A Love Forbidden (9 page)

Their approach must have been noted from a distance. As they paused before the front door, it opened, and a Ute male walked out. He was of medium height and wore the usual braids, buckskin leggings, and moccasins, and a dark blue trade cloth shirt with a yellow bandanna around his neck.

He extended his arm to Jesse and smiled. “So, are you enjoying escorting this pretty one around to the camps?” he asked in Ute. “You’re the envy of all the young braves, you know.”

Jesse’s mouth quirked wryly as he clasped the other man’s arm in greeting, then released it. “Let them be jealous. It’ll do them good.”

He turned to Shiloh and gestured to Johnson. “This is Chief Johnson. And this,” he added, gesturing now to Shiloh, “is Miss Shiloh Wainwright.”

Once again, she surprised another Ute by speaking their language. “I have heard many fine things about you from Mr. Meeker and am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

Johnson laughed in delight. “Come, come.” He stepped aside and motioned her into his home. “My wives will be happy to have yet another white woman who they can talk with. Susan will be especially pleased.”

Susan was a large, handsome woman, and it soon became evident that she, above all of Johnson’s wives, had the most influence over him. She was dressed in a pale, almost white, mountain sheepskin dress—which Shiloh knew to be a softer, thinner hide than deerskin and far preferred by the women—that was heavily fringed, painted, and decorated with beading and porcupine quills. On her wrists and arms, she wore silver Navaho trade bracelets; around her waist a wide, beaded belt; and on her feet, the usual moccasins.

Though the other wives were dressed similarly, Susan’s garb was the most ornate, and Shiloh knew from the clothing of the women that Johnson was a successful man. She recalled Josie telling her that besides being the medicine man and a powerful chief, Johnson, along with Captain Jack, had been a scout at one time for the US Army. Both men understood a lot about the ways of the US government when it came to its treatment of the Indians and weren’t to be trifled with. She only hoped Nathan Meeker fully appreciated this.

The interior of the house, though simply furnished, had a table to dine upon and crockery and dishes that were neatly stacked on shelves on the wall. A few colorful, woven rugs decorated the floor, and the spots not covered were swept scrupulously clean. Something savory-smelling was cooking over a pot at the fireplace, carefully tended by another woman Shiloh assumed was a wife.

She smiled and offered her hand when Johnson introduced her to Susan and then his other wives. Aside from Susan, the other women were shy and hurried back to whatever they were doing. Susan, however, soon motioned Johnson and Jesse away. Taking Shiloh by the arm, she led her over to sit at the table.

“You speak our language well,” the Ute woman said. “How did you learn it?”

“When I was young,” Shiloh replied, “my parents hired a Ute woman, the wife of Buckskin Joe, one of our ranch hands, to help with the housework and the care of my sister and me. Her name was Kanosh and I loved her. She taught me her language at first by playing games, and later, by conversing only in Ute. In turn, when I was older, I taught her how to read, which, I suppose, was the beginning of my dream to become a teacher.”

“And your dream, as well, to become a teacher for the People?”

“Yes.” Encouraged by Susan’s friendly manner, Shiloh relaxed and continued. “Kanosh had given me so much over the years, and I saw how learning to read helped her and her husband in their dealings with their white brothers and sisters, that I came to realize I might be able to accomplish much as a teacher to the Indians. Especially the Utes,” she added with a grin, “because I spoke their language and understood some of their beliefs and customs.”

“But you’ve not been received well by most of our people, have you?”

Shiloh hesitated. How much should she admit to? Susan appeared to be a forthright woman who, through her husband, likely possessed some influence with the other Utes. And her being the sister of the chief of all the Utes was no small advantage either.

“No, not yet,” she confessed. “But I’ve only just begun, and I know it takes time to win people’s trust. If you’ve any suggestions—besides giving out gifts,” Shiloh added with a chuckle, “I’d be most appreciative. I’m expected to start school by May first.”

“Father Meeker doesn’t always understand the ways of the People,” Susan said, a small frown forming between her brows. “He expects us to change our customs just because he is told by his chiefs to have us do so. But those things take time, if they will ever change.”

