The Coming Storm (30 page)

“I believe this belongs to you.”

Cole’s left brow raised. His expression turned to one of disbelief. “I figured this to be forever lost. At best, I figured you probably destroyed it.” He turned the book over in his hands as if willing himself to accept it as real.

“I read it,” Takes Many Horses admitted. “I read it several times, in fact.”

Cole nodded and looked up from the book. “It still doesn’t answer my question. How is it that you speak such good English, White Tongue?”

“My father was a white man,” he replied. He noted the look of surprise on Cole’s face. “Does that shock you?”

“You don’t look white.”

Takes Many Horses chuckled and settled down beside the fire with his pemmican. “Which is exactly why I don’t attempt to live as a white. As a half-blood, I’d never be accepted. Besides the fact that I find greater understanding and acceptance living as a Blackfoot, I also prefer the life. At least I did.”

“Things have changed greatly,” Cole admitted. “I never thought I’d live to see the day we’d have a railroad that stretched from one end of the country to the other.”

“Yes, things have changed, and not always for the better. I know the time is coming soon that my people will be imprisoned on reservations without hope of living free. Your nation doesn’t even see us as citizens—we aren’t even human as far as they are concerned. They’d just as soon kill us off with the buffalo. We’re just one more animal to be rid of.”

“I’ve never felt that way, and I’d be willing to bet there are a lot of folks who don’t. I know a lot of good white folks. Mr. Vandyke, for instance. He’s a good man—married to a Blackfoot woman.”

The Indian smiled. “I know. Koko is my sister. I am called Takes Many Horses.” The words came out so matter-of-factly that he hardly realized he’d said them.

Cole’s mouth dropped open and for several minutes he said nothing. Takes Many Horses ate pemmican and contemplated what to say next. He wondered if Cole had any idea how he felt about Dianne.

“I’ve heard many things about you,” Cole finally said. He looked as though he’d been punched in the gut. “Your sister and my fiancee think quite highly of you.”

“And I think very highly of them.”

Cole shook his head. “If you knew who I was, why did you let them keep me prisoner all these months?”

“It seemed the better thing to do. At first, I encouraged the council to let you go, but the leaders were convinced you could be exchanged for our holy man. I tried to explain that it would look good in the eyes of the government if you were released— that keeping you was bad medicine—but they wouldn’t hear me. As time wore on I ran out of excuses to use without making it seem that I had a special interest.”

“So what happens now?” The excitement in Cole’s voice was evident.

“I traded all my ponies, except these two, to obtain your freedom. Now we go home.”

“How long will it take? When will we arrive?”

Takes Many Horses laughed. “It will take at least a week, and that depends on how deep the rivers are and if they’re flooded with mountain snows. And of course we have to be able to avoid the army, who would just as soon see me dead, or other tribes, who would be hostile to letting you go.”

“I just can’t believe it. I mean . . . I was sitting here wondering how I might escape.” He looked at Takes Many Horses and laughed. “I was trying to figure out how to overpower you.”

The warrior grinned. “You couldn’t have fought me and won.”

“Well, now we’ll never know.”

Takes Many Horses sobered. “Dianne loves you a great deal.”

“How is she? Has she changed much? Have you seen her recently?” The rapid-fire questions only served to cut Takes Many Horses more deeply than the journal had. He knew this man cherished Dianne as much as he did.

“She is well. She misses you and has feared for you,” Takes Many Horses said. “I won’t lie. I have strong feelings for her myself. Had your accounts in that book showed anything less than the strongest of faithful love, I would have let you die.”

“Would you have really let that happen?”

Takes Many Horses assessed his heart and knew he probably wouldn’t have killed Cole himself, but he doubted he would have stood in the way of it happening. “I don’t know what would have happened. I wouldn’t have seen Dianne hurt more than she already has been.”

“Hurt? What do you mean? What has happened?”

Takes Many Horses spent the next hour explaining all that had happened over the months since Cole’s capture.

“I can’t believe Bram is dead. It won’t be the same without him,” Cole said, shaking his head.

“Dianne now owns the ranch. She has a great deal of responsibility for one so young.”

Cole nodded. “Yes, but she puts her trust in God. She takes her strength from Him.”

“I know. She has told me so on many occasions. I suppose that’s why our talk earlier today was of such interest to me. I know the Christian way; I’ve heard Bram talk about it many times. It just seems that it’s a hard life—harder than going on without God.”

Cole leaned over and put more wood on the fire. He poked at the pieces with a long branch, then settled back down before answering. “I’ve often heard folks talk that way. I’ve talked that way myself, truth be told. I had a hard time trusting God, because God didn’t seem to care about the things that were important to me.”

“What changed your mind?”

Cole chuckled. “That’s easy. Dianne. Dianne changed my mind. She helped me see that my bitterness and anger weren’t serving anyone, except maybe the devil. Dianne helped me realize there is real power in forgiveness—both being forgiven and in forgiving. There’s also freedom. A real freedom that no one can take from you—not the soldiers or sickness or anything else.”

Takes Many Horses looked away. “We need to sleep.” He stretched out with his robe.

“Who can sleep? How can you sleep knowing we’re on our way back to . . .” He let his words trail off.

“To Dianne?” Takes Many Horses murmured, the pain of his loss so strong that he could barely breathe.

“Sorry,” Cole whispered. “I didn’t think of how it might make you feel. Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I know it couldn’t have been easy, especially since you love her so much.”

Takes Many Horses was surprised that Cole would so blatantly declare the truth. The warrior thought of Dianne—her wavy golden hair . . . her blue eyes . . . her gentle smile. “It’s because I love her that I had no other choice,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. He hoped Selby would ignore it in his excitement. There was no sense in the two men becoming rivals or enemies because of this woman. Takes Many Horses knew how Dianne felt about this man. He wouldn’t interfere.

