Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed (2 page)

"My lady! Surely you do not ... you do not speak of your dear, departed husband?" The frail, reedy bishop frowned, unsettled by the young widow's sudden outburst. "Why, the man was as near a saint on earth as . . as ..." He paused, searching for Rodrigo's appropriately pious counterpart in heaven.

"Lucifer?" Jenny volunteered the answer, restraining her smile as the thin, prune-wrinkled mouth rounded with shock. The comparison left the bishop speechless for once, and Inez, seeing no help in her husband's bemused, expression, stepped in to offer her apologies.

"My sister-in-law has suffered a great shock, Your Excellency. To be widowed so young, with no children to remember the Duke by ... you must forgive the wild ramblings brought on by grief!"

"Well I ... but, of course, Dona Inez, of course; I myself should have known this. The despair and heartache that follow such a loss can unhinge the best of us. A case of frazzled nerves, no doubt! I recommend rest and prayer, my child-the only two things that will ease your sorrow." He felt a great deal relieved now that they had pinpointed the cause of the widow's strange delusions about her husband.

Over his stooped shoulders, Inez glared a warning at Jenny, and the young girl sensed in the woman's haughty manner a vivid reminder that she was no longer the Duchess nor the mistress of this household.

"Please forgive me, Bishop Cardonez," Jenny replied in a properly contrite tone. A convincing touch of confusion softened her voice as she continued, "I have been under a great strain.

For so many months we thought it was possible that there was a mistake, that he still lived. I must not let my melancholy temper spoil your last hours at El Citadell" She stood, placing the untouched goblet of wine on an exquisite, silver-inlaid table that had been another of her husband's favorite possessions, then curtseyed low, touching the bishop's ring with a respectful kiss. "I do ask your forgiveness, Father, and beg your indulgence to allow me a retreat to my rooms." She lowered her lashes demurely as she added, "I must seek God's guidance for my future path."

The aged man of God beamed now that all had been set right. Alejandro allowed himself a slight smile, knowing full well that Jena sought only to escape the boring company. He could hardly blame her. "We shall miss your presence, my lady, but sympathize fully with your distress. Go with God's blessing, my child, and remember us all in your prayers!"

"Thank you, Your Excellency, I promise to do so."

The half-truth Jenny had told to effect her release from the hall was quickly blossoming into reality. A black, despairing mood had settled over her like a shroud and a building headache thrummed at her temples. Refusing Alejandro's offer to escort her above,she left the room as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

Minutes later she had gained the welcome sanctuary of her suite, dismissed the maid Isabella, and breathed a sigh of relief, as she locked the door behind the girl. In seconds, she swept through the sitting room and into her bedroom to pause before an ornate, full-length mirror that was mounted on the wall of her dressing room.

The black veil came off, discarded on the floor, and the solemn black dress followed, until Jenny stood almost naked but for the thin, sheer chemise of black silk. How many times had she stood in this spot while Rodrigo, his tall, casually elegant body in that very chair, supervised the details of her attire, praising her figure as the perfect form for the Paris-designed gowns he had ordered for her?

Her face in the mirror paled a shade. She fully realized now that he had merely been caring for one of his assets, assuring himself that the objet d'art he'd brought home from London was properly displayed, much like a jewel in a fine setting. Jenny studied the face in the mirror. She could not deny her own beauty, for she was, except for the color of her eyes, almost an exact duplicate of her mother, Mariah. And Mariah was an acknowledged beauty.

What a fool she'd been! Anger mixed with wounded pride within her to form a volatile combination that threatened to explode any second. Tears coursed down her cheeks,and suddenly she realized that the distant sound of sobbing was issuing from her own throat.

She tugged at the heavy gold band that had symbolized Rodrigo's custody of her life, cast it full force at the mirror, and sank to her knees. Her entire body shook as she covered her face with both hands and wept piteously for the lost, innocent love that had brought her here.

Later, when the floodtide of tears had ebbed and she lay on her bed in the still of the night, the realization that she was free finally settled over Jenny. She was no longer subject to any man's whims and, she promised herself solemnly, she would never again be so naive as to place her trust in another's hands.