“It’s not my intent or wish to change your customs.”

Even as she spoke the words, she struggled with their veracity. Teaching the children to read and write
would
change the Utes. Progress always ended up changing some things. But she hoped learning the written word would help preserve many of the old ways for posterity.

A shrewd look came into Susan’s eyes. “Nonetheless, we both know that with education, change will come.”

“Yes, it will,” Shiloh admitted. “But hopefully only change for the good.”

“Ah, but that is the real question, is it not? Who will be the ones to determine that? The whites or the People?”

Susan had put words to a legitimate fear of the Utes, indeed likely a fear of all the Indian tribes. And, for the most part so far, it had been the white man’s way that had prevailed. Still, though Shiloh was against a lot of the changes forced on the Indians by her own people, there wasn’t much she could do about them. What she had control of, though, she intended to wield with the utmost respect for Ute traditions.

She released a long, slow breath. “All I want to do is teach the children the skills they’ll need, as the life around them changes with the arrival of more and more whites. So that the Utes will possess the knowledge to ensure they are fairly treated. So they won’t be so easily lied to or cheated out of what is lawfully theirs. So that they can take their rightful place alongside the whites in the growth and prosperity of this great nation.”

Johnson’s wife was silent for a time, and Shiloh knew she was carefully considering her words. Had she been too grandiose in her aspirations, sounding like a lot of the men who had promised the Indians many fine things and never meant a word that fell from their lips? She hoped not. It was her dearest wish to accomplish all the things she had spoken of. It was her dearest wish because she truly, and deeply, cared about the People.

“So, what do you think, husband?” Susan asked, glancing straight over Shiloh’s right shoulder to where Johnson and Jesse stood not more than ten feet behind them. “Do you think we should try to help her with this task?”

Shiloh flushed with embarrassment. How had her impassioned words sounded to them and most especially to Jesse? Did he think her a bombastic, lying fool, like so many of her kind? And would he now speak his mind and destroy any chance she might have to enlist Chief Johnson and Susan’s aid?

Instead of immediately answering his wife, Johnson turned to Jesse. “What do you think, Nuaru? Word has gotten around that you knew this woman many moons ago. Do you believe the truth of her words?”

Panic shot through Shiloh. Depending on how he replied, Jesse held the power to ruin all her chances with his people. She stood and turned to meet his inscrutable gaze, trying with all her might to keep the entreaty she felt out of her eyes.

Say what you truly feel, Jesse,
she silently thought.
Say it and be done with it, once and for all.

“I believe,” her self-appointed adversary finally replied, “that she means what she says. I’ve never known her to speak falsely, and I don’t find her changed in that regard from when I last knew her. But I also believe she will not succeed in this undertaking of hers.”

“And why is that?” Shiloh asked, struck with a sudden realization of how to turn his words against him. “Because, in spite of my professional training, you find me ill-prepared for the task? Or because you don’t believe your people are capable of change, even when it’s in their best interests?”

Comprehension of her intent flared in Jesse’s eyes. A smile briefly twitched at one corner of his mouth.

“On the contrary,” he said. “I think both you and the People are up to the task. I just think time,
and
the self-serving agenda of most whites, isn’t on our side.”

“So what do you propose instead? Give up and not even try?” she demanded, struggling to keep the rising irritation at his negativity from her voice. “Time may indeed be our enemy. And there are those who’d like nothing better than to send your people off to the Indian Territory where they hope the Utes will languish and die. But it might not happen if we try to educate the People. And it surely will if we don’t.”

Anger sparked in Jesse’s eyes, but Shiloh was past caring. He had suddenly become the biggest roadblock to her success in getting the school going. And, though she didn’t wish to shame him before his own people, it was time they realized how detrimental his pessimism was.

“Nothing’s lost in trying, is there?” She looked from Jesse to Johnson, and then over to Susan, who’d silently moved to her side. “And there’s so much potentially to be gained.”

“Well, husband?” Johnson’s wife asked. “Will you speak with the men about the school, while I talk with the women?”

