Home by Morning (5 page)

She stared mutely at him. Thomas might be lethal, but he was also honorable. He would be no match for the deviousness of a man like Cyrus Marsh.

When she didn't answer, he nodded. “So he does concern me.”

Desperate to stop him before something terrible happened, she gentled her tone. “He's my employer, Thomas. I don't want any trouble. Please.”

Grim-faced, he turned toward the door.

“Promise me you won't start anything,” she pleaded.

He hesitated, one hand on the door latch. “I will not start anything.” He looked back at her, and the malice in his smile almost drove the air from her lungs. “But I will finish what he has begun. That is what I will promise to you.”

*   *   *

Thomas awoke to a scream, a knee in his belly, and someone crawling over his chest. Fearing a knife would come next, he grabbed the flailing arms and struggled to catch his breath. “Lillian, be still.”

“Daddy? That you?”

He saw no knife, and slumped back. “Yes.
To'estse—
get up.”

She plopped beside him. “Lawdy. I thought you Cooter Brown.”

“Who is Cooter Brown?”

“Old drunk boogeyman who not fight. What you doing on the floor?”

“Sleeping. Why would he not fight?” The idea was alien to Thomas.

“'Fraid, I 'pose. You not sleep in bed?”

“Not if someone else is already in it.” Unless that someone was Prudence Lincoln
.
He smiled, remembering how she had trembled beneath his hands and the little sounds she had made when he'd kissed her hours ago. He liked making her forget all her proper ways. He liked making her cry out his name.

“When we eat? My stomach howling.”

Images of a warm, soft body faded on a sigh. He rolled onto his feet. “Put on your clothes and we will go
.
”

Several minutes later, they walked downstairs to the room called a lobby, where they found Prudence Lincoln sitting with the man who had spoken in the big white tipi the previous night. Thomas saw no sign of the other man, Marsh.

Smiling, Prudence rose. The man rose, too, but hung back when Prudence came to meet them. Thomas studied him.

He was broad rather than tall, with a round face and no hair on his head. His skin was the color of the rich, brown earth along a slow-moving river. His hands were damaged, as if they had been broken in the past and left to heal wrong. The fingers were as bent as twisted twigs. He had the eyes of a man who had seen much, and suffered more.

Prudence stopped before him and
Katse'e
. “What happened to your braids, Lillie?”

“Daddy hands too big to make 'em.”

Thomas had done his best, but the girl's wiry hair poked out in all directions. Whenever he tried to flatten it down, it sprang back up.

Prudence eyed the temple braids tucked behind his ears. “Who did yours?”

“The man who cut my hair. He did not want to put in the braids.” Thomas gave a tight smile. “But I convinced him it would be a good thing to do.”

“When we eat?” Lillian cut in. “I so hungry my belly cavin' in.”

“Ladies don't talk about their bellies,” Prudence reminded her as she led them to the waiting black man. “The hotel has a lovely tearoom here. After we say hello to Brother Sampson I'll get you a muffin.”

“Jist one?”

The man smiled in welcome, but Thomas saw sadness in his dark eyes.

“Thomas, please meet Reverend Brother Sampson. Brother, this is Thomas Redstone, the Cheyenne Dog Soldier I told you about.”

The man's smile broadened. “Delighted, Mr. Redstone.” He offered a hand.

Thomas accepted it, taking care not to grip too hard.

“You gots peppermint?” Lillian asked, bouncing on her toes.

“I'm not sure.”

“Check you pocket.”

“Mind your manners, Lillie,” Prudence murmured.

“I jist helpin' case he forget.”

“I wouldn't dare.” Laughing, the man pulled a hard candy from his pocket and put it in Lillian's outstretched hand. That kept the girl quiet, and after a few comments about the weather, they followed Prudence into the small eating room and asked for food to be brought.

Thomas ate in watchful silence. Although Reverend Brother Sampson moved like an old man, he was probably not much older than Thomas—maybe thirty-five winters. Yet he showed only a fatherly interest in Prudence Lincoln, which surprised Thomas. Even the men in Heartbreak Creek looked at
Eho'nehevehohtse
with admiration, although none would dare act on it. Maybe this man was like the Catholic priests who had come to the Cheyenne village when Thomas was young. Maybe he was not allowed to have a woman. That would account for the sadness in his eyes.

While they ate, the reverend spoke often about his Christian god. Thomas remembered similar words from the book the missionaries had used to teach the Cheyenne children their letters. When he saw the interest in Prudence Lincoln's eyes, he wished he had paid better attention to those early lessons.

