Home by Morning (26 page)

Unclenching her fingers, she pressed her hands flat against her thighs. “That hurt. Worse than you can know. And at that moment, I finally realized what had driven Black Sam to do what he did. And what being a slave truly meant—the helplessness, the humiliation, the degradation. And I resolved to do something about it.”

Edwina looked at her in confusion.

But Pru could see that Lucinda understood. “That's when you decided to teach freed slaves,” she guessed. “And what has prevented you from making a life with Thomas. You felt your work was more important.”

Pru gave her a grateful smile. She felt she had been swimming upstream for so long, but finally, someone understood.

“
Is
your work more important?” Edwina asked.

“For a time, it was. But I've done all I can do. I brought my proposal to Washington. If it's worthy, someone else can take it and fly.”

“And Thomas?”

Pru shrugged. “I don't know. He's a remarkable man. I don't think I could ever love anyone but him. But we're different on so many levels. How do we bridge the divide between us?”

“If you love him enough, you can.”

Pru waved that away. “The question isn't whether we love each other enough. It's how much of ourselves we're willing to give up to close the gap.”

“Seems like he's come farther over that bridge than you,” Lucinda observed as she refilled her cup.

Pru frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lucinda took a sip, then returned the cup to its saucer. “What have you done for Thomas, except finally return to Heartbreak Creek?”

The barb struck deep. Did they truly expect her to live in a tipi and chew buffalo hides? “You think I'm being unfair to him?”

“Don't you?” Edwina burst out. “He's hardly Indian anymore. He's cut his hair, taken a job, given up most of his Cheyenne ways. He's even written a book! How much farther does Thomas have to go to close that gap before you'll even take the first step?”

Pru was so shocked she couldn't respond.

In her bassinet, Rosie began to fuss.

Seeing Pru's distress, Edwina made a dismissive motion. “I don't mean to sound harsh, Sister. But think about it. Thomas did everything he could to make himself worthy of you. Yet you sent him away. Now he's struggling to build a life—a
civilized
life—for him and Lillie, even though that means giving up most of who he is. And you still say that's not good enough.”

“I never said that.”

“You don't have to. Your actions speak for you.”

“Now who's being unfair?”

“Stop it, you two!” Lucinda glared at them, tears streaming as she bounced her fussing daughter. “Now you've got me crying and you've upset Rosie. Forget everything I said. I was wrong. All of it. I can't bear it when you fight.”

“Oh, Luce.” Edwina bounded from her chair to give her and Rosie a hug. “We're sisters. We don't mean any of it, do we, Pru?”

“Of course not.” Keeping her head down, Pru blinked tears from her eyes so she could see the dial of the watch pinned in her skirt pocket. “Mercy,” she said with false gaiety to cover the hurt. “It's after ten. I must go. I told Thomas we would talk more today.” As she pushed back her chair, she sensed movement behind her and turned.

Then froze.

Thomas stood in the dining room doorway.

His eyes met hers, dark and impenetrable. Then, without a sound, he turned and left the hotel.

*   *   *

Thomas was sorting through the day's mail and trying to come to terms with what he had heard when Prudence burst through the door. She stopped, one hand still on the knob, her eyes wide with panic, her lashes still damp with tears.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

She studied him, as if trying to read his thoughts, then let out a deep breath and closed the door. “How much did you hear?”

He went back to his mail. “Enough to know they should not have said those things to you.”
And to finally know what happened to you in the Arapaho camp.

“And if they were right?”

“One right thing does not make a whole truth.” He set the papers aside. Poor Prudence. She wanted everything neat and tidy like the tintypes Maddie Wallace made—stark and colorless, bound by a clean, defined border. There was a reason many of the People thought photographs stole their spirits: in a single moment, everything that had gone before, and everything that was yet to come, was reduced to a single, flat, unchangeable image.

But life was messy and confusing. It required a person to change in many ways if he was to survive. And some had to change more than others.

He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit, Prudence.”

With a look of defeat, she sank into the chair.