Chief Johnson shot Jesse a troubled glance, then slowly nodded. “I, too, have my doubts that schooling will help us, but just as I have tried to change some of my ways to please Meeker, I will also try to convince our people to give this woman a chance.”

In her joyous relief, Shiloh rushed up to Johnson and took his hand, shaking it vigorously. “Oh, thank you. Thank you! You won’t regret this. I’ll honor your traditions as I teach the children. We’ll play Ute games and sing their favorite songs, and when the children learn to read and write, we can transcribe all the old legends—”

Johnson laughed and placed his other hand over hers to still her continued shaking of his hand. “Not so quickly, young one. Though Susan and I said we’d try to help, there’s no surety we’ll succeed. We’ve already attempted to convince the others to take up living in houses and keeping a garden and some dairy animals. And surely you’ve already noticed how little we’ve yet accomplished?”

His words were sobering, but still the pleasure—that she had finally enlisted some Utes of importance to her cause—couldn’t totally be dampened. “Yet you have accomplished something, and when the others see how much food you have from your garden and the dairy animals to tide you through the next winter, they may reconsider. And I’ll teach the children how to grow vegetables by having a school garden, and maybe I can even get Mr. Meeker to give us a milk cow for the school, and then the children can learn to milk and make cheese. There’s a lot of science that goes into cheese making, so they’ll learn many things in the process. It’ll be so much fun, and the children won’t even realize they’re in school.”

“She has much enthusiasm, does she not?” Susan asked. “And Nuaru himself has vouched for her trustworthiness, so I think she’ll be a good teacher for our children.”

“Yes, I think so too.” Johnson motioned to his other wives, who had come in with baskets of fresh fry bread and a pot of stewed meat. “Come, let us sit and eat together. Time later to speak more of your school plans.”

The next few minutes were spent in preparing the table and settling into the chairs. All the while, Jesse was disconcertingly quiet. She supposed he was upset that, despite his efforts to the contrary, she had convinced Johnson and Susan to help her. But what was she supposed to do? Meekly take him at his word that all was hopeless and give up and run crying back home to the ranch?

If he imagined her a quitter, Jesse Blackwater had never really known her. Or, at least, he didn’t understand the woman she’d become. For his own sake, he’d better pay closer attention from here on out. The Ute children weren’t the only ones who were going to get an education.

She might just have a thing or two to teach him as well.

5

The following visit to Chief Douglas’s camp yesterday didn’t go nearly as well, Jesse thought as he brushed his pony the next morning. He’d suspected that Douglas, for all his seemingly friendly overtures to Meeker and the other whites, would eventually find some excuse to turn Shiloh down. And his suspicions were more than amply confirmed.

The failure to pay the Utes for the land they’d ceded to the US government and other treaty failures were just the beginning of the chief’s diatribe, all of it directed at poor Shiloh. Then he’d launched into a speech about the arrears in annuity payments owed the Indians, and the rumors that they were to be moved to a reservation in the hated Indian Territory. To top it all off, Douglas finished with a complaint that Meeker refused to sell them the guns and ammunition they needed to do their hunting, forcing them to buy the weapons off the reservation at greatly inflated prices. All in all, it swiftly became apparent that most of the White River Utes—Douglas included—didn’t particularly like the unbending, rules-and-regulations-driven Indian agent.

What exactly had set Douglas off yesterday was a mystery, but the end result was the same. Shiloh had barely been able to get a word in before or after the chief had begun speaking. And once he was done, he’d stomped off with his wives in tow, leaving her standing there in stunned silence.

He’d been tempted, Jesse admitted as he moved next to picking out small stones and mud from his horse’s hooves, to apologize for Douglas’s rude and inhospitable behavior. Then, on second thought, he’d decided it best to leave things the way they stood.

After all, he’d never intended for her to succeed. And now, with Johnson and Susan’s earlier agreement to assist her, Shiloh’s growing optimism needed a bit of deflating. His plan had always been to get her so discouraged she’d give up and go home.

