A Love Forbidden (4 page)

She was a grown woman now, though, and would rather die a thousand deaths than slink back to Castle Mountain Ranch because of yet another bout of homesickness and the self-doubts that always seem to hover just below the surface of her self-sufficient, confident façade. Not to mention she’d never hear the end of it from Jordan. No, if it was the last thing she ever did, she’d finish out her year’s contract. By then, she would have made a place for herself here or begun looking for employment elsewhere. She wasn’t about to tuck tail and head home.

Josie entered the kitchen just then, returned from putting the clean dishes back in the cupboard in the dining room. “As soon as you’re finished with those forks and knives,” she said, glancing at the silverware Shiloh held, “we can head down to Chief Douglas’s village by the river. They’re getting ready for the first day of the Bear Dance.”

Though Shiloh had heard of the Utes’ traditional three- to four-day annual ceremony held in late March to celebrate the coming of spring, she had actually never seen one. All she really knew was that the Utes believed that the first spring thunder awakened the bear from his winter’s hibernation, and that the dance would not only placate their friend, the bear, but awaken him for his hunting. The Bear Dance was a time to make new friends and rekindle old friendships. A time to thank the Creator for their surviving another harsh winter and to celebrate the renewal of life with the coming of spring.

Excitement filled her. This was why she had come to the White River Agency. To immerse herself in the Ute life and culture, to gain a deeper understanding of their needs, hopes, and dreams. It was the only way she might have a real chance at effecting any change in them and their lives. The only way she might be able to help them avoid the same sad fate as all the other Indian tribes, relegated to bleak, barren Indian reservations far from their ancestral lands, dependent on the United States government for even the food they ate.

Shiloh quickly finished drying the last of the silverware, placed the pieces in the drawer beside the sink, and put away the dish towel. “Give me a moment to run upstairs and get my coat and mittens,” she said as she untied her bib apron and hung it on a peg near the wall cabinet. “I’ll meet you in the entry.”

“Don’t tarry,” Josie replied. “I want to get us a good spot where we can see everything.”

With a quick nod, Shiloh hurried from the kitchen and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. Morning sun still streamed into her single, white-lace-trimmed curtained bedroom window, making the small space a bright, cheery place. A simple, iron-framed bed covered with one of her mother’s colorful handmade quilts graced the wall catty-corner to the window, and on the opposite wall, a plain little table with a chair served as her desk. Near the door was a chest of drawers with a mirror atop it. Her traveling trunk sat beneath the window, and though it provided a handy seat, the view of the storehouse across the street didn’t encourage a lot of time spent gazing outside.

She had yet to unpack all her books, or hang the few framed prints she had brought with her, or lay out the rag rug beside her bed, but her family photographs already sat on one corner of the table. Putting out the tintypes of her two older stepbrothers—Nicholas and Cord—as well as one of her now-deceased stepfather standing with her, Jordan, and their mother, and the very grainy one of her father, dressed in Union blue, taken just a few months before his death in a battle against the Confederates, was always one of the first things Shiloh did when she was away from home. The photographs were the closest thing to actually having her family with her, and their presence seemed to help lessen some of her homesickness.

She grabbed up the heavy, black woolen coat she’d left laying on top of her trunk and donned it. Briefly, Shiloh considered whether to bring along her knit hat, then decided against it. The day was cloudless, sunny, and no wind blew. She’d be warm enough in her coat, mittens, and wool skirt, in addition to a woolen vest over her pleated white blouse, woolen stockings, and boots.

Pausing before the chest of drawers, she did a quick check of her hair in the mirror. In a vain attempt to contain it, she had pulled back her dark auburn, irrepressibly curly tresses at the nape of her neck and tied them with a black ribbon. Still, as hard as Shiloh had tried to tame the flighty mess, some of the shorter, more wayward tendrils escaped to frame her face.

She inwardly sighed. With the wild mane she possessed, not to mention its color, she was sure to be the center of attention with all the Utes. But it couldn’t be helped. The good Lord had His reasons for everything, and sooner or later even the Utes, who were certainly not used to curly red hair, would get used to it.

