifted uncomfortably. “Pretty much everything you had in there is gone. The wagon was torn up, too.”

Her horses were stolen? Her belongings stolen? Lily pressed her hand to her forehead as the world suddenly pitched sideways.

She was penniless—and stranded?

“Who—who did it? Who’s responsible?” she asked.

Fredericks shrugged. “Don’t know. Sam Becker—he’s the blacksmith—he saw what had happened to your wagon this morning, then went to check on your horses and realized they were gone.”

“Shouldn’t we report this to someone?” Lily asked, spreading her hands.

“Well, Miss St. Claire, it’s not like we got a real lawman here at the fort,” Sykes said.

“Me and the boys, well, we just take care of things as they come up, best we can,” Fredericks explained. “Becker said he didn’t have any idea who might have taken your belongings.”

“I—I’d like to go lie down,” Lily gasped, feeling light-headed.

“That’s a good idea,” Fredericks said.

“Yeah, good idea,” Sykes agreed, as if he were glad to be rid of her.

“I’ll walk with you—” Fredericks began.

“No.” Lily pulled away from him. “No, thank you. I can manage.”

Though she wasn’t sure that she could, Lily somehow made it to her room and closed the door tight behind her. She fell back against it, her heart thudding in her chest, her mind whirling.

Her horses and her belongings were gone. Her wagon damaged. And she had no money.

Without cash how would she buy horses? How would she repair the wagon, let alone reprovision it?

How would she ever escape this dreadful land?

Lily pressed her fingers to her lips, holding back a sob. What would become of her?

Her gaze landed on the cot across the room, the cot on which only yesterday her father had lain, then died. She’d never felt so alone.

Bile rose in the back of her throat, closing off her breathing in this airless room.

She had to leave. She had to escape. She couldn’t abide this room—this fort—another moment.

Lily opened the door and slipped out of the fort into the prairie.

North paused outside the trade room as he glimpsed a swish of skirt disappear out the gate. Even without seeing her face he knew it was Lily St. Claire, the woman whose father they’d just buried. No other woman wore that sort of dress.

And no other woman would be foolish enough to leave the safety of the fort.

North shook his head. Why would she do this? Didn’t she know any better?

Or did she simply not care that she was a danger not only to herself, but to others who might have to go after her?

Since arriving at the fort she’d been waited on hand and foot, seemingly unable to accomplish the smallest task, or fend for herself. Was this customary behavior for white women?

North recalled the stories his father had told about women in the East, his mother, sisters, aunts, left behind like all his other family members. Women so unlike North’s own Cheyenne mother, his sisters and the other women of the tribe.

North waited and watched the gate. No one else, apparently, had seen Lily leave. The routine of the fort continued on, as usual. Minutes dragged by. The sun drifted toward the Western horizon.

He watched. Still no sign of her.

He hoped she’d realize that the prairie was no place for her and come back on her own. He waited longer. She didn’t return.

North glanced around. No one, still, had noticed that she was gone. That meant he’d have no choice but to go after her himself.

He hesitated. Something about that woman bothered him. He didn’t know what it was, exactly. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But it was there, lurking in the back of his mind, and in the pit of his stomach.

“Damn…”

North headed for the stable.

A dark shadow fell across the ground startling Lily. She gasped and twisted around. A man stood behind her, his approach so silent she hadn’t heard a sound.

Seated on the ground, Lily brushed the tears from her eyes, then shaded them against the setting sun, squinting to see his face.

“Who are you?” she asked, unwilling and unable to sound pleasant.

He didn’t reply, just looked down at her quizzically.

Lily leaned her head back to see him clearly. He was the Indian she’d seen whispering to the stallion in the corral, she realized.

She gazed past him and the horse he’d left grazing a few yards away, to Bent’s Fort, now small on the horizon. She hadn’t realized she’d gone so far. She’d walked—then run—through the short, green prairie grass to the river, then followed its banks, finally collapsing here beneath a cottonwood tree, mindless of the distance.

She didn’t know why this man was here or what he wanted—and she didn’t care, either. All she wanted was to be left alone to cry, to scream, to indulge the ache in her heart and the emptiness in her soul. Was that too much to ask? Surely it couldn’t be, after what she’d been through today.

“Go away,” she told him, turning away, tears filling her eyes once more. “I want to be by myself. I don’t want any company. Can’t you understand that’s why I came out here in the first place?”