It was good, as well, that she begin to comprehend the general sentiments the Utes held about Meeker. So far, the point of view had all been one-sided—Meeker’s side. Shiloh couldn’t have a true concept of what she was facing until she began to hear what the People had to say. The
majority
of the People, who didn’t subscribe to Johnson and Susan’s belief that they should learn and live the white man’s way.

“And what’s so serious on such a fine day,” a voice unexpectedly pierced Jesse’s thoughts, “that’d make you wear such a forbidding frown?”

Jesse dropped his pony’s hoof and whirled around. Persune sat atop his black pony, grinning down at him. “Rather, what’s brought you all the way to Jack’s camp?” Jesse asked his friend. “Your wives running out of things for you to do around your own tepee?”

Persune chuckled. “More like the harder I worked, the more they found, so I told them I was going fishing. If the fish are closer to the surface, we can try spearing them.” He motioned to the spear tied to his back. “And if they’re deeper, there’s always the hook and line,” he added, indicating the empty woven grass bag to hold his catch and several handmade fishing lines with bone hooks that hung from his belt. “Care to come along?”

The idea held much appeal. Though they were still eating the venison he’d caught over a week ago, some fresh fish would be a nice change of diet. Still, he had that war shield to mend and a lance tip and knife blade to sharpen . . .

“Yes. I’ll come.” Jesse made his way to his tepee and crawled inside. Ten minutes later, they were riding from camp and headed toward the river.

They didn’t talk much until they reached the river, secured their horses, and tried for a time to spear fish. When that proved fruitless, the two men settled down to line fishing from a big boulder jutting over the river’s rushing waters. The sun was warm, the rock’s surface comfortable, and though the fish didn’t seem to be in any hurry to accommodate them and latch onto their hooks, the time passed pleasantly enough.

“I was away when you brought the red-haired woman to our camp yesterday,” Persune said after a while. “I heard, though, your visit with Douglas didn’t go well.”

At the reminder, Jesse grimaced. “You know how unpleasant Douglas can be when he’s in a foul mood. I don’t understand, though, why he chose to take out his frustrations with Meeker on Shiloh.”

His friend shrugged, pulled up his line from the calm spot of water on the far side of the boulder, glanced at it briefly to see if the hook was still baited—which it was—and then lowered it back into the river. “Sometimes, when the dung gets stacked too high and deep, the heat builds up and the pile finally bursts into flame. For Douglas, this might have been one of those times.”

“Perhaps so.” Jesse sighed. “I just felt sorry for her.”

From the corner of his vision, he saw Persune slant a curious look his way and belatedly wished he hadn’t shared that particular insight. Though they could usually talk about anything and do so without regrets, Jesse instinctively knew he had made a serious blunder. A blunder that was soon confirmed.

“So, you have feelings for the red-haired one, do you?”

Jesse bit back an irritated curse. “No.” He punctuated that reply with a shake of his head. “Or at least not in the way I think you mean. I’d feel sorry for anyone forced to endure Douglas’s wrath. Well, at least anyone not deserving of it.”

“Well, if that’s so, I suppose it won’t matter then that Broken Antler has expressed interest in the woman.”

“What?” Jesse’s head whipped around from the fishing line he was watching. “Broken Antler? What does he want with Shiloh?”

“He wants the same thing several other men want, once they saw her womanly face and form, and of course, that red hair. He wishes to offer for her to become his wife.” As he replied, Persune’s expression was suspiciously innocent. “And he was wondering, if you’re not planning on asking her, what you thought might be a fair bride price for such a special woman. Four or five ponies?”

Jesse clamped down hard on his anger—and a surprisingly fierce surge of protectiveness—and forced himself not to add further fuel to his friend’s curiosity. “Shiloh’s worth a lot more than all the ponies in Broken Antler’s possession. But it doesn’t matter. White courtship customs are different from ours. You
did
explain that to him, didn’t you?”

“How could I? I hardly understand them myself.”

“She won’t have him at any rate. Besides, her family lives far, far south of here. The usual bargaining with the parents would be impossible.”

Persune scratched his jaw. “That would certainly make the courtship more difficult. But perhaps since she is independent of her family now, the choice is but hers. And how can you be so certain she won’t have him? It’s her decision, not yours.”

