Reckless Desire (21 page)

I gazed at my two sons and my daughter, at my three lovely grandchildren, and felt my heart swell with love for my own children, and for the Virgin Mary’s blessed Son.

Shadow sat beside me, my hand enfolded in his, and when I looked up at him, my heart was so filled with love I thought it might burst.

“‘And she brought forth her firstborn son,’” the Reverend Brighton began, “‘and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. And there was in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord…’”

After the service we spent a few minutes visiting with our friends, wishing them all a Merry Christmas. Hawk, Shadow, and Cloud Walker stood together, looking a trifle uncomfortable as nearly the entire congregation came to greet them.

“Well, what did you think of it?” I asked Shadow on our way home.

Shadow shrugged. “It was…interesting.”

“Interesting?”

Shadow nodded. “Perhaps someday I will read your Bible again. I think I would like to know more about the man called Jesus.”

Smiling, I squeezed Shadow’s arm. He had read our Bible many years ago when my mother was teaching him to read and write. Shadow had been a voracious reader back then. He had read everything he could lay his hands on, the labels on tin cans, old newspapers, my adventure books, a volume of Shakespeare that neither of us understood, my mother’s cookbooks, and Pa’s mail-order catalog. In the years since then, he had not had much time or inclination for leading. I made a mental note to make sure our family Bible was left on the nightstand that night, just in case Shadow felt the urge to read it.

At home we changed out of our church clothes and ate a leisurely lunch before getting ready to go to Pa’s house.

Mary helped me clean up the kitchen while Shadow, Blackie, and Cloud Walker went out to check on the stock and hitch up the team.

It was fun having Mary home again. We laughed and talked as we did the dishes, trying to guess what we were getting for Christmas, remarking on the outrageous bonnet Lydia had worn to church, expressing our happiness at having the men attend church with us.

“I thought the roof was going to cave in,” Mary mused, “the way everyone stared at
neyho
and Cloud Walker.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “This is one Christmas that the whole town will remember.”

We sang Christmas carols on the way to Pa’s house, laughing as our breath came out in great clouds of white vapor. The countryside was exquisite. The land and the trees were covered in pristine white, making the whole world look virginal and new.

Pa’s house rang with happy laughter as our family got together. I had never seen so many presents in my life, and the parlor floor was littered with boxes and paper and brightly colored ribbons by the time all the gifts had been opened and admired: numerous toys for Katherine and the twins, a dainty gold watch for Victoria, a fur muff for Mary, a new shirt for Cloud Walker, a rifle for Hawk, a set of Charles Dickens for Rebecca, a skinning knife for Blackie, a rocking chair for Pa to relax in, a lovely blue shawl for me, a buckskin jacket for Shadow, and on and on. Katherine played happily with the wrappings, her gifts untouched.

“We could have given her empty boxes,” Pa lamented good-naturedly. “Could have saved a heap of money.”

The twins, now two years old, were into everything. They chased each other through the house, played hide-and-seek under the dining table, and generally made nuisances of themselves until Victoria put them down for a nap.

Vickie and I went into the kitchen to help Rebecca prepare dinner. The kitchen was fragrant with the heavenly aroma of baking turkey and mincemeat pie. I peeled potatoes while Vickie made gravy and Rebecca rolled out a mess of biscuits.

The twins woke up in time to eat and we laughed and talked around the dinner table between bites of turkey and sweet potatoes, beans, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and biscuits dripping with butter and honey.

After dinner we each took a turn at saying something nice about the person sitting next to them.

Pa declared Blackie was the best horse midwife he had ever seen. Rebecca pronounced Hawk the owner of the handsomest smile. Victoria said Shadow was the wisest man she had ever known. Cloud Walker said Mary was the best medicine a sick man could hope for. Shadow said I was the best wife a warrior could ever have. Blackie said Cloud Walker was almost as good with horses as his father.

“A high compliment indeed,” Cloud Walker murmured, pleased.

Hawk said Vickie was the prettiest pregnant woman he had ever seen, and we all gasped at this unexpected piece of good news.