Smiling, the black man turned to Thomas. “Are you a Christian, Mr. Redstone?”

“I am Cheyenne.”

“Does that mean you don't believe in our Savior?”

Thomas glanced at
Eho'nehevehohtse
.
Even though they seldom spoke of such things, he could see that his lack of an answer disappointed her. “The Shawnee have a saying,” he said to the reverend. “‘We are all one child spinning through Mother Sky.' That is what I believe.”

“Black people, too?”

Thomas nodded. “Even white ones.”

The reverend threw back his head and laughed, showing many white teeth. “True equality. I like that, Mr. Redstone. And I pray that someday it will be true.”

Thomas shrugged. “In death we are all equal.”

They continued eating. Thomas tried to curb his impatience. He had not been outside since waking. He needed to breathe. Feel the breeze on his face and the earth under his feet. Staying inside too long made him restless.

“Do you live in Colorado Territory, too?” the reverend asked after a while.

“Yes. In the mountains.” Thomas glanced at Prudence. “Unless I have a reason to stay in town.”

“You owns two houses?” Lillian grinned, smears of berry jam stuck to her cheeks. “We rich!”

“I have little use for money and own no houses, except for a
xamaa-vee'e—
a tipi made of buffalo hide and wood that I put up when I need shelter.”

Lillian's spoon clattered to her plate. “You ain't gots no house? None at all? Where I 'posed to sleep?”

Thomas looked at the faces staring back at him, showing surprise, shock, and, from Prudence Lincoln, a small, troubled smile. And in that moment, like a rockslide roaring toward him down a hillside, the truth slammed into him. Cutting his hair and wearing
ve'ho'e
clothing was not enough to look white. He would have to go to their church, too. Speak like they did. Earn money to buy the things white people thought they needed. He would have to give up his tipi, too, and live in a dwelling made of wood and stone and mud. The thought of locking himself inside four walls every night made his chest so tight it was hard to take a breath. But if that was what he must do to keep Prudence Lincoln by his side . . .

“If I need a house, I will build a house,” he said, ending the discussion.

“Good. 'Cause I ain't sleepin' outside, no ma'am, not me.”

The meal was almost over and they were laughing about something Lillian had said when Thomas saw Prudence Lincoln tense and look across the room. Turning, he saw the man called Marsh standing in the doorway.

Sitting back, his hands resting on his thighs within easy reach of the knife under his coat, Thomas watched him walk toward them. Unlike Reverend Brother Sampson, this man showed no warmth in his smile or his odd, pale eyes. Thomas had seen eyes that same yellow color on
ma'ehóóhe—
a fox—its muzzle red with blood as it calmly tore apart a screaming rabbit.

Except now, Prudence Lincoln was the rabbit.

The reverend rose as Marsh approached. Thomas didn't, and when Prudence Lincoln started to stand, he murmured, “He does not deserve your respect,
Voaxaa'e.
”

She stood anyway. Always proper, his Prudence.

On his other side, Lillian stopped picking at her muffin. “Who here?” she whispered, her eyes round and anxious. “Mistuh Marsh?”

Thomas patted her arm. “You are safe,
Katse'e.
I am here.”

Some of the worry left her face. But not all of it.

The preacher introduced Marsh. Thomas nodded without speaking. As the others returned to their seats, Marsh took the chair beside Lillian. “Aren't you from the Friends school, girl?”

Lillian nodded and stuffed the muffin in her mouth.

“What is she doing here?” he asked the others.

“I brought her,” Thomas said.

“Did you? Why?”

Seeing Prudence tense, Thomas did not respond.

“How did your meeting with the senator go?” she asked in a nervous voice.

“Very well. He wants to host a fund-raiser for the reverend next week. He expects you to attend, too. It would be an excellent opportunity to put your education initiative before key donors.” He turned to Thomas with a smile that was more of a sneer. “And by all means, bring your friend along.”

A hot surge moved through Thomas. Crossing his arms over his chest, he met the smile with a glare. “And if I do not behave, will you threaten me, too?”

Shock. Then a false laugh. “Threaten you?” Marsh looked innocently at Prudence Lincoln and Reverend Brother Sampson. “What's he talking about?”

Thomas held out his hand. “You will give me the letter now.”

Marsh frowned at him. “What letter?”

“The one Miss Pru write,” Lillian piped in, bouncing with glee. “The one you 'posed give Friend Matthews, 'cept you didn't.”

Seeing the look Marsh gave the girl told Thomas he now had two to guard.

Prudence rushed into the sudden silence. “You probably
forgot, with the rush to leave and all. No matter. Thomas is here now.”