For an instant longer, Shiloh’s gaze caught on the silver chain that lay over her buttoned blouse, the silver cross and tooled eagle glinting at her throat. Jordan’s claim that it was sacrilegious to wear the two together echoed in her mind. Was her sister correct in her scathing assessment? Was she pushing the boundaries of good taste and decorum wearing the two together?

After a moment of indecision, Shiloh decided not to hide the necklace beneath her blouse. She was proud of both. Indeed, perhaps they might be of some help in bridging some of the cultural separation between the whites and Indians. If nothing else, the Utes should appreciate her honoring their beliefs by wearing one of their revered symbols.

The walk down to the White River from the Agency took about ten minutes, Josie chattering on about the Bear Dance preparations the whole way. “See that tall fence of sticks and branches?” she asked, pointing to a large circular brush corral between the river and Chief Douglas’s tepees. “The opening to it always faces east, and inside is where the Utes do their Bear Dance. The men and women line up facing each other, and then each line takes two large steps forward and then three small steps back, everyone moving in unison. The men build the enclosure and make all the other preparations, including the feast afterward, to honor the women.”

Shiloh shot her a quick grin. “It’s nice to see that some men, anyway, like to cook. Our own people could stand to learn that custom.”

Josie laughed. “Well, don’t go getting your hopes up that Ute men are any different than white men. In the Ute culture, cooking the food is usually the woman’s job. All the men are expected to do is provide the food. And, aside from protecting his family when the need arises, that’s pretty much all Ute men do. Well, aside from racing their ponies.”

She paused, her smile fading. “My father had such high expectations of changing their ways when he first came to the Agency. He wanted to turn the Utes into progressive, self-sustaining farmers. So far, all my father’s been able to get them to do is dig one irrigation ditch, and to get them to do even that, he had to threaten to withhold their supplies. Now, he just shakes his head and says they’re lazy.”

Unease rippled through Shiloh, and she quickly ignored it. Nathan Meeker’s letter in response to her application for the teaching position had certainly not made mention of such difficulties. He had, instead, written a glowing account of all he’d accomplished since his arrival last July, and all he still intended to do to help the heretofore nomadic White River Utes adapt to a farming lifestyle. His letter had excited and inspired Shiloh, who had always wanted to play a part in helping the Indians of Colorado.

Whether the Utes realized it or not, their days of roaming their beloved mountains were numbered. Since the end of the War between the States, the influx of settlers seeking a fresh start was rapidly growing. And, with the discovery of gold deep in the southern Utes’ territory of the San Juan Mountains of Colorado in 1858, soon followed by the unearthing of additional gold and silver veins throughout the Rocky Mountains, the relentless onslaught of miners had only compounded the problem. The Ute way of life required they have a vast territory to roam in pursuit of game and other food, and the white interlopers couldn’t understand why such a small number of people needed such large amounts of land. Sooner or later, these two opposing ways of life were bound to clash. Unfortunately, past events had already proven that the Utes wouldn’t come out well.

“It takes time—and education—to change long-held beliefs,” Shiloh replied instead. “Surely we can find some common ground on which to build a mutually respectful relationship. The Utes are as much God’s children as we are, after all.”

“Yes,” Josie said with a nod, “they are. Father isn’t very good, though, at hiding his opinion of the Utes as exactly that. Children. And they resent him for that, among other things.”

Shiloh sighed. “The ones I’ve known have been far from childish. They’re kind, friendly, generous people. But they’re also proud and fiercely independent.”

“Oh, you won’t get any argument from me on those counts,” her companion said with a chuckle as they neared the brush corral and a crowd of Utes milling around outside. “I like them very much.”

There was an air of excitement mixed with much laughter and joviality in the colorfully dressed people slowly filing into the enclosure. The women wore moccasins and long, soft, white buckskin dresses covered with buckskin capes that were beaded with porcupine quills and elk teeth, the sleeves of the dresses fringed, as were the hems. Their long, thick, black hair was parted in the middle and either hung loose or in two braids. The men were garbed in heavily fringed buckskin shirts with the traditional V flap in front, and fringed leggings with moccasins on their feet. Some of them decorated their braids with animal fur coverings, and others wore their braids unadorned.

