Native Affairs (7 page)

“I think we’ve already covered this ground,” Cindy replied quietly, folding her arms.

Paula threw up her hands. “Okay, okay. What’s next on the agenda?”

“He’s bringing me to meet his grandfather next weekend.”

Paula looked impressed. “Really? He must like you. He’s not much for mixing family and friends.”

“Well, I think it’s really more that he’s doing me a favor. I told him the subject of my paper, and he said that his grandfather knows a lot about the old legends and might be able to help me.”

Paula shrugged. “Still, he didn’t have to volunteer, right?”

“Right,” Cindy agreed, eager to get off the subject of Drew’s idiosyncrasies. She treasured the impression she had of him from their evening together and didn’t want Paula to ruin it. “Did you like the rodeo?” she asked quickly.

“I’m not sure,” Paula replied, popping another cracker into her mouth. “It was different, all right, but the whole place smelled like a stockyard.”

“It
was
a stockyard, wasn’t it?”

Paula thought that over. “I guess it was,” she conceded, giggling. She gestured toward the kitchenette. “Do you want something to eat? I promise I won’t restrict you to these sawdust wafers.”

‘‘No, no. I’m tired and I think I’ll turn in.”

“Okay. Good night.”

Cindy was walking down the hall when Paula’s voice stopped her.

“Cindy?”

Cindy looked over her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to discourage you about Drew. Good luck with him. Really. Somebody’s bound to get through to him sooner or later, and maybe it will be you.”

Cindy nodded slowly and then went on her way to bed.

* * * *

On Monday, Cindy saw the department chairman at Gulf Coast University, who gave her the preliminary information she needed. He also gave her a pass to use the reference room in the library, where she spent the rest of the week, immersed in the extensive folklore section. But despite Cindy’s best efforts to keep busy the wait for the weekend was interminable. She kept wondering where Drew was and what he was doing, if he were safe. It was ridiculous, because he’d been courting danger long before he met her and had managed to survive, but she couldn’t dismiss the nagging feeling that he might be in trouble.

Saturday finally arrived. Cindy was up early, unable to sleep, and was making coffee in the kitchen when the doorbell rang at seven-fifteen. Yawning, Cindy wondered who might be calling at that hour, but when there was no response from Paula’s room she shuffled to the door in her nightgown and slippers.

Drew was standing in the hall, rumpled and weary in jeans, boots, and a wrinkled navy T-shirt. He looked about to pass out on his feet, and he was the most beautiful sight Cindy had ever seen.

“Hello, princess,” he said, his voice low and husky. He opened his arms.

Without a second thought, Cindy rushed into them.

He caught her to him and lifted her off her feet, swinging her in a half circle. With her arms around his neck and her eyes closed, Cindy drank in his presence like a heady draught.

“You feel wonderful,” he murmured, his big hands caressing her body through the thin material of her gown. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his hair, her head still pressed to his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not dressed, I didn’t expect you so early.”

He laughed, withdrawing slightly to look down into her face. “I would have been earlier still, but I didn’t think Paula would appreciate a visitor at three o’clock in the morning.”

“What?”

He ran his finger along the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been sitting in the truck across the street since then, and I fell asleep.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “I should have gone back home to clean up but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Paula emerged from her bedroom, shrugging into her robe. She paused when she saw Drew.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said. “Hi, Drew. Have you taken over the morning paper route?”

He grinned at Paula, and even though it was directed at her Cindy could feel the force of his charm.

“Sorry, short stuff. I just wanted to see your roommate. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

‘‘Well, this is touching, I must say,” Paula observed dryly. “Care to stay for breakfast?”

“No, got to get home and change.” He looked at Cindy. “I’ll be back for you around nine, would that be okay?”

“Fine,” she said, watching him move toward the door.

“So long, Paula.” His voice dropped an octave. “See you later, princess.” The door shut behind him and he was gone.

The silence lengthened as the sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor. The percolator steamed as it finished the coffee, and Paula helped herself to a cup of it before she said quietly, “He’s quite taken with you, isn’t he?”

“I hope so.”

Paula sipped thoughtfully. “I originally thought that this was sort of a one-sided thing. I thought you were fascinated with Drew because he seemed to embody those traits you find so attractive in his culture. But it’s more, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him look so...smitten. And showing up here, at this hour, just to talk to you…” She let the sentence trail off and then cleared her throat. “So where does his grandfather live?” she asked brightly, changing the subject.

“I don’t know. Don’t you?”

“Not any more. When we were kids Drew’s family lived in the old shantytown near the river, but I heard he moved them all out once he began to make some money. His father’s dead now, but he still has some cousins and aunts in addition to the old man.”

“And he supports all of them?” Cindy asked.

“As far as I know. He helps out, anyway, even if he doesn’t keep them entirely. I know a couple of his younger cousins have jobs in town, and one of them is in college. He’s probably paying for that too.”

“He’s very generous with them, isn’t he?” Cindy asked softly.

“But not, I think, with many others,” Paula replied meaningfully, and Cindy was still considering that statement as she removed the bread from the keeper and started breakfast.

* * * *

When Drew returned he still looked tired, but his clothes were fresh and his hair was combed neatly, something she had rarely seen during the time she’d known him. Though cut in a fashionably layered style, his hair was so thick and soft that it flew into bangs and wings around his ears as soon as he moved his head.

“Do I look all right?” Cindy asked nervously, gesturing to her denim skirt and short sleeved sweater.

“Of course you look all right; you look lovely,” he answered, laughing. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’m meeting your grandfather.”