Not wanting barriers between them, he pulled his chair from behind the desk and put it near hers, then sat. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he took her hands in his. He had much to say, and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“
Eho'nehevehohtse
, I will not ask you to live in a tipi . . . although it would not upset me if you spent a night or two in one. With me. Alone.”

She rewarded him with a small smile. It gave him hope.

“And I did not put aside my eagle feathers only to please you. Nor have I put them aside forever. It is not my hair, or my clothing, or the redness of my skin that makes me who I am. It is what is in my heart.”

He brought a hand to his chest. “
Na'tsehe'stahe—
I am Cheyenne. I am also part white, a sheriff, a warrior, a father, maybe still a husband, and a man who has made mistakes.” He let his hand fall back over hers. “But I know I must change—not
who
I am, but the way I live—if I am to understand this new world around me. I can do that.”

A tear rolled from her eye. He reached out and brushed it away, then took her hands in his again. They felt cold, and
soft, and fragile. Yet the pulse beneath his fingertips at her wrists was strong and steady . . . just as this woman was.

“Your friends tell you I have worked harder than you to cross the space between us. They are right. Perhaps I have had farther to go. Or, because I am stronger, I must take the harder path. I do not know. It is not important, anyway. As long as you take a single step toward me, then I will know someday we will come to a meeting point. One step. That is all I need from you.”

Her lips quivered on a smile, even as another tear left a trail down her cheek. “Please tell me I won't have to chew buffalo hides.”

“I will not ask you to do that. Nor will I ask you to join with me on a horse.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“It is uncomfortable. And the horse does not like it.”

“You're jesting.”

He looked at her and smiled.

Some of the stiffness eased from her shoulders. “What is this one step you do ask of me?”

His amusement faded. “It is a big one, Prudence. And it will be hard for you to take. You must think well before you make your decision.”

Thomas worried that he was expecting too much of her too soon. But better they face it now than later, when it would be harder to break away.

“I do not believe in your Christ,
Eho'nehevehohtse
. To the People, all life comes from the same Creator, and all things share the same breath, whether it is man or beast or the grass beneath our feet. And no one man stands for us before the Great Spirit. Can you accept that I am not Christian?”

She looked at him for a long time. “But you do believe in a power higher than yourself?”

“Yes. We call it by many names—Great Spirit, Creator,
Ma'heo'o.
We regard Heaven as our father, and Earth as our mother, and all things in between as our brothers and sisters. As I told Reverend Brother Sampson, we are all one child spinning through Mother Sky.”

Another long pause, then a sigh. “I'll consider all that you've said, Thomas. But I'm beginning to think we're not that different, after all.”

“That is my hope.” He released her and sat back, hands tucked beneath his crossed arms so she would not see them shaking. “I also heard you tell them what happened to you in the Arapaho camp. I wish you had told me, Prudence. I wish I could take those memories from your mind and heal the scars in your heart. But I cannot. I can only love you. And hold you when the terrors rise in the night. And try to keep you safe from any harm yet to come.”

She was weeping like a child now, her breath coming in hoarse, hitching sobs. Yet she was not pulling away from him and he took heart in that.

He waited for her to calm her tears, then spoke again. “It is also my hope, Prudence, that you will stop crying so much. I do not like it and it will upset our daughter. She becomes upset enough as it is.”

“That's two things. But okay.” Another tear dropped, even as her lips spread in a smile. “Now I have something to ask of you.”

He nodded and braced himself. He would do much—give up much—to have this woman in his life. But still, he had to remain true to himself.

“If we decide to stay together, will you marry me again? In the church? So all our friends can be there?”

He closed his eyes and pictured it. The people—the crying and singing—
Katse'e
bouncing on her toes and waving her stick—that preacher, spewing damnation and tearing at his hair. He would almost rather go through the Sun Dance ceremony again.

Almost.

He opened his eyes and looked on her beautiful, tear-stained face. How could he deny this woman anything when she looked at him like that?

“Yes,
Eho'nehevehohtse
,” he conceded, although it wasn't much of a concession at all. “But that will be the last time we marry.”