Portia McGuire ignored the discomfort of the stage. The dust was impossible and so, too, the constant jarring of the rutted road. Nevertheless, she remained completely at ease, as though this were nothing more strenuous than a Sunday outing. To help herself along, she tried to focus on Ned Langford. “So tell me about your family,” she cooed.

“Well,” Ned began, “the family estate is in Baltimore, but my father had a passion for the wild West. When he came out here, he was immediately captivated by the mining industry. He saw the sense of getting involved to broaden his holdings. He bought into several ventures and the rest is . . . well . . . the stuff of newspaper articles.”

Portia fanned herself and laughed lightly. “How very true. I saw in the paper only the day before we left that your holdings were nearly the largest in Colorado.”

“There are a few who have it over us, but not to worry. The Little Maribelle hasn’t yet revealed all of her secrets. I’m convinced she’s got a lot more to give.”

“How exciting.” She looked to Trenton, who sat beside Ned. His seeming disinterest didn’t stop him from watching her, and that made Portia feel very uncomfortable. This Trenton Chadwick fellow was nothing like Ned. He didn’t have the manners or breeding, and it was obvious that he made his way by living on the gambling earnings he won.

“So, Mr. Chadwick, are you anticipating the reunion with your family?”

Trenton narrowed his eyes. “It will be good to see them again.”

“What caused you to be separated?” she asked, hoping to learn more about the man. She’d already made some inquiries into his past, but so far her information had been limited. She would have asked Ned, but the Chadwick fellow would never give her time alone with the man. He followed Langford around like some kind of guard.

“I would have to say the war separated us, ma’am,” Trenton replied. He looked out the stage window as if to dismiss her further questions.

“What of you, Mrs. McGuire?” Ned asked. “Tell us of your family.”

“Well, there is precious little to tell. My father was of course involved in the War Between the States. As the concerns of war came upon us, he was very preoccupied with his duties as a soldier. My mother, however, was concerned that I should not be exposed to such violence, so she was happy for me to marry and live abroad.”

“In Scotland?” Ned questioned.

“No,” Portia said, shaking her head. She fanned herself furiously, as the air in the stage seemed quite stifling. “I married a young man when I was but sixteen. As he had no desire to serve in the war, he took me abroad, where we traveled extensively. Were you in the war, Mr. Langford?”

“No, I did not serve. My father bought my way out. I can’t say I’m overly proud of this, but it eased his mind to know his only son would be safe from the war.”

“But of course,” Portia said, patting his arm gently with her gloved hand. “You did the honorable thing.”

Ned seemed to puff up at this. Portia thought it almost comical. Men were always delighted to be thought of as noble or honorable. She’d learned at a very young age how to advance their egos.

“What of you, Mr. Chadwick? Did you serve?”

“No,” Trenton said, without giving her any other explanation.

“Well, I’m blessed to have you both here, so I cannot help but be glad that you were both spared the horrors of such things. I’ve heard terrible stories from those who did fight.” She gave a ladylike shudder. “Awful to even think of.” She paused for a moment, then smiled. “Life in Europe was quite different from life in America. I sometimes miss it very much.”

“Did you remain abroad throughout the war?” Ned asked softly.

“Yes. My poor husband was killed when a freight wagon ran him over early one morning. They supposed it was the liquor that put my dear Billy into such a stupor. He had no idea what was happening until it was too late. He was very troubled by the circumstances of his life. He’d learned that two good friends had been killed in the war. It caused him to drink heavily. I suppose to forget.”

Ned nodded sympathetically. “No doubt that is true. I’m quite sorry. You’ve known much sorrow in your young life.”

“I was only twenty when he died. The war was still going on in the States, so I remained in London. I took a small house just outside of town and mourned my poor Billy. I was blessed that he left me so well endowed, for the expenses of a single woman are surprisingly many.”

“Did you meet your second husband in London?” Ned’s question was innocent enough, but Portia felt a slight tightening in her chest at memories of Angus.

“No, I was on a trip with friends. I met Angus in Edinburgh. We encountered one another at the party of a dear friend. He was very kind and gentle of spirit.” She paused, hoping the effect would be that she was lost in her memories of the dear man. She needn’t tell either one of them that it was Angus’s bank account that honestly drew her to the ugly little Scot.

“I don’t wish to pain you in the telling of this tale,” Ned said kindly.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to remember Angus,” she lied. “I know I shall always have pleasant memories of both Angus and Billy. They were dear, dear men, and I’ve been so blessed to have known love not once, but twice.”

Trenton coughed and Portia could tell it was due to disbelief rather than the dust. He eyed her with contempt, almost as if he knew the truth about her. But that was impossible, she told herself. Still, he made her uncomfortable. She truly hated people like Chadwick, people who seemed to be able to see beyond her facade. They made her feel cheap and dirty—as if she were somehow harming or offending them personally.

“Angus and I eventually married and remained in Scotland. He had a large estate, and I was quite happy there.” She thought of the incessant stench of sheep dung and the long stretches of misty days and repressed a frown.

“Well, perhaps Montana will see you happy again,” Ned said with great enthusiasm. “I’ve heard it’s a marvelous land with everything a man or woman could ask for. Of course, there is some taming left to do. But that’s true of any territory west of the Mississippi.”

“I’m afraid I could never abide the loneliness and isolation,” Portia declared. “I love the city. The bustle and the excitement make me feel alive. And, of course, I need friends. Friends, I’ve learned, help any grief to seem greatly lessened.”

“So you have no plans to remain in Bozeman?” Trenton asked dryly.

She eyed him carefully. “No. My father will no doubt wish me gone as soon as he hears the news about Mother. He has no lost love for me, nor I for him.”