“Yes.” Thomas gave Marsh a thin smile. “I am here now.”

Bolting to her feet, Prudence grabbed Lillian's hand with such vigor she almost pulled the girl from her chair. “If you'll excuse us, Mr. Marsh, we'll leave you and Brother to discuss the fund-raiser. Thomas, I need you to show me where you put Lillie's hair ribbons.”

It was more of an order than a request for help, but seeing the worry in her eyes, Thomas rose. With a nod to the black man and a long, level look at Marsh, he followed Prudence and Lillian from the room.

“I asked you not to start anything,” Prudence murmured as they went down the hall toward their rooms.

“I remember.”

“Yet you were baiting him.”

“What ‘baitin'' mean?” Lillian asked.

“Why, Thomas? What do you hope to gain by making him your enemy?”

“Who him?”

“He, Lillie,” Prudence said in exasperation. “Who
is
he
?”

“That what I ask.”

Reaching past Lillian, Thomas stroked a hand down Prudence Lincoln's tense back. “You worry too much,
Eho'nehevehohtse.
And he is already my enemy because he frightened you. I only wanted him to know I will be watching him.”

“You talkin' 'bout Mistuh Marsh, ain't you?”

“
Aren't you
, and this doesn't concern you, Lillie.”

“'Course not. I jist a po' no 'count blind black girl. Don't mind me.”

“That,
Katse'e
,” Thomas said, giving the girl's shoulder a thump, “is baiting.”

T
hey spent the rest of the morning shopping. Although she and Thomas hadn't discussed what to do about Lillie—whether to take her back to Schuler or on to Heartbreak Creek—Pru could see the child needed a warm winter coat to replace her castoff from one of the older children at the Friends school. She also wanted to use shopping as an excuse to stay away from the hotel so there would be no repeat of the breakfast confrontation between Marsh and Thomas.

She knew the Cheyenne only wanted to shield her from harm. Even as they walked, he kept turning his head to look behind them, as if expecting to see March leap out of an alley. Having lost his wife and son years ago in a senseless act of violence, he had become overly protective of the people he now considered his “tribe”—his friends in Heartbreak Creek, her, and now, apparently, Lillie, too. The bond between the solemn warrior and the blind child was already strong, and Pru doubted Thomas would leave the girl behind when he returned to Colorado. She hoped not. They probably needed Lillie as much as she needed them.

“While we're out, there's a bookstore I would like to visit,” she said, trying to ignore the way women looked at Thomas as they walked by. The man had a way about him that made heads turn. And he knew it, judging by that devilish grin he sent her over Lillie's head.

Pretending indifference, she feigned admiration for the Christmas items already on display in storefront windows and the wreaths and garlands hanging on shopkeepers' doors. In truth, the colorful decorations soured her mood, bringing to mind unpleasant memories of Christmases back at Rose Hill Plantation in Louisiana.

Her white father, Charles Whitney, always tried to include her and her slave-born mother, Ester, in the yuletide celebrations. But Pricilla Whitney, his wife and the mother of Pru's half sister, Edwina, ruined the festivities with her erratic behavior and daily tantrums. It all came to a head on the Christmas Eve when Pru was seven and Edwina six. Thrown into a rage over a pitcher of spilled milk, Mrs. Whitney had begun to shriek and beat her daughter so hard the switch left bloody marks across the back of Edwina's dress. When Pru tried to intervene, a pot of scalding water had spilled over her, leaving her with the scars she bore today. They never knew if it was an accident or a deliberate act, but thereafter, Christmases were barely marked at Rose Hill.

But she wouldn't let those sad memories ruin Lillie's Christmas, or her own fun in finding the perfect gifts for the child and Thomas. She had already begun teaching Lillie the embossed alphabet of the Braille six-dot method of reading and writing, and with the recent French invention of the Braille keyboard printer, she was hoping to find a book Lillie could read . . . a more appropriate form of entertainment than eavesdropping.

They stopped by the dry goods store first, where they picked out a coat, mittens, a soft woolen scarf, and a sturdy pair of shoes for Lillie. Thomas paid for it: apparently Ash had paid him very well. They gave Lillie those purchases in the store—much to her squealing delight—but Pru also purchased warm stockings, a new dress, and a thick sweater to give the child on Christmas Day.

They exited the store thirty minutes later, Lillie clinging to their hands and skipping along between them, beaming with pride. “I never gots no new store-bought clothes before. Not of my very own.”

“I never
received any
store-bought clothes,” Pru gently corrected.

Lillie grinned up at her. “Don't worry. Daddy get you some. Maybe a new Christmas dress, right, Daddy?”