“Y
ou got married without me?” Lillie accused when Thomas brought Prudence to the house later that afternoon. “If you my mama, I 'posed be there, ain't I?”

“Aren't I.”

“She is upset,” Thomas murmured, setting down Pru's valise. “Usually she speaks better.”

“And who's this?” Pru struggled to fend off a gangly puppy pawing at her skirt. “If we marry again, Lillie, I promise you will be there.”

“And I can sing? I always want to sing at a wedding.”

“Of course. I would have no other. Down, boy! And you'll have a new Sunday dress and white bows in your hair and flowers in your hands. Will somebody call off this dog?”

“Bitsy,” Thomas said in a low, firm voice.

The dog immediately dropped to his haunches and stared up at him with tongue-flopping devotion. As well he should.

“You named him Bitsy?” Pru laughed. “Ash will be so proud.”

“That reminds me.” Thomas pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. “This came today. I told the Western Union man I would give it to you, but then . . . I forgot.” No need to mention his shock when he heard the women talking about him and heard what Pru had endured. He still couldn't come to terms with all of it.

“Is it from Ash? What does it say?”

He handed it to her. “You open it.”

She read Rayford Jessup's name on the envelope and tried to hand it back. “It's not addressed to me.”

“That did not stop your sister and Lucinda Rylander from opening my box of books.”

She opened the envelope. Pulling out the note, she read, then grinned. “They're coming home!” She read the words aloud.
“‘Will arrive by month's end. House better be ready. Kirkwell.'”
Laughing, she hugged Thomas, then Lillian, then raced toward the door. “I have to tell Luce and Ed!”

“You leavin' already!”

“I'll be back soon, Lillie. I promise.”

“What Daddy do this time?”

Thomas ignored her. “Should you not tell Jessup first, since the telegram was sent to him?”

But she was already rushing down the porch steps. “I'll return soon.”

“Miss Pru not a very nice mama to go runnin' off like that.”

“She will be back.”

“She gonna stay here now?”

“Yes.”

“We'll be like a real family?”

“Yes.” Eventually, he hoped.

“Who Ash?”

“Who
is
Ash,” he corrected. “He is a man who wears a skirt, carries too many names, and speaks in a strange way.” Thomas scooped up his daughter and walked toward the kitchen where Winnie stood at the stove, basting a roasting chicken. “His dog is father to Bitsy.”

“So he my stepdaddy?”

“Exactly.”

Winnie snorted. “You'll get in trouble, Mr. Thomas, saying things like that.”

“I hope so. I have not fought anyone in a long time.” He set Lillian back on her feet. “Look in my coat pocket,
Katse'e.
I made something for you.”

Rising on her toes, she reached in and rooted around until she pulled out the flute Thomas had carved from the elk antler. “A stick? You gots me a stick?”

“A flute.” He showed her where to blow and where to put her fingers over the holes. Soon the house echoed with high-pitched screeches and whistles. He must have done something wrong. He had never made a flute before.

Winnie told
Katse'e
to go take her flute to the porch, then sent Thomas a sour look.

He shrugged. “I would have made her rhythm sticks, but I thought she might hurt someone.”

“So you let her make us deaf, instead. Good thinkin'.”

*   *   *

When Pru rushed into the hotel, Yancey was crossing the lobby. Before she could ask, he pointed a finger at the closed dining room door. She veered toward it.

Since Lucinda had turned her office into a nursery, she often did her paperwork in the dining room before the staff set it up for the evening meal. Perhaps Edwina was still with her.

She wasn't. But Mrs. Bradshaw and Mrs. Throckmorton were.

Lucinda must have seen the excitement on her face when Pru rushed in. “What's happened?”

“Wonderful news!” Waving the telegram, Pru hurried toward them, then slowed when she saw the serious expressions on the women's faces and the way Mrs. Bradshaw hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Am I interrupting?” Pru made a half turn toward the door. “Perhaps I should come back later.”

“Nonsense.” Lucinda waved her to an empty chair. “Join us. We could use some happy news.”

