Home by Morning (8 page)

One more day. Then everything would be fine.

“Come along then,” she said, hurrying their pace. “We can have an early supper at the hotel before we leave for our last gospel meeting.”

*   *   *

Thomas chewed thoughtfully, his gaze drawn to the people and wagons moving past the dining room window. The noise they made filled his head, drowning out everything else. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to remember the trill of birdsong, the whisper of wind over buffalo grass, the burble of water in a cold mountain stream. Instead, he heard only the rattle of wheels, people calling to one another, the clatter of plates and glasses. The music of his mountains was distant now, and that worried him.

Laughter broke into his thoughts. He opened his eyes and saw Prudence cutting meat into tiny bites for Lillian. As he watched them, another troubling thought arose. Like the people rushing past outside,
Eho'nehevehohtse
had a purpose. Something to do. Somewhere to be. Reasons to keep putting him off.

But what was
his
purpose?

Forking up another bite of stew, he thought about that.

Throughout his youth, his purpose had been to become a warrior and bring honor to his tribe. When his chief sent him away, his task had been to learn the ways of the whites so he would know how to defeat them. But after his tribe was herded into the government camps, his only duty had been to protect his wife and son. But he had failed at that, too. And in the dark time after he sang their death songs, vengeance had been his purpose and alcohol had fed his rage . . . until Declan Brodie locked him in a cell. After the demons left his spirit, he put aside his Indian ways. He took work as a deputy sheriff and lived among the whites. He sought peace, not war, and he learned that not all whites were without honor.

But he still did not belong.

Then Prudence Lincoln came. He knew from the moment he saw her sitting in Declan Brodie's wagon that she would be
the one to give him new purpose and bring joy back into his heart. She taught him letters and numbers and words. She showed him how to fill the darkness of his spirit with books. And for the first time in many years, he had felt he had a place in this troubling world.

But now she was leaving him, too. She had not said it yet, but he knew.

Panic filled his chest. An unfamiliar feeling. One that left him confused and off balance. Yet he could find no other word for what he felt: fear. He could already sense he was spiraling back into the dark despair of a man who had no sons to follow in his steps, no tribe. No purpose.

He did not want to go back to that place. He did not know if he could crawl out of it again. Or if he would want to without Prudence Lincoln.

“May we join you?”

Startled, Thomas looked up to see the preaching man and Marsh standing beside the table. He sat back, surprised that he had not heard them approach, but comforted by the feel of his knife resting against the small of his back.

“Of course.” Prudence smiled as she spoke, but Thomas saw the fear in her eyes, and in the blank stare of
Katse'e
, too.

“I have good news,” Marsh said, after he and the reverend had ordered food.

“About what?” Prudence asked.

“Your initiative.” Marsh took his time shaking out his napkin and spreading it over his knees. After smoothing it flat with his soft hands, he looked up with that false smile. “I spoke with several people attending the fund-raiser tomorrow, and they're quite interested in your idea of having the federal government oversee the schooling of ex-slaves.”

Prudence smiled at the reverend. “That is good news, isn't it, Brother?”

“Certainly is.”

“There's more.” With a smug expression, Marsh glanced at Brother Sampson. “Shall I tell her now? Or wait until after the gospel meeting tonight?”

“Tell me what?”

A prickle of alarm crept up Thomas's back. He felt a sudden and unreasoning urge to pull
Eho'nehevehohtse
from the room.

Lillian offered a spoonful of mashed potatoes to her doll, then shoved it into her own mouth instead. “What he talkin' 'bout, Miss Pru?”

“I suspect you had best tell her now.” Brother Sampson's big, square teeth flashed in his dark face like a row of short tallow candles. “So she can make her plans.”

Prudence stopped eating and looked at Marsh. Wary. Watchful.

“What plans?”
Katse'e
chased gravy smears on her chin with her tongue. “Nobody tell me nothing 'bout no plans.”

For once,
Eho'nehevehohtse
did not correct her.

The woman came with the food. Marsh leaned back in his chair as she set it before him. “I hope you've practiced your presentation, Miss Lincoln,” he said after the woman left. “Because if all goes well at the fund-raiser, you'll be asked to present it to the Committee on Education.”

Prudence glanced from Marsh to the reverend, her uneasiness fading into a tentative smile. “Truly?”

Thomas felt something cold move through his chest.

