Wind Song (17 page)

Their eyes locked. "Not much call for furniture out here," he said at last. "Finding wood is a challenge. I carted this piece all the way from New York."

"New York? Is that where you're from?"

He nodded, then leaned over a wooden plank supported by two barrels and ran the plane across the surface.

"Luke…I…"

He glanced up. "May I speak openly with you?" He straightened. "Have you ever spoken less?" So already he had learned that about her. "Not intentionally. It's about Matthew." his face, as if he might fear what she had to say.

A look of wariness crossed his face, as if he might fear what she had to say.

"I think your son is exceedingly intelligent." The lines on his face softened, and she sensed his relief. So this isn't what he thought she'd come to say. What, then?

He wiped his arm across his forehead. "You'll get no argument from me on that score."

"He needs a proper education."

"And you think you can give it to him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Can you teach him to talk?"

"I don't know."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"All right, maybe not."

"What about farming? Can you teach him to farm?"

"No, I can't teach him to farm. But I can teach him to be a better farmer. I can teach him to write."

"You want to teach him to write?"

"And to read."

"My son has a low frustration threshold. The doctors have advised me against putting him in situations that are too difficult or too challenging for him."

"Are you saying that he's not to be challenged?"

"I'm only telling you what the doctors told me."

"I do not frustrate my students. My intention is to teach Matthew only that which he is ready to learn."

"I think I have a better understanding as to how much Matthew is capable of learning." A sigh so deep and urgent as to be almost a sob escaped him. "Maddie…" It was the first time her name sounded natural on his lips. "I appreciate your offer, but I'm afraid it's out of the question." He resumed working on the bookshelves, a clear indication that the subject was closed.

She took a deep breath and, taking her cue, walked out into the dark prairie night.

Chapter 14

The following morning Luke rolled over in bed and tried to make sense of the insistent voice that had roused him from a deep sleep. Once he determined the source, he groaned and rubbed his forehead. Now what? What could she possibly be doing at this ungodly hour?

"One, two, three… Breathe in. Breathe, I said."

He sat up. Was someone having trouble breathing? Next to him Matthew was still asleep. Who, then, could be having trouble?

He slipped out of bed and plodded the short distance to the door.

"One, two, three…"

Cracking the door open, he peered outside. The sight that greeted him made his heart skip a beat. Maddie was doing her usual morning calisthenics, with one small exception; the entire Cheyenne tribe was exercising along with her. Or so it seemed to his sleep-dazed eyes.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped outside to have a better look. He rubbed his eyes and watched as she led the Indians through the most unbelievable contortions imaginable. With her usual supple grace, she stretched her arms skyward, then bent over to touch her toes.

The Indians tried to follow her lead. But they were neither graceful nor supple, and the loud grunts reminded Luke of a hog farm he once had occasion to visit.

Maddie was obviously not impressed. "Breathe!" she called, her voice stern yet encouraging. "You can do it!"

Luke clenched his fists by his side. He supposed he should be grateful that no one's life was in danger, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment. Irritated. Annoyed, perhaps. He had been denied an hour's sleep--and for what? For some potbellied Indians, that's what. He was tempted to work his fingers around that pretty neck of hers and…kiss her!

The thought, coming out of nowhere, did nothing for his already surly disposition. What was he thinking of? The annoying woman was not even his type. He preferred his women demure and ladylike. There was certainly nothing demure or the least bit ladylike about this loudmouthed, interfering schoolmarm. Nothing!

With this last thought firmly in place, he stomped back into the soddy to begin breakfast. In his haste he forgot to close the door gently, and a clod of dirt fell upon the stove. Cursing beneath his breath, he woke Matthew and then started the coffee.

Maddie was still leading the Cheyenne through a series of stretching exercises a short while later when he and Matthew prepared to leave for the field.

Matthew stood by his father's wagon and took in the sight with grave interest.

"Come on, Matthew." Luke climbed up on the seat, but Matthew stayed behind. "Matthew!"

The boy glanced up, but didn't move. Luke felt a sense of dread as he noted Matthew's rigid face grow red. He knew the signs by heart. Had come to dread them.

He hopped to the ground and kept his voice gentle but firm. "Matthew, we need to go. Come on, son."

Matthew's face twisted.

"Son…"

Clearly, Matthew was past the point of reason. His arms flung out wildly as if to ward off an attack by an invisible monster. Luke caught him by the wrists, but that only seemed to make matters worse. Matthew twisted and turned violently until he was fully on the ground, kicking his feet.

It took all of Luke's strength to lift the writhing body in his arms. The boy continued to thrash about wildly as Luke set him upon the seat of the wagon.

Standing in front of the group of Indians, Maddie's eyes were fixed on Luke, who continued to struggle with his young son long after he'd managed to pick him up and carry him to the wagon.

"Ostrich not exorcist," Running Deer complained.

"Exercise." Maddie corrected him without thought.