Free ... the word had such a wonderful sound! She had felt so to a certain extent before her marriage, but now her experiences with Rodrigo's cold dominance had underscored the value of that freedom. Her melancholy lifted as she realized the possibilities that lay open to her. .

To the arrogant aristocrat she had married, she had been nothing more than an ornament, a plaything, a lady to grace his table and entertain those few equally arrogant souls Rodrigo had deigned to associate with. From the beginning of their marriage he had frowned on her interest in nursing, dismayed that her. parents had allowed her to learn such a skill from her mother's old friend, Florence Nightingale. "Leave such disgusting work to those who are suited to it," he had ordered sternly when she had broached the subject. The idea that his Duchess should soil her hands caring for the sick and less fortunate had elicited only his disdain.

She would return to London now and the warm, loving atmosphere of her parents' home, to the hospital work she had found so satisfying. Somehow she must manage to bury the heartbreak of her marriage to Rodrigo, to erase those three wasted years, and look forward to a life in which she would be useful and, most of all, needed!

Sleep finally came that night, though more from Jenny's exhausted emotional state than from physical weariness. Her lids grew heavy as though weights pressed them downwards and she abandoned the attempt to read through the diary she had kept since her marriage.

At last, unable to resist the sweet lure of sleep, she surrendered, and the small, leather-bound book slipped from her fingers to fall at her side.

For a few moments she tossed uncomfortably. Finally she relaxed, dismissing conscious thought, as she slipped into vague dreams, disoriented scenes that shifted often and abruptly like the colors in a kaleidoscope.

Through a shifting white mist, her mind focused on the day she had been married. Pleasant

... she was ecstatically happy then at finally winning her parents' consent to her marriage to Rodrigo.

In what seemed like a split second, a new dream found her in America, racing over the hills near her parents' Montana home, feeling free as the wind as she rode the spirited white mare that had been her thirteenth birthday present. A bloody and divisive war had raged between the North and South, but Montana was peaceful and untouched-a land of cool, clear streams and fresh, mountain air.

She clearly saw the innocence of youth in her own face, the exotic cast of features that would become beautiful as she matured. A mane of jet curls bounced across her shoulders and back as the mare galloped across land r with such graceful speed that she seemed to be flying. She had never returned after that one, golden summer. London had a lure all its own for a young girl rapidly maturing into womanhood. Parties, teas, socials, and trips to the Continent had erased those childhood memories. Then just two months past her sixteenth birthday, Rodrigo had appeared to sweep her off of her feet.

Though the land she saw in her dreams was still Montana, Jenny somehow knew she was not in the past. For moments she was the confused, invisible spectator at a large gathering of Indians. From the tales her mother had told her drawn from a period of living in their midst, Jenny recognized the clothing and stylized forelock only the Blackfoot men wore.

She drifted through the crowd, felt the blazing warmth of a sun that hung like a white-gold fireball in a clear, startlingly blue sky and caught a few words of the language that Mariah had taught her. Faces were solemn, but excitement seemed to boil beneath the surface calm of the assembled Indians.

Attention appeared to be divided between a large, grass-thatched lodge to the left of the encampment and a much larger, open-sided circular lodge fifteen yards beyond it. From the gathering an audible sigh arose as the powerful, compelling sound of drums suddenly filled the air. The pounding rhythm was purposeful, building steadily in anticipation of an event to come. The women of the tribe separated from the crowd and began to move toward the circular lodge, surrounding it and chanting to the insistent throbbing of the drums.

The covering of the other lodge was suddenly cast open, radiating waves of heat, and a group of ten braves emerged. Their bodies, naked but for a brief loincloth of deerskin, glistened in the strong sunlight. The older men of the tribe, already gathered at the ceremonial lodge of the sun, parted to allow the braves to pass, nodding approval at the fierceness of the shouting.

The beat of the leather drums grew stronger, more erratic-a pulsing similar to that of a heartbeat. Excitement and anticipation shifted and swirled like an invisible mist through the gathered Blackfeet spectators. Jenny drifted, her dream-spirit blending effortlessly with .the air to settle among those who sat in the tiered rows of seats within the lodge's perimeter.

