Spirit's Song (26 page)

“Will there be anything else?”

Lynn Dearmond regarded Jesse a moment. “If I’m not mistaken, I think Mr. Thunder would rather have coffee, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked at Effie. “No cream, no sugar.”

With a nod, Effie left the room.

“Kaylynn, pour the tea, won’t you, dear? Mr. Thunder, tell me about yourself. Judging from your name, I’d say you’ve got some Indian blood in you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said, and spent the next hour describing life in the West.

They spent a few minutes talking about the upcoming party, and then Kaylynn stood up. “We should be going.”

“You must bring Mr. Thunder to visit me again,” Lynn Dearmond said. “I should love to hear more about the West.”

Jesse nodded. “My pleasure.”

Kaylynn hugged her grandmother. “Bye, Grams.”

“Goodbye, dear. I’m so glad you came,” Lynn Dearmond said. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Thunder.”

“Just Jesse.”

Lynn Dearmond smiled and extended her hand. “It was nice to meet you, just Jesse.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, taking her hand in his. He smiled at her, surprised to find that he liked Kaylynn’s grandmother very much. Of all the people he had met in the city, she was the only one who had made him feel welcome. Impulsively, he kissed her hand.

Lynn Dearmond grinned. “Handsome and gallant,” she murmured. “You must come back and visit me again.”

“I’d like that.”

Effie was waiting for them at the front door, Jesse’s hat in hand. “I’m so glad you stopped by, Miss Kaylynn,” she said.

“Is she really all right?”

Effie nodded. “Yes, thank the Lord. Seeing you has done wonders.”

“We’ll be back soon. Take good care of her for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jesse smiled at the woman as he took his hat from her, then turned and followed Kaylynn outside.

“So,” Kaylynn asked as they walked down the path to the carriage, “what did you think of her?”

“I like her,” he replied, and it was true. The woman was open and honest, and he valued that.

Shortly after they returned home, Regina came to call with Rodney Farnsworth in tow.

“I know I should have sent word we were coming,” Regina said as she breezed into the parlor, “but we happened to be in the neighborhood, and…” Her words trailed off as her gaze came to rest on Jesse.

She looked, Kaylynn thought, like a hungry cat that had just discovered a bowl of fresh cream.

“Good afternoon, Kaylynn,” Rodney said.

Kaylynn smiled. “Rodney, I don’t believe you’ve met Jesse. Jesse, this is Rodney Farnsworth. Rodney, Jesse Yellow Thunder.”

The two men shook hands.

“Well,” Kaylynn said, “why don’t we sit down?”

“Good idea,” Regina said. “I’d love to get to know Mr. Thunder better.” She smiled at Jesse as she glided across the floor and slipped her arm through his. “I’ve never known a real Indian before,” she said as she drew him toward the love seat. “Do tell me all about yourself. Are you married?”

Kaylynn had a sudden urge to scratch her friend’s eyes out as she watched Regina flirt shamelessly with Jesse. She tried to hear what her friend was saying, but Rodney was telling her all about his latest victory on Trotter’s Row, and how his new horse had beaten all the others. As if she cared.

And then Rodney changed the subject. “Why didn’t Alan come with you?”

“Business,” Kaylynn said.

“Too bad. I was hoping maybe you were tired of him.”

“Oh?” Kaylynn leaned a little to the left so she could keep an eye on Regina and Jesse. Regina was smiling up at him, apparently mesmerized by whatever it was Jesse was telling her.

“Maybe we could go out while you’re here,” Rodney suggested. “Dinner, a play.”

“Maybe,” Kaylynn said. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Regina run her fingertips along Jesse’s forearm.

She was glad when Cora entered the room with the tea cart.

“Thank you, Cora,” Kaylynn said. “That will be all.”

With a nod and a curtsy, Cora left the room.

Pouring a cup of tea, Kaylynn carried it to Regina and thrust it into her friend’s hand. “I don’t remember, Reggie,” she asked sweetly, “do you take cream?”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ravenhawk stood up, stretching. Pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, he looked west, and then east. When Yellow Thunder had turned him loose, he’d been determined to head back to the Dakotas, find a woman and settle down. Now…

He looked up at the bridge overhead. He had spent the night camped in the ravine below the bridge. Once, about midnight, a train had passed over, the shriek of the whistle echoing like a siren call in the night. A call that said,
Follow me
.

He’d never been farther East than Apache Junction. Never seen a big city. Never seen the elephant.

He took a sip of the coffee. Grimacing at its bitterness, he dumped it on the ground.

A man ought to experience the big city just once before he settled down.

Grinning, he doused his campfire and saddled the Appaloosa.

There was a town not far from here. He’d scrounge some money, buy a ticket for St. Louie…

The sound of a train whistle shattered the stillness of the morning. It was an omen, he thought.

He was swinging into the saddle when he heard the explosion.