“Maybe.” Thomas's dark gaze met Pru's over Lillie's bobbing head. His smile told her he was remembering last night when he had watched her undress for him. “Something without so many buttons and laces.”

Heat rushed over her. Hiking her chin, she looked away to hide her blush. The man could do the most amazing things to her without lifting a finger.

When they reached the bookstore, Pru stopped and turned to Thomas. With elaborate gestures and mouthed words, so Lillie wouldn't hear, she suggested that Thomas take Lillie on to the candy shop several stores down and get her a peppermint while Pru looked through the bookstore for a Braille book.

He waited calmly until she finished, then told Lillie to cover her ears. “Use words,
Eho'nehevehohtse
. You are not that good at sign.”

Pru repeated her instructions.

“You will not leave the bookstore until I return,” he ordered, and, taking Lillie's hand, went down the street.

Pru was delighted to find a primer in Braille for Lillie, and for Thomas, a book about the Corps of Discovery Expedition by Lewis and Clark. She had just paid for her purchases and was heading toward the door when a figure moved up behind her. With a start, she turned to find a man looming over her—Chester Hogan, a black man she had met through Levi Coffin, a staunch activist and supporter of the Underground Railroad.

“Sorry I scare you, Miss Lincoln.” He looked furtively around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. “It time,” he went on in a low voice. “You meet with us at the old machine works behind the depot?”

“When?”

“Tonight. We knows you helping at the gospel meetings in the big tent down a ways. Machine shop not far from it. Just past the depot, in the 'bandoned rail yard. Maybe come during the meeting? Say, seven thirty?”

“I'll be there.”

Pru walked with him to the door. “Is it the man you told me about? The one from New Jersey?”

“Mose Solomon. He a good man, Miss Lincoln. Didn't
hardly do nothing, but they needs someone to blame for them Patenburg railroad riots, and he easy pickin's. Been hiding out, but gots to get moving soon.” He opened the door.

“Then let's do what we can.” Pru stepped outside, then lurched back as a figure lunged past her. Before she could catch her breath, Thomas had Chester pinned against the wall, a forearm across his throat.

“Why do you follow us?”

Chester gagged and clutched at the arm pressing against his neck.

“Stop!” Pru tried to pull Thomas back.

He didn't budge. “Did he hurt you,
Eho'nehevehohtse
?”

“No! He's a friend.”

Thomas looked at her, savagery still showing in his eyes. “A friend?”

“Yes. He came to give me a message, that's all. Let him go.”

Reluctantly, Thomas lowered his arm and stepped back.

Chester sagged, gasping and coughing and rubbing his throat.

“He dyin'?” Lillie asked, white showing around her blank eyes.

“Of course not.” Pru patted the injured man's back as he struggled to catch his breath. “Are you all right, Chester?”

Slowly the man straightened, his frightened gaze locked on Thomas. “Who he? Why he do that?”

“He protectin' us, that why,” Lillie burst out. “He a Cheyenne Dog Soldier and he my daddy. You come after us, he come after you, and kill you dead like a mangy three-legged hound dog. Ain't that right, Daddy?”

“Lillie, please be quiet.” Pru put on a strained smile to reassure the passersby gawking at them. “Chester, this is my . . . friend, Thomas Redstone, from Colorado.”

Thomas gave her an odd look.

“He watches over Lillie and me,” she quickly added, but knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear, either. But how could she explain her relationship with Thomas when she wasn't sure herself what it was?

Chester didn't seem to care one way or the other. He just wanted to get away. Which he did, as quickly as he could.

Thomas watched him scurry off, speculation in his gaze. “If he is a friend, why did he track us like a hungry wolf?”

“He didn't want to be seen speaking with me.”

“He was ashamed?”

“No, it's not that. But it's all rather complicated.” She glanced meaningfully down at Lillie, who stood at his side, rubbing her new mittens against her cheeks. “We'll discuss it later.”

“Yes,
Eho'nehevehohtse
.
We will.”

They were able to avoid Marsh for the rest of the afternoon, and when they went into the tearoom for an early supper, Pru was grateful that only the reverend was there. As they walked over to join him, Pru warned Lillie not to mention the scene outside the bookstore.

“We don't want him to think badly of Thomas, do we?”

“He only protectin' us.”

“Nonetheless, you're not to bring it up. Understood?”

“I a mouse in the cupboard.” Leaning toward Thomas, she added, “They talk less than you, Daddy.”

“Good evening, Brother,” Pru said, stopping beside the reverend's table. “May we join you?”