Above, the sky gleamed an. azure blue, broken only by poles spaced evenly at intervals to form an umbrella-ribbed, open roof over the coming ritual.

Jenny felt the spiritual mysticism that entranced the braves, the strength of the soul they had gained in the purification ceremonies just completed. One warrior stood out from the others. His tall, lean body was as sun-dark as those of his fellow braves, but his long, wavy hair was oddly light for a Blackfoot, its pale brown streaked golden by the sun.

The elders of the tribe, their own sun-baked chests striped white to memorialize other dances, stepped forward to prepare the dancers for the coming ordeal. Each held two narrow ribbons of rawhide, attached at one end to the center pole of the lodge, the other.

end securely fixed to a razor-sharp piece of bone. .

Two parallel cuts were made on each side of the braves' chests. They remained immobile, completely expressionless even as the sliced muscle flowed scarlet with rivulets of blood.

The cuts were deepened, the bone driven beneath the pectoral muscles to reappear through the parallel cut and be tied to the rawhide.

Finally, the ten stood ranged about the center of the lodge, each literally attached to the roof supports like a live marionette, awaiting the manipulations of an invisible master puppeteer. The drumbeat intensified at a nod from the shaman. The Sun Dance had begun.

Each dancer stepped to the left, moving with the slow, forward twitch of a clock's secondhand. Step-shuffle, shuffle-step, a continuous pattern repeating until each, at his own volition, jerked backwards, straining at the ribboned thongs, stretching agonized flesh into points of red-flowing muscle, then gradually returned to the dance step. Even as Jenny rebelled at the pain they experienced, she watched in fascination, drawn to the inner strength of the light-haired brave. Dream hours slipped by like minutes, and still the ritual of endurance played on.

The lodge shimmered in the undulating waves of heat that radiated from the blood-stained earth beneath the dancers' feet. Frequently a dancer would slip into unconsciousness, hanging suspended by rawhide until the very pain that had made him faint revived him.

Some, driven to end the ordeal, thrust themselves back so violently that flesh yielded and ripped them free of their bonds. They collapsed until helped from the floor to clear the way for those who continued. '

Though Jenny found it hard to accept, she understood that the pain was an offering to the Great Spirit in return for his blessings on the tribe. Torn flesh, ripped muscle, spilled blood ...

these were the utmost human petitions, save sacrificial death, for divine intervention.

Day had passed into night. Finally only two dancers were left. Bone whistles, held to dry lips by trembling fingers, blew short, erratic bursts of ancient melodies. A tall. strikingly dark dancer and his near-blond companion shuffled the circle with the last of their strength, each determined to be the last brave on his feet.

The dark one suddenly threw himself back with an unearthly cry of spiritual ecstasy, tearing his flesh from the secured thongs. The other lasted minutes longer, until he, too, fell. The long, thin rones of rawhide swung gently, almost innocently, against the lodge pole.

Jenny had experienced it all-the tearing, flesh, the smell of bodies broiling under a merciless sun, the pain and sweat, the sight of blood puddling the dust like spilled wine. Sudden blackness obliterated the scene so abruptly that she bolted awake, fighting the twisted bed-sheets, until reality cleared her head and the last fragments of the nightmare were chased away.

The room was dark, but she knew it was her room, far from the sun-baked land where she had witnessed the agonies of the Sun Dance. She ached in every muscle of her body, her skin hot to the touch, as though she had truly experienced the brutal sun of the dream. Even the drumbeat seemed to remain, throbbing rhythmically now at her temples.

With hands that shook, Jenny fumbled through the dark for the oil lamp on the nightstand beside her bed. The room came alive with its glow, familiar as her own reflection in a mirror.

She rose, crossing the room to a mahogany chest and the silver tray that held a decanter of rare brandy. Two glasses, shaped like delicate, stemmed rosebuds, stood next to it, and she filled one with the amber liquid. In her eagerness to blur the all-too-real visions, she carelessly tossed it down her throat, sputtering as the strong drink burned and slammed into her stomach with a jolt.