Upon realizing that twenty-five pairs of eyes were starting at her, she drew her attention away from Luke and stretched her arms upward. "Breathe!"

It was the second time she'd seen Matthew throw such a fit. She was no less startled today than she had been the first time she'd witnessed his uncontrollable rage.

Luke impressed her with the patient way he handled Matthew. Most parents might well have been tempted to give the boy a proper flogging for such behavior. She, for one, would not have been as tolerant as Luke, though she had never found the need to resort to physical punishment.

Still, as shocking as the tantrum was, she'd had enough experience with troubled children to recognize it as a symptom of a deep, possibly serious, disturbance, not the result of a spoiled child denied his own way.

This new insight might explain why Luke was so protective of his son. Would this be why he was so reluctant to let her teach Matthew?

Matthew sat quietly by his father's side, staring into space. The dazed look on his face indicated that the boy had escaped to some inner sanctum. Luke doubted that Matthew was aware of his surroundings.

Matthew's frenzied fit ended as quickly as it had begun. It was like all the others that had occurred in recent months.

The tantrums had started six months after his mother's death and had gotten progressively worse. They usually occurred no more than once a week, but this was the third one in five days.

The violent streak in his son filled Luke with grave concern. Hardly a moment went by that he didn't ponder the implications.

Dear God, did his beloved Matthew have to suffer the same inescapable curse he himself had lived with all these years? How he hated knowing that the son he loved more than life itself showed such violent tendencies at so tender an age.

It took a strong hand to control him. Luke feared that if Matthew were left in Maddie's care, she could be injured should a tantrum occur.

It was for this reason that he was against her idea of teaching Matthew. He seldom let Matthew out of his sight and would certainly never consider doing so for an entire day while he worked in the fields.

He glanced at the boy and knew the worse was over. For now. Matthew sat perfectly still, his eyes gazing into space. Sometimes Luke wondered which was worse, the tantrum or the unnatural stillness that followed.

At least when Matthew was kicking and lashing out, it was a form of communication. But whenever Matthew escaped to that inner place, Luke felt even more inadequate as a father than usual; He felt shut out from his son's life just as he was shut out from society as a whole.

Matthew kept to himself for the rest of the day. Not once did he come over to his father to show him some new insect or other discovery, as was his usual habit.

Luke did notice, however, how many times Matthew stopped to stare in the direction of the soddy. Luke was willing to bet it wasn't home that Matthew was thinking about. It was Maddie.

He considered telling her about the streak of violence that ran in the Tyler family. But almost as soon as he thought it, he changed his mind. If he told her who his father had been, he would have to tell her the rest; he would have to tell her that he himself killed a man with his own two hands. He would have to tell her how his father had raped his mother…how many lives the elder Tyler had taken before he was caught and hung.

He would have to tell her that Matthew's tantrums indicated that he had inherited the same violent tendencies.

Even if he could bring himself to tell her about his own dark deed, telling her about Matthew would be impossible.

He recalled the softness on her face each time she looked at Matthew, the gentleness in her voice. Luke could not remember anyone ever looking at him with such unconditional approval. Certainly not his mother. No one.

He couldn't bear to think of the look of horror that would surely cross Maddie's face if she knew the truth--the fear he would see in her eyes whenever she looked at Matthew.

His first concern was for his son, but he couldn't forget his other responsibilities. He owed it to Maddie to try and discourage her interest in the boy. For her own safety, if for no other reason.

And that's exactly what he intended to do. In fact, he left the fields early for that sole purpose; to explain that he didn't want Matthew to grow too attached to her. She was a teacher; she'd understand.

He should have known better than to think he could march home anytime he felt like it for the purpose of having a serious conversation with her. The truth was, there was so much going on, he had trouble finding her. He couldn't even get into his soddy for the Indians who were packed inside and blocking the doorway.

"What the hell..." He pushed his way through the mass of nearly naked bodies, shouting her name.

"I'm over here," she called gaily from the direction of the woodstove. "What is it?"

What is it?
Gritting his teeth, he peered over the feathered roach on the head of one of the Indians. If she hadn't been so tall, he wouldn't have been able to pick her out.

The tribesman turned to look at him as if he had no right to be in his own house.

"Would you mind telling me what is going on?"

"We're having a nutrition class," she called.

A Cheyenne brave next to him grinned. "Dandelions, good." The Indian held out a plate that was heaped with wilted green, which Luke declined.

"That's the end of our class," Maddie announced. When no one made a move toward the door, she motioned with her hands, and when her students still refused to leave, she appealed to the Indian nearest her. "Flying hawk, please explain that class is over for today. Tell them to come back tomorrow."

Flying Hawk spoke a few Cheyenne words, and everyone started pushing and shoving out the door, their moccasins shuffling against the dirt floor.

"One at a time!" Maddie called out, and presumably the garbled words from Flying Hawk were the Cheyenne interpretation. In any case, there was less pushing and shoving, and Luke, finding himself pinned against the wall, was grateful.