“Those are their ceremonial clothes,” Josie offered. “Usually the men wear trade cloth shirts with their leggings, and the women’s dresses can be a combination of trade cloth and buckskin. When it’s really cold, they add buffalo robes and fur hats or robes made from gray wolf or coyote or badger fur.”

“But not today,” Shiloh added with a smile.

“No, not today. Their buckskin clothes are pretty warm, and it’s not that cold.”

Josie paused to survey the Utes inside the corral. “Oh, good,” she said at last. “There’s Persune. He’s a member of Chief Douglas’s band.” Her mouth tilted upward in a smile. “He’s married, but he keeps asking me to be his wife. He says he loves me.”

Shiloh looked over at her. “And are you going to accept his offer?”

Her companion giggled. “No. Though I like and respect the Utes, I’m not interested in permanently living like one. When Papa’s time here is over, I’d like to travel and maybe find some sort of government work in our nation’s capital. I don’t want to be tied down to any man. Leastwise, not for a long while to come.”

“Me, neither,” Shiloh replied with a resolute nod. “Not for a long while to come.”

Josie grabbed her arm and began to pull her forward. “Let’s go stand with Persune and his friends. The Bear Dance is about to start.”

As they wound their way through the Utes who were beginning to take their seats around the outer edges of the corral—the men sitting on the north side, the women on the south—others moved forward to form the two lines facing each other in the center. Several older Ute men sitting beneath a brush shelter on the western end of the corral began to sing and scrape a short piece of wood down a long, notched stick. The sound was harsh and rasping.

Shiloh knew the notched stick, in the Ute language, was called a
morats
and was supposed to imitate a growling bear. The
morats
was a special ceremonial tool only used for the Bear Dance.

As they neared the spot where Persune stood talking with two other Ute men, one of the men, much taller than his compatriots, turned slightly in their direction. For a moment, he seemed not to take much notice of their approach. Then he abruptly stopped and blatantly stared at them. Or, rather, stared at Shiloh.

An expression of disbelief then shock, as his gaze traveled from her hair to her face to finally rest at her throat, swept over his face. Shiloh felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She had expected some unwelcome gaping at her red hair, but this Indian’s response bordered on outright rudeness. Her eyes narrowed in irritation and, unconsciously, her hand rose to the base of her neck. As her fingers brushed the cross and eagle hanging there, a sudden realization shot through her.

She looked back up at the tall Ute, whose own eyes at that moment lifted to lock gazes with hers. Eyes that were the most intense, rich shade of brown she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d recognize anywhere, even after all these years.

Shiloh’s throat went dry. Her heart began a wild hammering in her chest. And, with the greatest difficulty, she forced a name to her lips that she hadn’t uttered in almost nine years.

“Jesse,” Shiloh whispered. “Jesse . . .”

2

Jesse . . .

He saw her utter his name.
Jesse
. . . A name he hadn’t used since the day he’d ridden into the camp of his mother’s family and asked Captain Jack for a new name, a better name—a Ute name. And, since he had arrived on the cusp of a powerful windstorm, that had been his name ever since.

Nuaru.
Wind.

As he gazed into Shiloh Wainwright’s soft, beautiful green eyes, however, Nuaru knew the past had come rushing back to confront him. Once again, whether he wished it or not, he’d be torn between two different worlds. Torn between Jesse Blackwater, the white side of him, and Nuaru, the Ute.

The admission didn’t sit well with him. Anger stirred then flared into a blazing conflagration. Suddenly, he couldn’t remain there, breathing the same air as the young woman who, by her mere presence, evoked such painful memories.

“I must go,” he said, leaning over to whisper in Persune’s ear. “I feel ill.”