“By all means.”

After they had ordered and were waiting for their food to arrive, Lillie prattled on about her new coat and gloves and scarf. She would have worn them throughout the meal if Pru hadn't insisted she remove them when the server brought their plates. It was heartwarming—and a little sad—that the girl was so ecstatic over something as mundane as a new winter coat.

“Will you be coming to the meeting tonight?” Brother Sampson asked, his smile including Thomas.

“We look forward to it,” Pru said when Thomas didn't answer.

“I hope you gots singin',” Lillie said through a mouthful of carrots.

Pru gently reminded her not to speak with her mouth full.

“I jist loves gospel singin'. I good at it, too. Ev'rybody say so.”

“The Friends don't sing much, do they?” Brother Sampson asked her in a gentle voice.

“No, but I 'member songs my other mama used to sing.”

“Other mama?”

“The one gone to Jesus. Now I huntin' a new one.” She waved her spoon at her dark mane of untamed hair. “Daddies not so good at making braids.”

Pru could see the reverend was confused. “Lillian has decided that Thomas is her father.”

“My first one sold off long time ago.” Using her left hand to corral peas on her plate, Lillie pushed them onto her spoon, then carefully lifted the spoon to her mouth. Pru was pleased to see only a few escaped to roll across the floor. “Maybe you him. You gots chilrin, Reverend Brother Sampson?”

A wistful smile crossed the black man's face. “I'm sorry to say I don't. But if I did, I think I'd like one very much like you.”

Lillie grinned, peas showing in the gaps in her teeth.

The meal was a short one. As soon as Brother Sampson cleaned his plate, he excused himself to prepare for the tent meeting that evening. Pru insisted Lillie rest, too, and when they finished eating, she and Thomas took her upstairs.

“Will you go with us to the meeting?” Pru asked as they moved down the hall toward their rooms.

“Yes. I do not want you to walk there alone.”

Pru didn't argue. She didn't want him out of her sight, either. No telling what mischief he might get himself into.

When they reached 211, Thomas announced that from now on Lillian would sleep here, in Prudence Lincoln's room.

Pru knew he was right. It was inappropriate for him to share a room with a young girl not of his family. Yet knowing he was not usually one to bother with the rules of deportment, she wondered if there might be another reason for his decision. Was he putting distance between them to make a later parting easier? Or did he plan to disappear on a scouting foray—perhaps to confront Marsh?

The idea pressed like a hand against her throat.

“You not want me no more?” Lillie asked him, her face crumpling.

Pru could see Thomas was unsure how to respond, so she answered for him. “It's lonely in here all by myself. I would feel better if you were with me. And I can braid better than Mr. Redstone.”

Lillie gave that some thought. “You won't sneak off and leave me?” she said to Thomas's belt.

Pru almost snorted.

“I do not sneak,
Katse'e.
If I must leave, I will tell you.”

“Can I still have you knife?”

“No. You will not need it with Prudence Lincoln there.” His gaze flicked up to meet Pru's. A smile teased his mouth. “When I was hurt, she watched over me and kept me safe. And warm. She will do the same for you.”

“But I—”

“
Katse'e.
” He put his hand on Lillie's shoulder. “Have you forgotten your promise to me? Did you not say that you would do what I tell you?”

A dramatic sigh. “All right. But you better not run off, Daddy.”

This time, Pru gave him a knowing look. The child knew him too well.

“I will not. Now take your nap, while I talk to Prudence Lincoln about the man who followed us.”

“Nap?” Lillie huffed indignantly. “I not a baby. I 'most 'leven, you know.”

“You're ten,” Pru reminded her. “But she's right, Thomas. I think it's important that she's aware of what's going on so she won't be confused or frightened. And she'll be discreet. Won't you, Lillie?”

“What that mean?”

“It means you won't repeat what we say.”

“Make her promise,” Thomas muttered.

“I promise,” the girl said. “But first I gots to go to the necessary room.” Turning, she whispered to Thomas's arm, “That mean I gots to pee, Daddy. Miss Pru make me say I goin' to the necessary room instead. Do Indians do they business in necessary rooms?”

“Lillie!” Pru scolded.

“Indians do everything everybody else does,
Katse'e
. But better. Now go with Prudence Lincoln.”

*   *   *

Thomas stood at the single window, waiting for them to return, his face lifted to the sunlight streaming through the dust-streaked panes. Even two floors above the busy street, the sound of so many people and wagons seeped through the glass. The constant noise buzzed in his head like angry bees, adding to his restlessness. He felt trapped in a rabbit warren and wondered how people—white or black—could live this way.