Chuckling like a raven over a fresh kill, Marsh leaned forward, his pale eyes fixed on Prudence. “The committee meets in Washington.”

“Washington?” The fork clattered to her plate. Prudence lifted a hand to her throat. And for a moment, before she masked it, Thomas saw the joy in her eyes.

It cut like a blade.

Marsh sat back. “We would have to leave the morning after the fund-raiser to be there before the committee adjourns for the Christmas season. I've already bought tickets for you and Brother Sampson and booked your hotel rooms.” He glanced at Thomas. “I haven't booked yours or the girl's yet, Mr. Redstone, since I didn't know if you would be traveling with us or not.”

Thomas looked at Prudence and saw the broken promise in her eyes, and his heart turned to stone.

“That's very kind of you, Mr. Marsh,” Prudence cut in before Thomas could find his words. “But I haven't yet decided if I'm going.”

“Isn't this what you've been working—”

“And if I do decide to go to Washington,” she cut in, her gaze shifting to Thomas, “naturally, Thomas and Lillie would go with me.”

Thomas sucked in air, not realizing until then that he had been holding his breath. “No,” he said in a voice he did not recognize as his. “We will not go with you.”

“But, Daddy—”

“Thomas—”

“No.” He stood so fast the chair almost toppled to the floor behind him. “You do what you will,
Eho'nehevehohtse
. Lillian and I will go to Heartbreak Creek.” Then, with the sound of their protests ringing in his ears, he left the room.

T
he peas stuck to the mound of mashed potatoes on Pru's plate looked like green warts on a white man's chin. The notion would have made her smile if she hadn't been struggling so hard not to vomit. She didn't want to cause a scene. She didn't want to draw attention to herself.

So, while dishes clattered on servers' trays, and voices rose and fell in a murmuring tide, and the sun slid steadily lower in the sky—she maintained her serenity by stabbing her fork into that mashed potato chin and wishing it were Marsh instead.

How could Thomas walk away from her? Why hadn't he at least given her a chance to explain?

Explain what?
the traitorous voice in her head asked.
That for a moment—less than the time it took to draw a breath—you hesitated?

How could she not
?
Taking her proposal to Washington was the dream of a lifetime.

Your dream. Not Thomas's.

“You're not eating. Are you unwell?”

Pru carefully set down her fork and met Marsh's question with a practiced smile. “Not at all. I'm simply too full to eat another bite.”

Across the table, Brother blinked at her with his sad hound dog eyes. She hated that look. Hated his calm acceptance of Marsh's manipulations and the wrongs she fought so hard to right. Didn't he see what was happening?

Anger rose. Kept rising until something shattered inside. She heard it. Like glass breaking into tiny pieces. And with that thin barrier gone, fury seeped out. Boundless, hot, suffocating. Seeking a target. And like an arrow loosed from a bowstring, it found its mark in Reverend Brother Sampson.

How could he sit there and do nothing? Where was his anger? His outrage? How could he preach so eloquently from his pulpit, yet stand silent while others suffered? Was she to fight this battle alone?

Alone. Always and forever.

The breath went out of her. With her serenity in tatters, shards of the past rushed in to fill her mind. She clamped her eyes shut against the assault, but still, they came. A kaleidoscope gone wild, spinning images faster and faster until she couldn't separate one from another—water and searing pain—Black Sam rising above her—ebony eyes in mahogany faces watching impassively while Lone Tree laughed and kicked and laughed—Thomas walking away.

She almost wept in anguish.
How could you leave me?

“Well then, if we're finished . . .”

With a jerk, Pru opened her eyes and saw Marsh setting his napkin beside his plate, and the chaos faded away. She looked down at the red crescents her nails had left in her trembling palms, and she welcomed the pain.

Marsh pushed back his chair and rose. “Perhaps we should get an early start. This being our last meeting, I've a feeling we'll have a full house tonight.”

“That 'cause Miss Bessie lettin' me sing again.” Grabbing Miss Minty, Lillie hopped down from her chair and waited for Pru to take her hand. “Peoples jist loves to hear me sing, ain't that right, Brother Sampson?”

“You do have a voice, Miss Lillian. Never heard the like.”

“I hopes Daddy hear me. He come back to hear me sing, won't he, Miss Pru?”

“I'm sure he will,” Pru lied.

*   *   *

He didn't.