“Broken Antler already has a wife, and he doesn’t treat
her
very well. Until he learns how, he doesn’t deserve to take a second wife.”

“That may be, but it’s not really up to you or me, is it? After all, you’ve already said you’ve no feelings for the red-haired one. And if you’re so certain she’ll reject him, what does it matter anyway?”

As Jesse sat there, silently fuming as he cast about for some plausible counter to Persune’s comments, the admission that he actually
did
care about Shiloh gradually penetrated his awareness. Maybe not in some romantic way, of course, he hastily clarified, but as someone who was concerned with her welfare. As an old friend if nothing else.

“Just tell Broken Antler to stay away from her,” Jesse gritted out. “Shiloh’s got enough on her hands right now without having to deal with a Ute courtship ritual.”

“Oh, so now I’m the bearer of threats, am I?” The other man gave a disgusted snort. “And should I tell all the others, too, the same thing? That Nuaru says leave Red-hair alone or else?”

Jesse could just imagine a long line of braves waiting their turn to fight him. Not that the consideration concerned him—he was a feared warrior and could likely vanquish most or all of them, one by one. Still, the ludicrousness of such an act did give him pause. He didn’t wish to court Shiloh himself, but he refused to allow anyone else to court her? He had to admit it didn’t make much sense.

He released a frustrated breath. He couldn’t protect Shiloh from every possible occurrence, and this was one of them. She’d just have to deal with it on her own. Which probably—the sudden realization flashed through Jesse’s mind—wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He sincerely doubted she’d accept Broken Antler’s—or any of the other Ute braves’—offer of marriage.

What might happen, however, was that she’d find it yet another reason to cut short this futile and foolish undertaking of hers. The image of Shiloh being visited by one brave after another, a string of ponies and other gifts in hand, filled Jesse with amusement. Indeed, the offers of marriage could be just the thing to help hasten her departure.

“You’ve made a very good point, my friend,” he said. “I don’t have any right to interfere. Tell them all that they should do what they must. And if she rejects them the first time or two, encourage them to return again and again with even more ponies.”

Persune’s crestfallen expression was almost comical, and it was all Jesse could do to keep a straight face. His friend’s response also confirmed a surprising matchmaking streak Jesse had never before noted. Perhaps, in some backhanded fashion, Persune hoped that if Jesse was successful in taking Shiloh to wife, Josie Meeker would more eagerly consider him.

That dream, however, was as doomed to failure as any Jesse could’ve had,
if
he’d chosen to have any. Which he didn’t.

Just then something tugged on the end of his fishing line. Jesse glanced down and saw a flash of silver.

“I’ve got one!” he cried, and set to battling the fish who seemed quite adamantly determined not to be caught. And, blessedly, in the ensuing minutes, further thought of Shiloh Wainwright and the consideration of what a courtship of her would be like fled his mind.

After four initial proposals of marriage, followed by two repeat offers in the course of one week, Shiloh was nearly beside herself with embarrassment. Nearly everyone in the boardinghouse was teasing her nonstop, and it had gotten so she actually dreaded mealtime.

Most of her Ute suitors were polite and kind, and it near to broke her heart to see the slump in their shoulders as she tried, as gently as she could, to explain she did not wish to marry anyone right now. One brave, however, a stocky, hard-muscled man with a long, ugly scar down the right side of his face and cold black eyes only seemed to get angrier each time she turned him down. And she didn’t care for the hungry looks he gave her whenever they happened to see each other.

“When will it stop, Josie?” Shiloh all but wailed one Saturday afternoon two weeks later as they took their daily constitutional down to the White River and back. “Everyone finds this courtship endeavor amusing but me.”

“Well, not a lot happens around here for entertainment,” her friend replied, waving at Frank Dresser and Art Thompson, two of the Agency employees working on one of the storehouses they passed. “Father, unfortunately, isn’t one for dancing or anything as frivolous as drinking, smoking, or gambling. So your goings-on with those Ute braves is quite the talk right now.”