His friend turned, a look of incredulity on his dark bronze face. “But it isn’t permitted. Besides, you’ll disappoint far too many maidens who hope to choose you for the dance. And that, my friend, is not a wise move.”

“I’m well aware of that, but it can’t be helped. I need—”

“Persune!” a feminine voice called out.

Nuaru winced. Too late. Now he couldn’t get away without appearing impolite.

With a sigh of resignation, he turned along with Persune to greet the two women hurrying up to them. Josephine Meeker he already knew, though he tried to give the outgoing young woman as wide a berth as he did her father and the rest of the Agency employees. And, truth be told, he knew Shiloh as well, indeed better. Or at least he had nine years ago, when she was but a girl of twelve.

However, she wasn’t a girl anymore but instead a radiant young woman. True, her long red hair seemed almost as unruly as it had when he had last known her, but the color had deepened to a pleasing shade of auburn. The freckles she had loudly and frequently bemoaned had faded and were but a faint, charming sprinkle across her nose. Her sparkling eyes were a gold-and-brown-flecked green, her skin was pale but perfect, and her lips . . .

With an abrupt shake of his head, Nuaru wrenched his thoughts back to the moment at hand. It didn’t matter what kind of woman Shiloh Wainwright had grown into. She was part of another life. A life he had permanently and gladly turned his back on.

“Oh, I’m so glad I found you!” Josie said just then, glancing at Persune. “This is my new friend, Shiloh Wainwright. My father hired her because she’s a trained teacher and sure to accomplish far greater things with the children than I ever have.”

Persune looked to Shiloh. His hand moved to a lock of her hair that had fallen onto her shoulder. He fingered it curiously before letting it go.

“Very red . . . like a mountain sunset. Pretty.”

Shiloh smiled. “Thank you.”

At his friend’s action and Shiloh’s response, Nuaru felt a surprising stab of jealousy overlaid with a fierce protectiveness. She was just innocent enough to imagine that, even with that hair and pale skin of hers, she wouldn’t be a lure to nearly every Indian brave within a hundred miles of here.

“You’re Nuaru, aren’t you?” Josie next asked, turning to him.

He nodded. “That’s my Ute name, yes.”

She took Shiloh’s hand. “Well, this is Shiloh Wain—”

“I know who she is.”

He supposed he could’ve phrased it more kindly, but for some reason he dreaded what Shiloh would next say. That she’d reveal his white name and set all sorts of questions into motion that he didn’t want unleashed yet again. There wasn’t much he could do, though, to stop her.

Josie glanced from him to Shiloh. “Oh?”

“He’s an old friend,” Shiloh said. “He used to work for my stepfather on our ranch.” She extended her hand to him. “It’s so good to see you again, Jesse.”

Nuaru stared down at her proffered hand for a long moment, then took it and gave it a brief squeeze before releasing it. “Edmund’s a fool to have let you come here. This is no place for you.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Well, to catch you up on things, my stepfather died last year. And, for another, I’m a grown woman now and don’t have to account to any man for what I choose to do.”

“So, you’re not married?” Somehow, that revelation both irritated and pleased him.

“No.”

His mouth twisted wryly. “That shouldn’t surprise me, I suppose. You always were a headstrong, independent sort.”

Shiloh’s chin lifted a notch. “And what about you? If memory serves me, you were always pretty headstrong and independent yourself. Ever find a woman good enough for you?”

“My woman died three years ago of the smallpox. Seems the Agency got hold of some infected blankets, and unknowingly passed them on to a few unlucky Utes. Onawa was one of them.”

“Oh no.” She flushed. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. I shouldn’t have said that the way I did. Please forgive me.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over and done with.” Once again, he turned to Persune. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here.”

His friend’s brow furrowed, and Nuaru knew he was trying to sort through the conversation—both verbal and nonverbal—that had just transpired between Shiloh and him. He needed to cut that line of thought short, or risk some embarrassing questions.

“It was nice to make your acquaintance again, Miss Meeker,” he said with a slight nod. “And you too, Shiloh.”

