Wind Song (24 page)

Not that she had any reason to avoid anyone, she told herself. She had nothing to feel guilty about. She had simply fallen asleep. In Luke's bed. Luke's and Matthew's bed, she amended. It was a perfectly innocent act.

She was anxious to begin her classes. That was why she woke that morning feeling like someone had built a fire beneath her. In her.

She was…bored. She wasn't used to so much free time, and that certainly would explain the way her mind had been working lately. She'd never been one to harbor such wanton thoughts. She was far too practical.

So why had she lain in bed in the wee hours of the morning, staring at the darkness and trying to ignore the heat of desire that kept her twisting and turning? She was feeling the same disarming warmth just thinking about it.

Fortunately, she caught sight of Mr. Boxer, and the effect was similar to being doused with ice water.

He was studying a set of plans, along with Colton's sheriff and mayor and the man called Weedler, who from the first moment she met him in Hays had made her feel uneasy. All four men turned toward her as she drove her wagon alongside them.

Mayor Mettle was the first to greet her. "Good morning, Miss Percy. What brings you here so early?"

"I thought I'd check to see how things were coming along. When do you think the school will be finished?"

"No time at all," Mr. Boxer replied. "The only thing holding us up is manpower. But the problem is about to be resolved. Several families will be arriving at the end of the week. Leaving Hays by caravan. Isn't that so, Sheriff?"

"Sure 'nuf is. And you'll be able to meet some of your students."

At the mention of students, Maddie's interest perked. "I can start classes, then?"

Mr. Boxer looked dubious. "I doubt that the school will be ready for another couple of weeks or so."

"But we could still begin classes." She glanced around in search of shade. If she ever had occasion to see another tree, she would be inclined to hug it. A short distance away, the eastbound train whizzed by in a cloud of smoke.

Mr. Boxer offered to give her a walking tour of the town. "That would be most generous of you," Maddie said.

They left the other three men discussing the plans.

Mr. Boxer pointed out the staked ground. "As I told you previously, most towns are built at random. A shop here, a shop there. But this town has been planned precisely so that we don't have two incompatible businesses next to each other."

They walked a full circle along what would become Main Street and headed toward the plot of land designated for the schoolhouse. "Right there will be the jailhouse," he said.

Maddie frowned. "It seems awfully close to the school." It was in fact adjacent to the play yard.

"Close, you say?" He adjusted his glasses. "It will be the museum that will be adjacent to the jailhouse."

"Even so," she protested. "I expect the children to spend a lot of time in the museum. " She glanced at the row of stakes behind her. "Isn't there somewhere else?"

"We can't put the school at the other end of town because then it would be right next to the church."

"I don't see why not. School is not in session on Sundays."

"But there are times during the week that the church may be used. For example, the ladies of the quilting bee might wish to meet at the church."

"I see. But couldn't we move the school down a few doors?"

"Down a few doors?" He looked positively startled. "That would mean we'd have to move the saloon and… Come along. I'll show you the plans."

The rejoined the other men. "Miss Percy is still of the opinion that the school is too close to the jailhouse."

While the men discussed the problem and made notations on the plans, she noticed an Indian sitting on his horse, watching them from a distance. It was Red Feather, she was sure of it, although he was too far away for her to see his face.

As if he sensed her eyes on him, the horseman raced off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. She felt a cold chill as she recalled the last time he had raced off in such a conspicuous manner.

Boxer and the mayor were so intent upon studying the plans, they seemed oblivious to anything around them. Only Weedler seemed to notice the intruder, and the look on his face made her wince. It was not idle curiosity Maddie saw, but hatred and contempt. Aware, suddenly, that she was watching him, Weedler managed to compose himself and turn his attention back to the plans, but she couldn't forget the look of hatred she'd seen a moment earlier on his face.

It was midmorning by the time she pulled the wagon up in front of the soddy.

Matthew ran outside to meet her. He held out his hand to show her a flat rock. Maddie jumped down from the driver's seat and took the rock in her hand. A faint outline of a fernlike leaf had been captured in the limestone rock.

"It's a fossil," Maddie explained. "This leaf was probably from a plant that grew here many thousands of years ago." She handed it back to him. "Where did you find it?"

He pointed in the direction of his father's fields.

"Do you think you can find more rocks just like it?" she asked. "They would be perfect for the museum."

Luke walked from behind the soddy. He seemed pleased to see her. "We missed you at breakfast."

Not wanting him to think that last night had anything to do with her absence, she hastily explained. "I drove out to check on the progress of the schoolhouse. Do you by any chance know a man by the name of Max Weedler?"