By the time the meeting began, Thomas still hadn't arrived,
even though he must have known how important it was to Lillie that he be there when she sang.

Battling rising irritation, Pru sat stiffly in her chair behind Brother Sampson, hardly attending the reverend's fine sermon. She felt raw and ragged, her emotions bouncing between exasperation that Thomas would allow his anger to spill out onto Lillian and terror that she would never see him again.

Would he still meet Chester and Mose Solomon at the appointed time tonight? Or had he simply left, as he often did when frustration ruled him?

She'd have to go herself, she decided. As soon as the meeting ended, she would leave Lillian with Bessie Prescott and race over to the metal works, hoping to avoid Marsh and arrive in time. She would have to convince Chester to take Mose to Westfield on his own or risk a delay and ask her contact to find someone else to take him.

One more mess in her wake.

The sermon ended. Brother Sampson turned and said something to Bessie, who was sitting with Lillie and her doll and the other choir ladies on the opposite side of the small stage from Pru. The child was so proud to sit among them. A real gospel singer. But an impatient one. Pru had watched her fidget with Miss Minty and squirm throughout the long sermon. But now her time to sing had come.

Pru braced herself, not knowing what to expect.

Bessie led Lillie over to stand by the podium, then returned to her seat.

Resting a hand on the child's shoulder, the reverend smiled at the faces looking up from the crowded benches that filled the huge tent. “If you haven't heard this little angel sing, then you're in for a fine treat.” He paused when Lillie jerked on his coat. She whispered something, then Brother straightened and looked out over the congregation.

From behind, Pru watched his head turn as he scanned the crowd, then felt a shock when she saw Thomas standing against the back wall beside the entrance flap. When had he arrived?

She smiled, hoping to draw his attention, but he never glanced her way, his attention fixed solely on Lillie. He looked carved in stone.

Brother said something to Lillie that made her bounce on her toes like she did when she was excited—probably because Thomas had arrived—then the reverend faced his congregation once more. “Tonight, our Lillian has chosen a song that has special meaning for all of us. And she sings it for her daddy.”

A murmur rippled through the smiling congregation, although Pru noticed no change in Thomas's stony expression.

Leaving the blind child standing with one hand on the podium and Miss Minty tucked under her other arm, the reverend came to take his seat beside Pru.

“Prepare yourself,” he whispered.

Lillie lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and let the music soar.

“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found;

Was blind but now I see.”

Pru's mouth fell open. It was breathtaking. Like being transported to heaven and hearing an angel sing. Every note so sweet and clear it brought an ache to her chest. She felt uplifted. Reborn. Humbled. By the time Lillie began the third verse, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

“Through many dangers, toils and snares

I have already come;

'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far

and grace will lead me home.”

But when Lillie sang the final verse—the one not written by the original lyricist, Newton, but passed down from one slave to another until it was put on paper in Harriet Beecher Stowe's famous book,
Uncle Tom's Cabin—
sobs broke through the crowd.

“When we've been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun,

We've no less days to sing God's praise,

Than when we first begun.”

Giddy with pride, Pru looked toward the back wall for Thomas's reaction, wondering if he was familiar with the hymn, or knew that it had been sung by the Cherokee as they had been marched along their Trail of Tears forty years ago.

But he was no longer there.

*   *   *

Thomas stood in the darkness outside the tent, his face wet with tears. As the last notes of Lillian's song faded into a hushed silence, he took a ragged breath, wiped his coat sleeve over his eyes, and started walking.

He got as far as the shadows behind the vendors' carts before Prudence ran up behind him.

“Thomas, wait! I need to talk to you.”

He did not want to talk. But after hearing Lillian's sweet song, much of his anger had faded away, so he let her pull him to a stop. “I do not have time for this, Prudence. The black men wait.”

“You still intend to take Mose Solomon to Westfield?”

“I said I would. And I always keep my promises,
Eho'nehevehohtse.
”

His barb struck home. “That's not fair. I didn't break my promise. I never said I would go to Washington.”

“
Nehetome.
You are right. You did not say the words, but in your heart you know the truth. You want to go.”

“Of course I do. If the committee adopts my proposal, it will help thousands of Negroes all over the country.”

Thomas remained silent.

“But I won't go if you don't go with me,” she added firmly.