As he turned to go, however, Shiloh grabbed his arm. “Wait, Jesse. We’ve just met each other again. And there’s so much I want to know about you and your life since . . . since that day you left. When can we meet again and talk?”

He hardened his heart to her sweet entreaty and even sweeter expression. No good was served dragging this out between them. She needed to leave here before things exploded, and they were surely going to do that sooner rather than later. Agent Meeker was oblivious to what was going on around him. All it would take was just the right inflammatory incident and he’d have a full Indian uprising on his hands. And both the half-Ute Nuaru and half-white Jesse Blackwater didn’t want to see Shiloh caught in the middle of it all.

She had been his friend once—his only true friend—and he would never forget how she’d stood up to the foreman that day. How she’d shielded him with her own body, and still bore the faint scar on her cheek of the whiplash she’d taken for him. No, for what she’d done for him that day in the guise of friendship, he would try his best to send her back to where she’d come from. Before it was too late. Before he would be forced to turn his back on her and stand with his people against her and her kind.

“I don’t have the time or interest in renewing old acquaintances,” Nuaru ground out. “That life is over. And with it went our friendship.”

He spun around and stalked away, the harsh rasp of the morats and rhythmic singing following him as he headed across the brush enclosure and out the entrance. But not before he saw the hurt and confusion that darkened her eyes. He feared he’d carry that image with him to his dying day.

As Shiloh watched Jesse walk away, her emotions roiled within as crazily as they had that day he’d ridden from the ranch. More than anything, she wanted to run after him, grab his arm, and force him to turn around and talk to her. To tell her why he now seemed to hate her, and what she had done to cause that. To beg him to forgive and be her friend again.

But pride and a refusal to make a scene before the very people she had come here to help stiffened her spine and quashed what was surely nothing more than a childish impulse. He had all but insulted her, she realized as the haze of pain slowly faded. He didn’t have the time or interest . . .

Shiloh’s gaze narrowed and her hands clenched at her side. The nerve of him! The sheer, unmitigated arrogance! Well,
she
didn’t have the time or interest to spare on
him
, either.

Around her, the scrape of the morats and rhythmic singing took on an almost irritating tone. She suddenly felt hemmed in, smothered. She had to get away.

“I-I think I should leave,” she managed to stammer out, turning to Josie. “I’m sorry.”

Understanding shone in the other woman’s eyes. “It’s all right. Would you like me to walk back with you?”

“No.” Shiloh shook her head. “Stay and enjoy this. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Josie took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Go on then. I’ll check with you later. If you feel up to it by then, I can show you around the Agency in more detail, and even take you to our little schoolhouse.”

“That would be wonderful.” She managed a wan smile. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, Shiloh turned and made her way through the crowd, sudden, unexpected tears filling her eyes. Angrily, she swiped them away. Barely here a day, and already she was crying. And about what? Because a man she used to know—and apparently no longer knew—had rejected her overtures of friendship?

She was a fool, pure and simple. It had been almost nine years since they’d last seen each other, and who was to say what Jesse had gone through in that time? Could she really blame him for wanting to put that unpleasant time at the ranch behind him? Still, he could’ve been a tad more polite in refusing to renew old acquaintances.

Shiloh sighed, glad to pass under the portal of the brush enclosure and head out into the open. It wasn’t the end of the world just because Jesse had briefly reentered her life, then just as quickly departed it again. She hadn’t come here, after all, in the hopes of finding him. She had come to be a teacher to the Ute children and to make a difference in their lives. Jesse or no, that hadn’t changed.

With every step she took back to the Agency, Shiloh’s mood improved. Once before, she had been forced to put Jesse out of her heart and mind. She could—and would—do so again. This time, though, she at least had the comfort of knowing he lived and had found a new and hopefully happier life with the Utes.

“Excuse me, Miss Wainwright.”

Shiloh jerked around, trying to balance on one foot as she tugged off her snow-laden boot in the entry foyer of the boardinghouse. Still deeply immersed in her thoughts on the way back from the Bear Dance, she had failed to hear Nathan Meeker’s footsteps as he exited the dining room.