* * * * *

Alan Summers jolted awake. “What the hell was that?” Sitting up, he opened the window and stuck his head outside. Up ahead, he could see a plume of gray smoke.

“Somebody blew up the bridge!”

“What?” Alan glanced over his shoulder. On both sides of the aisle, people were leaning out of windows, trying to find out what was going on. There was a loud grinding of metal against metal as the train slowly screeched to a halt.

“The bridge! It’s gone!”

“Look! Riders!”

“Damn. We’re being held up.”

Alan swore. A holdup! He looked out the window again in time to see a masked man climb aboard the engine.

Moments later, two masked men entered the passenger car.

“Get your hands up,” one of them ordered, his voice gruff. “Now!”

* * * * *

Ravenhawk urged his horse up the side of the ravine. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening. The train was being robbed. Keeping out of sight, he watched as a masked man hurried the engineer toward one of the cars in the back. Having robbed a train or two himself, Ravenhawk figured the bandits were after a payroll.

The engineer stopped in front of one of the cars farther down the track.

The outlaw pounded on the door. “Open up,” he hollered.

Ravenhawk couldn’t hear the reply of the man inside, but apparently he refused, ’cause the outlaw pounded on the door again, harder this time.

“Open the door, Sam,” the engineer called out. “He’ll kill me if you don’t.”

“Throw your gun out, nice and easy, Sam,” the outlaw said. “Then lay down on the floor with your hands out where I can see ’em.”

A pair of minutes went by, and then, with a loud creak, the car door slid open.

Ravenhawk grunted softly as a revolver skittered out the door to land in the dirt near the outlaw’s feet. Apparently they weren’t paying the guard enough that he was willing to risk his life to protect someone else’s money.

The outlaw ordered the engineer into the car, then climbed in after him.

When both men were out of sight, Ravenhawk crept closer. Peering around the edge of the door, he saw the engineer and the guard sitting against the far wall of the car.

The bandit was cussing as he pushed a small black safe across the floor.

Moving quietly, Ravenhawk climbed inside the car. “Need some help?” he asked.

Startled, the bandit looked up. The last thing he saw was Ravenhawk’s fist.

Moving quickly, Ravenhawk untied the engineer and the guard.

“You two stay put,” Ravenhawk said. “Here.” He slipped the gun out of the bandit’s holster and thrust it into the guard’s hand. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Who are you?” the guard asked.

“No time for questions now. Just do as I said.”

Vaulting lightly to the ground, Ravenhawk made his way to the passenger car. Climbing up on the platform, he peered in the window. The outlaws had their backs toward him. One was watching the passengers; the other was moving down the aisle, relieving the passengers of their valuables.

Drawing his gun, Ravenhawk slowly opened the door and stepped inside the car.

Alan Summers glared at the outlaw, unable to believe he was being robbed. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“I don’t give a damn. Just give me your money. I’ll take that ring, too. And that fancy watch.”

Alan shook his head. “Go to hell.”

Muttering an oath, the bandit grabbed Alan and hauled him to his feet. Alan’s eyes widened as the second outlaw stepped forward and drove his fist into his belly. With a grunt, Alan doubled over, retching, unable to believe that anyone would dare strike him.

“Kill him.”

Alan looked up, his blood turning to ice, as he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

He put up one hand, started to say he had changed his mind, when there was a shout from the back of the car.

Both outlaws turned, guns swinging to bear on the tall dark-haired man standing near the door. There was a blast of noise, the acrid smell of smoke. A woman screamed. The lady sitting across from Alan fainted.

When the smoke cleared, the outlaws lay dead in the aisle.

Taking hold of the edge of his seat, Alan pulled himself to his feet.

“You all right?” Ravenhawk asked.

Alan nodded. “Yes. Thanks to you.”

Ravenhawk shrugged. Now that the excitement was over, he found himself wondering what had possessed him to get involved.

“We’re all in your debt,” Alan said. Closing the distance between them, he offered the stranger his hand.

There was a murmur of assent from the other passengers. Two of the men began returning the stolen property to its rightful owners. Mothers quieted their children.

Ravenhawk shook the man’s hand, then turned to go.

“Wait!” Alan called. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Ravenhawk.”

“I could use a man like you.”

“Oh?”

Alan nodded. “I’m on my way to New York City. How’d you like to work for me?”

Ravenhawk took a good look at the man, noting the expensive cut of his clothes, the thick gold ring on his finger, the diamond stickpin in his cravat. “Doing what?”

“I’d like to hire you to be my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?”

“I’ll pay you ten dollars a day.”

Ravenhawk swore. Ten dollars. A day. Damn. “You just hired yourself a bodyguard, mister.”

Ravenhawk sat back in his seat, his hat pulled down over his eyes. The bodies of the outlaws had been put in the baggage car. The third bandit was in there, too. Ravenhawk’s horse and the horses belonging to the outlaws had been loaded into an empty cattle car. The engineer had thanked Ravenhawk effusively for coming to the rescue. It was a strange feeling, being on the right side of the law.