Yet when he looked into her eyes, Thomas saw the doubt. He sighed, his breath clouding in the air. “That is your decision, Prudence Lincoln. But
Katse'e
and I will not go with you. Nor will we wait here for you to return.”

When she started to protest, he put his hand on her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft and as smooth as the shiny ribbons in her hair. Touching it made his heart kick in his chest. Afraid he would weaken, he took his hand away. “I have chased you as far as I can,
heme'oone
.
I will chase you no more.”

“But—”

“No. I will not fight with you about this, Prudence. But
while I take Mose Solomon to safety, think about what I have said and decide what it is you want. I will do the same. When I return, we will talk again. Now kiss me.”

He waited, needing her to come to him. But when her soft lips touched his, pride deserted him. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he pulled her slender body against his.

He tasted the salt of her tears and wondered if she had shed them because of the strife between them, or because of the beauty and sadness of the song Lillian sang. His desire for her grew. The warm softness of her body drew him in. Her scent lit a fire in his belly. He trembled, his resolve weakening, his mind urging him to do whatever he must to keep her in his arms.

A feeling came into his mind—not a thought, or an image, or even something he could put into words—but a feeling so strong it embraced the whole of his being. He needed this woman. Like air and water and food. And even if she left him tomorrow, she would still hold his heart in her hands until the day the Great Spirit called him home.

With a gasp, she broke the kiss. “We have to stop. People are staring.”

But instead of pulling away from him, she rested her head in the hollow of his throat. He felt the rush of her breath against his skin and wanted to carry her into the darkness.

She let out a trembling breath. “You make me forget all the orderly lessons drilled into me.”

“That is a good thing.” He had to smile, despite his uncertainty.
Eho'nehevehohtse
and her rules. If he ever had the chance again, he would show her that order does not come from rules, but in finding harmony with all living things. If he could teach her that, she would be free of fear forever.

With a soft laugh, she gently pushed him away. “Go. They're waiting. And Lillie will be looking for me.”

He struggled to calm his thundering pulse. It was a moment before he could make his hands let her go. “Tell
Katse'e
I am proud,” he said, once he was sure of his voice. “And that I will return to her.”

“I will. Be careful, Thomas.”

“And you.”

Then, while he still had the strength to leave her, he hurried into the night.

The man named Chester was waiting when he arrived a few minutes later at the abandoned metal works. With him were two sturdy horses and a tall, broad, hairless man who was even bigger than Declan Brodie, the largest man in Heartbreak Creek. His skin was so dark it was hard for Thomas to read his expression in the moonless night.

Chester danced like a new foal, probably nervous because Thomas had frightened him the previous night. He looked around, his feet shuffling from side to side. “It so dark. How you see where you going?”

“
Na'tsehe'stahe.
I am Cheyenne.”

Thomas moved closer to study Mose Solomon, stepping to the side to draw the hulking man's face toward the faint torchlight coming from the area where the tent and food wagons stood.

He wore tattered overalls, the strap on one side held together by a shred of cloth that was the same color as his shirt. He had no coat and shivered when the breeze moaned through the broken windows of the metal works building. There was pride in his stance and a forward thrust to his chin. His hands were big, and made big fists at his side. Satisfied, Thomas nodded.

“Do what I say, Mose Solomon, and I will keep you safe. Do you understand?”

“Yessuh.”

“Do not call me sir. My white name is Thomas Redstone. Will you fight if we are set upon?” Thomas needed to know if he could count on this man.

“Fight?” Chester looked fearfully around. “You 'spectin' trouble?”

“I'll fight,” Mose Solomon said.

“
Epeva'e.
That is good.” Thomas held out his hand in the white man way.

The big black man accepted it. His grip was firm and strong, his palm rough with calluses and broader than any Thomas had ever held.

“You have no coat?” Thomas asked him.

“I be fine.”

Thomas knew he would not be fine. They would have to set a fast pace, and the cold would cut through his thin shirt and make him shiver until his strength ran out. Thomas wore two shirts under his coat, and even he felt the chill.

“They's blankets tied behind the saddle,” Chester offered. “And food in the saddlebags. Maybe even gloves. Headin' north, are you?”

Thomas found not only food and gloves in the bags, but also two pistols and a box of bullets. Apparently, whoever had arranged for Mose's escape was not a Quaker. With his long knife, he cut a slit in the center of one of the blankets to make a poncho for the big black man.