He walked closer, still staring down at her. Though he’d said nothing, his presence seemed to demand something of her.

“This has been the worst day of my life. Everything—absolutely everything—has been just awful. Why, I didn’t even have anything decent to wear to my own father’s funeral.” Lily shook the skirt of her green dress, the simple act bringing on another rush of emotion and a fresh wave of tears. “Why, I—I—I don’t even have a handkerchief!”

The magnitude of her woes descended upon her, crushing her. She sobbed into her hands, not bothering to hide her tears or wipe them away.

“My horses were stolen!” she wailed, turning her face up to him. “My belongings, too! My wagon is ruined! And I don’t have any money!”

She flung herself onto the ground and cradled her head against her arms, sobbing and gulping in ragged breaths of air.

Lily glanced up. The man still stood over her, his head tilted slightly to the side, watching her as if she were an insect in a jar.

“Is that all you can do?” she demanded. “Stand there and stare?”

His brows drew together, but still he didn’t offer a response.

She pushed herself up and huffed irritably. “Don’t you have any manners at all?”

His frown deepened.

“Do you speak English?” she wanted to know. When he didn’t answer, she asked again. “Eng…lish. Do…you…speak…English?”

The man rocked back slightly, regarding her with caution.

“Oh, lovely!” Lily dug the heels of her shoes into the ground and launched herself to her feet. “Here I am pouring out my heart to someone who doesn’t even speak a civilized language!”

She whirled away and flung out both arms. “What sort of godforsaken place is this? Savages running loose! With no sense of decorum! No manners! Unable to even communicate!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Lily gasped at the sound of his voice, and spun toward him. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “You do speak English.”

He watched her curiously. “Your dress. What’s wrong with it?”

Lily planted a hand on her hip and pushed her chin up. “You should have made your language skills known earlier, sir, and not allowed me to carry on like that. And you should have introduced yourself.”

“North Walker,” he said, seemingly unperturbed by her scathing accusations about his heritage. “Your father has just died. Yet your concern is with your dress?”

“It’s the wrong color,” she told him and shook her skirt once more. “It should be black, not green. Black is always worn to a funeral—in civilized places, that is. And, of course, I’m upset about my father’s death.”

Tears filled Lily’s eyes again. Emotion swelled in her, robbing her of her strength. She sank to the ground, her skirt pooling around her, not wanting to put forth the effort to stand.

“We were supposed to be a family—finally—on this trip. But now Papa’s gone, and I’m alone. All alone,” she whispered. Tears tumbled down her cheeks once more. She covered her face with her hands. “This was our last chance…our last chance to be together.” After a few minutes, she sensed North move closer, his nearness somehow calming her emotions.

“Your father is dead,” North said softly, kneeling beside her. “Gone to a better place.”

Lily sniffed and lifted her head.

“Isn’t that your belief?” North asked gently. “That he’s in heaven among the angels, free of pain and suffering, in the presence of the Holy Spirit?”

“You’re a Christian?” She swiped the tears from her face with the backs of her hands, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

“I know God.” North waved his hand encompassing everything around them. “I know the spirit of the land and all things in it.”

“But—but you’re an Indian?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he told her.

North closed his hand over her arm. Heat seeped through the fabric of her sleeve, oozing outward, filling her with warmth.

He looked directly into her eyes. “Your father is at peace. Rejoice in his place in heaven. Don’t wish him into the torment of this earth again.”

Lily gazed into his eyes—rich, dark eyes that seemed to peer into her soul and, somehow, lift her burden. Almost magically, a sense of peace filled her. Her problems drifted away as if they were feathers on the breeze.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she whispered. “You’ve made me feel so much better.”

“It’s the same way I talk to my horses.” North rose and said. “But horses have more sense than to come out onto the prairie alone and get themselves in such a dangerous situation.”

It took a few seconds before his words sank in.

“Are you saying I don’t have as much sense as a horse?” she demanded. Lily scrambled to her feet. “How dare you! You don’t even know me, nor do you have the slightest idea of what sort of person I am, yet you have the gall to stand there and—”

“We have to go back to the fort,” he said and reached for her arm.

Lily jerked away. “I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”

“It’s a longer walk back than you think. It will be dark soon.”

She squared her shoulders, a strength she hadn’t felt a moment ago suddenly filling her. “I’ll manage, thank you just the same.”