Closing his eyes, he blew out a breath. The train was going back to the last stop. Word would have to be sent ahead, warning trains coming from the east that the bridge was out.

Alan Summers was mad as hell at the delay. He was in an itching hurry to get to New York City, but this was one time when his money wouldn’t help.

There wouldn’t be any trains coming or going until the track was repaired. The engineer’s best guess was that it would take at least two weeks, maybe three. But if Mr. Summers didn’t want to wait, he could always buy or rent a carriage.

Mr. Summers decided to wait.

Ravenhawk grinned. It might take longer than planned, but sooner or later, he’d make it to the big city.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity as Kaylynn and her mother made plans for the party. Jesse rarely saw Kaylynn for more than a few minutes at a time. Servants scurried around the house, cleaning, waxing, dusting.

To avoid being in the way, Jesse spent most of his time outside. He whiled away several hours talking to the man in charge of the Duvalls’ carriage horses. He went sightseeing, impressed, in spite of himself, by the mansions built by William Astor and A.T. Stewart. Stewart was the largest landowner in the city, the world’s most successful merchant and the proprietor of a huge department store. Jesse had heard Kaylynn’s mother talking about the man one evening. Apparently a man of solitary habits, childless and almost friendless, he was excluded from aristocratic society because he was a tradesman.

He had visited the East River where a bridge was being built that would connect New York with Brooklyn.

But his favorite pastime was riding in Central Park.

He had thought to find seclusion if he rode early in the morning, before breakfast, only to find that that was considered the “fashionable” hour for equestriennes. Perched on a sidesaddle, elegantly togged out in silk hats with flying veils, tightly buttoned bodices and flowing skirts, a crop in one gloved hand, they were like nothing Jesse had ever seen before. No lady ever rode alone. They either rode in groups, attended by a gentleman, or with a liveried groom or riding master.

The “carriage parade” considered one of the sights of the city, took place between four and five in the afternoon. Jesse had seen crowds gathered along the walk that bordered the carriage drive that ran from Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue to the Mall. He had watched one afternoon, listening as a rather obnoxious man kept up a running conversation, pointing out the Jays, Livingstons, Stuyvesants, who were members of the aristocracy. Also evident were the celebrities, notorious and otherwise, the
demimondaines
. Jesse had nodded, pretending to be interested.

His new clothes had arrived. They fit fine. They looked good. But he was uncomfortable wearing them. The phrase a “wolf in sheep’s clothing” came to mind when he looked at himself in the mirror. Kaylynn could dress him up in striped trousers and a silk cravat, but it didn’t hide what he was. His calloused hands, his scarred face, his rough speech set him apart from her set, as did his dark skin and unfashionably long hair.

He knew she hoped her parents would come to accept him, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Oh, they were polite, painfully so. The servants tiptoed around him. He knew they gossiped about him behind his back, speculating on how he had gotten the scar on his face, why he refused to have help when he dressed.

After a week in the Duvall house, he knew he couldn’t stay there any longer, knew that, as much as he loved Kaylynn, he couldn’t stay in New York. He didn’t belong here, and never would.

He watched her greet the friends who came to call. She tried to make him feel at ease, but he was always on the outside looking in. He was ignorant of the books they discussed, the people they knew, the memories they shared. She had told him several times that once she got back to New York she was never leaving again.

It would be hard to leave her, but it was for her own good. She would be better off without him. She was home, where she belonged.

It was time for him to go back where he belonged.

* * * * *

“Leaving? What do you mean?” Kaylynn stared up at him, her dark eyes like bruises in her pale face.

“It’s for the best.”

“Best for whom?”

“For both of us.”

“No!”

“I got a room at the hotel today, while you were visiting your grandmother. I’ll be staying there until the train leaves on Saturday.”

“But the party is Saturday.”

“I’m sorry, Kay.”

“I thought you loved me, that…”

“I thought so, too,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

He watched her eyes fill with pain. Almost, he told her he was lying, that he loved her, would always love her. But a clean break was the best. For both of them.

He watched her blink back her tears. Watched her lift her chin, straighten her shoulders like a soldier about to go to battle. She was a strong woman, with a strong spirit. She would miss him for a little while, and then go on with her life.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” she said.

“Yeah.”

She looked up at him, her heart breaking. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, beg him to stay, tell him… She clenched her hands. She wouldn’t beg. “Well…”

“Goodbye, Kaylynn,” he said quietly. “Have a good life.”

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “You, too.”

Knowing it was a mistake, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, once, and then, slinging his gunbelt over his shoulder, he turned and left the house.

Kaylynn stood in the doorway, watching him go. Then, with a muffled cry, she ran up the stairs to her room. Bending over the commode, she began to retch.