“When’s the baby due?” Rebecca asked.

“August,” Vickie replied, smiling at Hawk.

“We’ll have to build a bigger house soon,” Pa said with a sigh. “We’re outgrowing this one.”

“I know,” Rebecca said, grinning happily. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

It was a lovely day. After pie and coffee, we gathered around the fireplace to sing Christmas carols. I stood beside Shadow, my arm around his waist, I silently thanking God for the health and happiness that filled my father’s house, and praying that the future would only bring more of the same.

Chapter Twenty-Four

January 1, 1900, blew in on the heels of a severe snowstorm that kept us all indoors. Blackie was content to sit on the sofa, his nose buried in his veterinary book. Cloud Walker and Mary sat on the floor in front of a cheery fire, dreaming the dreams that all young lovers dream. I sat at the opposite end of the sofa from Blackie, a pile of mending in my lap. And Shadow paced. He hated being cooped up in the house, and he prowled from room to room like a caged tiger, growling at everyone.

“How do you stand him?” Mary asked, grinning at me as Shadow stomped through the parlor on his way to the kitchen. “Doesn’t he drive you crazy?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But he’s always hated to be shut in, always abhorred small spaces.”

It was shortly after noon when Shadow pulled on a heavy sheepskin jacket and went outside—to check on the stock, he said, but we all knew it was just excuse to get out of the house.

I gazed out the window watching the snow fall. It was beautiful. As far as I could see, the earth was covered with a blanket of white. It was 1900, I thought. Imagine. I picked up a newspaper and thumbed through it. An article by Chauncey Depew, a man who had formerly been a railroad president and was now a junior United States Senator, was quoted as saying, “There is not a man here who does not feel one hundred percent bigger in 1900 than he did in 1896, bigger intellectually, bigger patriotically, bigger in the breast from the fact that he is a citizen of a country that has become a world power for peace, for civilization, and for the expansion of its industries and the products of its labor.”

In the same article, the Reverend Newell D. Hillis, pastor of Brooklyn’s Plymouth Church, was quoted as saying, “Laws are becoming more just, rulers humane, music is becoming sweeter and books wiser, homes are happier, and the individual heart becoming at once more just and more gentle.”

I frowned as I read that. There had been cries of outrage when President Roosevelt invited Booker Washington, the country’s most famous Negro, to dine at the White House. Negroes were not allowed to vote. Of course, neither were Indians. I wondered if the Cheyenne cooped up on the reservation would find the laws more just, their homes happier, their rulers more humane. The changing times had done little to ease the misery of life on the reservation. Were we, indeed, more just and more gentle? There were still outlaws roaming the West. Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch were robbing trains. The Apache warrior, Geronimo, was still alive. I smiled as I thought of him. We had lived with Geronimo for a time, Shadow and I. It seemed so long ago that we had lived in an Apache wickiup deep in the wilds of the Sierra Madre mountains. So long ago. In 1894 Geronimo had been sent to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where he attempted farming for a short time, but the Apaches had never been farmers and Geronimo began selling souvenir bows and arrows and pictures of himself to the tourists. It was sad, I thought, that a man who had once been a great leader had been reduced to selling trinkets, that a man who had once roamed the whole Southwest should be forced to spend his last days under the watchful eye of federal troops.

Turning the pages in the paper, I saw advertisements for various household goods and then, on the next page, a pen-and-ink sketch of a horseless carriage. It was a rather ugly contraption, I decided, said to be loud and dirty as it lumbered along coughing smoke and frightening horses and young children. A short paragraph beneath the picture stated there were twelve companies manufacturing automobiles of one kind or another, and it was predicted that the automobile would make the horse and buggy obsolete.

With a sigh I put the newspaper aside. I wasn’t sure I cared for progress. Rising, I went to the closet and pulled out my long heavy coat, a scarf, and a pair of fur-lined gloves. Bundled up, I went outside to look for Shadow.