He gestured toward the horizon and the orange glow of the setting sun. “Coyotes prowl at sundown. There’re snakes.”

Lily drew in a great breath. “I’ll go back to the fort when I choose. And I’ll get there on my own.”

“You won’t make it,” North said, anger creeping into his voice. “Most of the men at the fort will end up out here searching for you, risking their own lives.”

And she wasn’t worth it, his look seemed to say.

A sickly feeling wound through Lily’s stomach, shame that this man thought so little of her. Memories of the weeks on the Trail came back to her, the other women caring for their families, tending to them with practiced ease. She’d been unprepared for the journey. She’d known it from the start. She still knew it. But, somehow, seeing that look on North’s face hurt worst of all.

“I don’t need your help,” Lily said, holding up her chin.

A long moment dragged by while North just looked at her. Finally, he simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said, then mounted his horse and headed toward the fort.

Lily gasped and her eyes rounded at the sight of him riding away. He was leaving her? Actually riding away? Abandoning her here so far from the fort, in the middle of nowhere?

“Wait!” She ran after him. “Stop!”

She caught up with him. North rested his hand on the saddle horn and glared down, the brim of his hat shading his eyes.

“You’re—you’re not going to leave me out here, are you?” she exclaimed. She drew herself up, thinking of the nastiest thing she could call him. “You, Mr. Walker, are no gentleman.”

He gave her a long, slow once-over that sent a strange warmth flooding through her. Heat crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, then arrowed downward to the center of her belly. Still, Lily refused to look away.

Finally, North shook his head, almost to himself, and climbed down from the horse.

Relieved, but still clinging to her pride, Lily said, “I decided that it would be prudent to accept your offer and—Oh!”

North grasped her waist and hoisted her upward, plopping her into the saddle. Lily grasped a handful of mane to keep from tumbling backward off the other side, then glared down at him. He glared right back.

An odd warmth leaped from him, covered her, touched her in strange places. She’d assumed he thought her worthless, but the look on his face made her feel as if—

Lily broke eye contact, afraid—but of what she wasn’t sure.

North picked up the reins, then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He held it up to Lily.

Stunned, she looked at it for a moment. The white, pressed linen fabric. His big hard long fingers. She’d complained earlier that she had no handkerchief. He’d remembered.

Without a word, Lily accepted it. North led the horse toward the fort.

In the moonlight the fort looked almost pleasant, Lily thought as she gazed out the window of her room. She rested her arm on the sill, looking up at the stars, searching them for—

What? A glimpse into the future? A window into her own heart?

When they’d drawn close to the fort this evening, Lily had jumped from the horse, marched right past North and entered the fort alone. She’d hurried to her room, not bothering to even thank him.

Not that he deserved to be thanked, after the way he’d insulted her.

Yet it was her pride that hurt more than anything. He thought little of her, and she’d done nothing to prove him wrong.

But what was she to do? She didn’t belong in this place, was totally unprepared for life here in the uncivilized West. Yet, somehow, North’s low opinion of her still hurt.

Sighing into the dark night, Lily decided this was but further proof that she should leave immediately for her aunt’s home in Richmond.

She’d be glad to go. She’d miss nothing about this hard, unforgiving land. The land that had taken her father and the last chance she’d ever have to know what it was like for the two of them to be a family.

North floated through her mind. Tall, wide shoulders. So strong. He’d lifted her into the saddle with no effort. And he was handsome, surprisingly handsome. When Oliver Sykes had stopped by her room to check on her a short while ago, she’d casually—she hoped—asked about North. An English father and a Cheyenne mother, Sykes had said. His mixed heritage had blended to give him a unique handsomeness, to Lily’s mind.

Her stomach warmed at the memory of the two of them beneath the cottonwood tree. He belonged here in this land. He was strong and brave and rugged. Everything this place demanded.

And she wasn’t. A thread of sadness filled Lily’s heart at the thought. Then alarm took its place.

North had seemed decent enough under the cottonwood. But he was, after all, half-Indian. Half-savage. What if his Cheyenne side had presented itself at that particular moment? Would he have ravished her? Scalped her? Left her for dead?

A chill ran up Lily’s spine. She had to leave this place. Tomorrow she’d make the arrangements.

She’d get to her aunt’s home in Virginia—no matter what it took.