Reluctantly, Pru did. It was obvious she had walked in on a serious discussion. With an embarrassed nod to Mrs. Bradshaw—who was still fighting tears—Pru turned to Mrs. Throckmorton, who held the sleeping Rosaleen. “Aren't you the lucky one. She looks quite content in your arms, Mrs. Throckmorton. You must have a calming touch.”

“So I've been told.” The elderly lady sniffed in that haughty way she had, but Pru saw the smile teasing her lips. “I have a way with children. I always have. Ask Lucinda. I shudder to think what would have become of her if I hadn't taken her to my bosom.”

Pru didn't dare look at Lucinda, fearing she might catch her in one of her sardonic eye rolls. Even though Luce and her
guardian loved each other dearly, they did bring out the claws occasionally. Pru didn't want to get caught between them.

Lucinda poured a cup of tea and set it before Pru. “So what is this momentous news that sent you rushing in here?”

“A telegram from Ash.” Unable to restrain her excitement, Pru thrust the envelope at her friend. “They're on their way and will arrive by month's end!”

Lucinda's face lit up as she read the wire. “At last! We shall have to plan a grand welcome.”

“I wonder if he'll bring Pringle back with him?” Mrs. Throckmorton leaned toward Pru to add in a whisper, “He's been in love with me for years, you know. That's why I had to send him away with the Scotsman. It would never do to form an alliance with a servant, you see.”

Abruptly, Mrs. Bradshaw rose. “I have to check with Cook about tonight's menu.”

As the housekeeper disappeared through the door into the kitchen, Lucinda shot her guardian a severe look. “That was uncalled for, Mrs. T.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. Helen Bradshaw is a friend and erstwhile employee. I never thought of her as a servant. As for Buster Quinn, I had no idea he had a wife in a mental institution, or that he and Mrs. Bradshaw had developed feelings for each other. Had I known, I certainly never would have allowed him to accompany us from New York.

Pru blinked.
Wife in a mental institution?

Lucinda stood, hands clenched at her side. “I think you judge him too harshly. And too soon. He'll be returning to town shortly. Until then, if you can manage it, please refrain from condemning the man until we hear his side of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll ask Yancey to fetch Edwina. Hopefully they haven't left for the ranch yet.”

As Lucinda swept from the room, Mrs. Throckmorton sighed. “The child always was a woefully poor judge of character. That's why I had to save her from a disastrous marriage to that Irishman. I don't care how wealthy the man was, he was still a thug.”

Pru wasn't sure how that related to Quinn or Mrs. Bradshaw. “Do you think she's misjudged Buster Quinn?” Pru scarcely knew the man. He and Mrs. Bradshaw had moved
permanently to Heartbreak Creek with Mrs. Throckmorton after Pru had left for Indiana. But from what little she knew, he seemed honorable.

“Quinn?” The old woman reared back to glare at her. “Were you not listening? It was
my
character she was impugning. Insinuating I was a snob and looked down on Mrs. Bradshaw. Poppycock. As for Buster Quinn, he is above reproach, although he could certainly have been more forthright with dear Mrs. Bradshaw.”

Pru was thoroughly confused now. “What did Mr. Quinn do?”

“I shouldn't say. I abhor gossip. But I assure you it was nothing illegal. Not yet, anyway. Luckily, he absconded before any real harm was done. There you are.” She held Rosie out to Lucinda as she came back into the room. “You daughter has a definite odor.”

*   *   *

Over the next days, Pru settled into the Arlan house, grew to love the Abrahams, and learned what a challenge it was to mother a blind ten-year-old who was smarter than she was. Her respect for Thomas and the Abrahams grew daily.

Having been passed around like unwanted baggage for most of her short life, Lillie had grown accustomed to scrabbling out her own place in this world, and was fearless in defending it. No matter that she had once been a slave, or that she was blind, and only a child, she refused to be ignored.

Pru adored her, and saw great promise in her future . . . once she learned to curb her demanding ways. She also suspected the child's often indecipherable speech was a form of self-protection. If she sounded ignorant, she would be discounted, which would leave her free to do things her own way, how and when she wished.