His tracks were clear in the snow and I followed them, taking long strides so I could place my feet in Shadow’s footprints. The trail took me around the house and then to the barn. As I opened the heavy door, I heard Shadow’s voice.

“Easy, girl,” he was saying. “Easy now.”

I smiled as I realized that one of the mares was foaling. She was a young mare who had been bred early and was giving birth several months before the other mares, who were due to deliver in the spring.

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

“All right, I think. I cannot tell how long she has been in labor.”

For the next hour we sat side by side watching the mare. Once, she scrambled to her feet and walked around for a few minutes, then, very slowly, she lowered herself to the ground again, her legs sticking straight out in front of her, her sides heaving.

“Poor thing,” I murmured. “I know just how you feel.”

When Shadow decided that the mare had been in labor too long, he washed his hands and forearms and then, while I watched in amazement, he reached inside the mare, his arm disappearing to the elbow.

“The foal is not in the right position,” Shadow remarked, his brow furrowed. “I am going to try to turn it around.”

I held my breath as Shadow attempted to turn the foal. The mare remained quiet, her ears flicking back and forth as Shadow murmured to her in soft Cheyenne.

“There!” Shadow exclaimed, and withdrew his hand.

Moments later, two tiny feet emerged, followed by a tiny black muzzle. Another push, and the foal was partly expelled. The mare rested a moment, then gave another push, and the foal was free of the birth canal. The mare whickered to her baby as she reached around to nuzzle it, and I marveled at the beautiful miracle of birth.

A few minutes later the mare scrambled to her feet, expelling the afterbirth. Later, Shadow would check the delicate membrane to make sure none of it had been left inside the mare to cause infection.

We laughed with delight as the newborn foal attempted to stand. It was a filly, solid black save for one white stocking on her left foreleg. The mare made soft, encouraging noises as the filly tried to stand, and eventually the foal managed to get all four legs under herself at the same time and maintain her balance. Shadow dried the filly with a piece of soft toweling, and then the filly began to nurse.

Shadow put his arm around my shoulders as we stood there, basking in the joy of a new life.

“Blackie will be sorry he missed this,” I mused. “We should have called him.”

“No,” Shadow said. “This was a moment for the two of us to share alone.”

“Happy new year, my husband,” I murmured.

“Happy new year, my woman,” Shadow replied, and bending down, he kissed me, a long, lingering kiss that made me forget the cold and the snow and everything else but the joy I found in his arms.

Returning to the house, I saw that Blackie had fallen asleep over his book. Cloud Walker and Mary were wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing rapturously into each other’s eyes. So engrossed were they with each other that they were not even aware of our presence until Shadow noisily cleared his throat. Immediately the two young lovers drew apart. Cloud Walker met our eyes boldly, but Mary glanced away, her cheeks scarlet.

Cloud Walker gave Mary’s shoulder a squeeze and then stood up. I could see by his expression that he was expecting a severe tongue-lashing from Shadow, or perhaps a well-deserved punch in the nose. Neither was forthcoming.

Instead, Shadow smiled at Cloud Walker, his expression one of understanding and compassion. “It is hard to be a warrior,” Shadow said quietly. “Especially when one is young and his blood is on fire.”

Cloud Walker nodded. Taking Mary’s hand, he helped her to her feet. “I love Mary with all my heart,” he said sincerely. “But I am not made of iron.”

“I feel the same,” Mary added proudly. “What are we going to do?”

“That is something the two of you must decide,” Shadow answered with a shake of his head. “Cloud Walker is a grown man. You are a grown woman, with a child to think of. You must make your own decisions. Only remember, the decisions you make now will affect not only your lives, but the lives of those who love you and depend on you. What I would do, what I think you should do, may not be right for you.”

“What would you do,
neyho
?” Mary persisted. “Please tell me. I need to know.”

“I would take my happiness when and where I could find it,” Shadow replied honestly. “But I do not have a young child to consider. And when I first took your mother, she did not have a husband waiting for her.”

“Thank you,
neyho
,” Mary said quietly. “Good night.”

She walked Cloud Walker to the door and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night.”