“It’s my grandfather, Cindy, not the Emir of Katmandu,” Drew responded dryly, shutting the door of Paula’s apartment behind them.

“I want to make a nice impression,” Cindy said, smoothing her skirt.

He stopped walking and turned her to face him. “How could you do anything else?” he asked quietly, and she dropped her eyes, touched beyond words.

“Now come along and stop fussing,” he said briskly, bypassing the awkwardness of her reaction. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing the truck but it’s better on some of the roads than the car.”

“Is it difficult to get there?” Cindy asked as they descended the steps to the outside door.

“Not really, but it’s a dirt track for about the last two miles. My grandfather resisted moving to a new house for a long time, but when it became clear that the move was necessary he agreed only on the condition that it be built in the woods. It isn’t exactly the Glades, but I bought the property on a lake near my uncle’s spread and the climate is about the same.”

“The reservations are in the south, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but my people never lived on one,” he answered proudly.

“Have you seen them?” Cindy asked, aware that she was venturing into dangerous territory, but so thirsty for his thoughts that she took the risk.

“I’ve seen Big Cypress, not Dania or Brighton,” he answered, glancing at her as they walked toward his truck.

“What is Big Cypress like?”

“It’s a swamp,” he said bitterly. ‘You don’t think the government would give good land to a bunch of Indians, do you?”

“But it’s reclaimed, and arable, isn’t it? I thought that was a provision of the treaty.”

He paused next to the door on the passenger side of the cab and looked down at her.

“I forgot for a moment that you’re an expert,” he said, smiling narrowly.

“Hardly that,” Cindy responded. “But I know something about Seminole history. It goes hand in hand with studying the literature.”

Fox took her hand to help her up into the cab. He didn’t reply to her statement, and she thought he had dropped the subject until he slid behind the wheel. “Tell me what you know,” he said flatly.

Cindy thought for a moment before she spoke. “The Seminoles are Creeks who migrated from Georgia and Alabama to Florida. The word ‘Seminole’ means ‘runaway’ in Creek. They lived in the Everglades and surrounding areas peacefully until, in the 1800’s, they started harboring escaping slaves.”

“We have always loved freedom,” Fox responded softly, starting the motor and guiding the truck into the stream of morning traffic.

“In 1817 Andrew Jackson invaded Seminole territory, on the pretext of tracking down fugitive slaves, and used that excuse to decimate the Indians. It was the costliest Indian war in U.S. history. Seven generals failed to conquer the tribe, which never surrendered.”

His green eyes sought hers briefly, and then returned to the road. “You’re well informed,” he commented quietly.

“I became fascinated with the history when I began studying the folk tales,” Cindy admitted. “How could anyone fail to sympathize with the plight of such a brave, independent people?”

“Quite a few of your compatriots failed to sympathize with them at the time,” he said tightly, his strong brown fingers tightening on the wheel.

Cindy felt her stomach muscles knotting. “You can’t blame all of us for that, Drew,” she said evenly, trying not to betray her emotion. “Would it be fair for me to hate present day Englishmen because their ancestors starved mine during the potato famine?”

He sighed heavily, pulling to a stop at a red light. “Sorry,” he said huskily, reaching over to cover her hand with his. She smiled at him, and the bad moment passed.

“I’m curious as to why your family is still in Florida,” Cindy said, daring to breathe again. “Weren’t most of the Seminoles removed to Oklahoma during the westward development? The ‘Trail of Tears,’ it was called, because so many died.”

Fox nodded. “All but about fifteen hundred left for the West. The Foxes are part of the group that remained. They never gave up and they never left.”

“Paula said something about that.” She studied his profile as the light changed and they moved forward again. “So I guess you’re a renegade, huh?” she asked him.

He lifted a hand off the wheel and pointed his forefinger at her. “There’s another theory about the origin of the word ‘Seminole.’ Have you ever heard it?”

Cindy searched her mind. “I don’t think so.”

“It comes from the time when the Spanish ruled in Florida, before Jackson and company took over. The story goes that Seminole is a corruption of the Spanish word ‘Cimarron.’ Know what it means?”

Cindy shook her head.

“Wild,” he said, and grinned at her.

 
She believed him.

“Did you really live in a lean-to?” Cindy asked suddenly, remembering something else Paula had said.

He took a left and headed out of town for the open road. “It wasn’t a lean-to, it was a chiksee.”

“One of those open houses used in the Everglades?”

He shot her an admiring glance. “Right. I wanted to see if I could build one from the ground up, and when I got finished I liked it so well I lived there for a while. The chiksee is very well adapted to Florida weather, with a raised floor and a roof of bark and palmetto leaves. But it got kind of buggy in the hot weather and I eventually traded it in for an apartment.” He laughed softly. “I guess I don’t have the stoic endurance of my forebears.”

“You must share my fatal weakness for air conditioning,” Cindy commented, and he laughed again.

They were traveling on a thin strip of paved road through the scrub pines and date palms that comprise most of the vegetation of northern Florida. Occasionally a cypress would sweep its lacy tresses to the ground, creating a cool pocket of shade within its drooping branches, but the landscape was mostly covered by the tough cow grass that could survive for long periods without water. Cindy opened the top button of her lightweight sweater; it was already hot, and promising to get hotter.

“It’s only June,” Fox said, noticing her action. “Wait until August.”

“I think I’d rather not,” Cindy replied faintly. “I melt in the heat.”

“I think it’s heredity,” Fox observed. “Northern Europeans seem to thrive in a cooler, wetter climate.”

This statement made Cindy think of his mother. “You’re obviously very fond of your father’s people,” she said carefully. “Don’t you identify at all with your mother?”