Pru wasn't fooled. But rather than browbeating the child into speaking properly—which Lillie's pride wouldn't allow—she gently corrected her without making an issue of it, then quietly moved on. At some point, Lillie would understand that Pru wasn't out to change her, but to help her find other ways of expressing herself. Words—well-spoken and understandable—would be more effective than broken speech and flailing the air with her blind stick.

She continued the lessons in the Braille primer and was astounded by the progress Thomas had already made with her. The evening readings continued, except—at his listener's insistence—Thomas read from his own book. It was an amazing story, and Pru understood why Rafe Jessup predicted Thomas would be famous someday. Not only were the words powerful and compelling, but when spoken in Thomas's low, musical voice, it touched something deep inside her.

As for her and Thomas, it felt almost as if they were courting. Glances, touches, smiles when no one else was looking, and evening walks along the creek that ended with long, breathless kisses. She often awoke from dreams of him to find small, simple gifts left beside her pillow. An eagle feather. A button carved from a shiny black stone. A rock that glittered with gold dust. And once a lethal-looking knife that fit into a beaded scabbard she was to tie around her waist under her skirt. There were other, less welcome gifts, too, but she guessed it was Harry, the cat, and not Thomas, who left the half-eaten mice by her bed.

The days warmed. The nights grew shorter. As Pru lay in her lonely bed, listening to him move around downstairs, washing and preparing for another night on the couch, she wondered why she was denying herself the closeness with Thomas she craved. Many times, she thought about going down there and telling him to stop this foolishness and come upstairs to bed like a normal husband.

But then the thought would come that maybe she wasn't the only one who had concerns about a future together. Maybe he had reservations, too.

Or, perhaps, he was waiting for her to court him.

So she tried that, cooking sumptuous meals, taking special care with her appearance, and waiting on the porch to welcome him home at the end of the day. She washed and mended his clothing, replaced missing buttons and turned the cuffs on his shirts. He accepted her offerings with a smile and a nod. Sometimes, she saw gentle laughter in his eyes. But still, at the end of the evening, he would follow her up the stairs to check on Lillie, give Pru one last kiss outside her bedroom door, then head back downstairs.

She was starting to unravel.

*   *   *

The month that whites called April came, and the first pink blossoms of wild phlox heralded the coming of the full Pink Moon. But still, Prudence did not come to him as he hoped.

Late one afternoon, he was in the side yard, putting Bitsy through his paces, when Prudence came through the front gate. Seeing him, she raised a hand in greeting and turned in his direction.

Motioning the dog to sit, he studied her. Even from this distance, he could see her steps dragged. Her hand was over her stomach again, and that nagging sense that something was wrong began to hum along his nerves.

He had heard what she had told Lucinda and Edwina about what the Arapaho had done. He remembered those days in the sweat lodge he had built for her, and his prayers that Mother Earth would take away her pain and fear. And he had seen how she had tried to hide from him the blood that stained her clothing.

Even now, it enraged and sickened him. Not only because of what she had endured, or that she might never bear his child, but because she suffered, still, over a year later.

Something was wrong.

The realization that he might lose her again—this time forever—opened a dark, empty place in his mind. A sense of urgency heightened that fear. And as he watched her walk toward him, he knew he could wait no longer.

“What's Lillie doing?” she asked, stopping beside him. In answer, a high squeak erupted from the house, making her wince and the pup whine. Even birds fled the trees. “I thought you were going to accidentally step on that flute.”

“Are you in pain, Prudence?”

She startled, then frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

He nodded toward the hand over her stomach.

She quickly took it away. “Hungry, that's all. I didn't miss supper, did I?”

Before he could answer, she hurried on, words coming in a rush.

“I didn't mean to be away so long, but Lucinda is in a dither over Mrs. Bradshaw. Apparently, she received a letter yesterday
that upset her, then this morning, with only a hurried apology, she ups and leaves. Just like that. Lucinda thinks it has to do with Buster Quinn, but we don't know what.”

“They are both trapped in rules and have not found the courage to take what they want.” Why was she trying to distract him?