"Only that he drifted into town a year or two ago and started a gambling hall. Why?"

"I was just curious."

"Come on, son." He called to Matthew, but his eyes remained on her face as if he were tying to read her thoughts even as she tried to read his. Any hopes she held that her presence in his bed had escaped his noticed were immediately dashed.

There was nothing left to do but to bring the matter out in the open and be done with it. "About last night…"

"Last night?"

"I apologize for falling asleep in your bed." She lost her voice suddenly and was forced to clear her throat before she could continue. "Matthew was still upset by what happened yesterday and asked me to stay." Even though he still couldn't speak, she felt confident in her ability to understand him.

"There was no harm done, as far as I know. Was there?"

Her mind momentarily lit on the memory of his hand on hers, and by the time she'd shaken off the surge of warm blood that coursed through her veins, she'd forgotten the intent of the question. "Was there what?" she stammered.

"Harm done?"

"None that I can think of."

"Then I can't think of any reason why you should apologize."

Nor could she and, in actuality, her apology had only been a ruse to bring up the subject that seemed to be creating a barrier between them.

"Matthew," he called again. "We need to get started."

This time Matthew came running and reached the wagon ahead of his father.

Luke hesitated. "I'm glad we had this conversation."

"You…you are?"

"I would hate to spend the rest of my life wondering if I'd only dreamt that you were in my bed." Judging by the look on his face, this was hardly the kind of comment that came easy to him. Not like some of the men she knew in Washington, whose conversations were rife with provocative innuendoes. Still, he managed an air of composure as he walked away, something that she was momentarily unable to achieve herself.

Maddie watched the wagon roll away, and suddenly she realized how much she had come to care for them both. It was no longer a mater of her wanting him to kiss him, she admitted to herself. She wanted him to love her.

The thought filled her with warmth at first, but it was soon replaced by unsettled feelings. Matthew couldn't talk and Luke wouldn't. There was so much about them she didn't know, didn't understand. Even as frustrating as Luke's resistance to her was, she could feel herself drawing ever closer to him.

Didn't he know that whatever it was that held him captive also held her captive?

Chapter 21

Luke's wagon was but a spot of dust on the distant prairie. Wanting to hold him in her vision for as long as possible, she shaded her face with her hand and narrowed her eyes.

It wasn't until a shadow crossed her path that she knew she was no longer alone.

Startled, she turned and was surprised to find herself face-to-face with the same old Indian woman who had accosted her at the Cheyenne village.

Maddie's hand flew to her chest. "You scared me."

The woman tossed her head in what looked like disgust and shuffled toward Maddie's tipi.

Maddie followed her. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Ignoring the questions, the woman spread the blanket she carried on the ground in the shade of the tipi and lowered herself down. Once settled in place, she pulled a red woven shawl around her thin shoulders and glared at Maddie with eyes as black as obsidian.

"What can I do for you?" Maddie asked again. She glanced in the direction of the Cheyenne village. Holy blazes, where was Lefty when she needed him? "How may I help you?" She punctuated each word with broad gestures but received no response. She might as well be talking to a wall.

The woman continued to glare, but said nothing. Maddie made several attempts to communicate with her. Eager to start her morning chores, she finally gave up.

When Maddie walked to the well for water at noon the woman was still sitting in front of the tipi, and remained there for the remainder for the day. As the day grew hotter, Maddie began to worry about the woman. She took her some water and offered her dry meat and cheese. The woman ate, but refused the water.

The old Indian was still by the tipi when Luke and Matthew returned from the fields. The sun had disappeared behind the distant horizon, leaving a ruby-red glow in its wake. A slight breeze brushed over the land, gently rippling the grass.

Matthew jumped from the wagon and ran to Maddie. She greeted him with a smile, and he surprised her by handing her a wooden bucket that held a dead cardinal.

Startled, she glanced at Luke, who looked as puzzled as she was. "He found the bird today and insisted upon bringing it home."

Maddie stooped down to look Matthew in the eye. "What do you want me to do with this?" she asked softly.

His face remained expressionless, but she sensed some struggle within him. He was trying to tell her something. "Matthew?"

He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his fossil rock.

Understanding dawned, and she straightened. "Oh, I see. You want me to put the cardinal in the museum." She took the bucket from him. He smiled up at her, and she didn't have the heart to explain that the body of the dead bird would decay and not make an appropriate display.

She carried the cardinal back to her tipi, which Luke and his father washed up.

Red Shawl, as Maddie now called her, gave Luke a hard, glaring look before gathering her blanket and shuffling away.

Maddie set the bucket down and ran after the woman. "Wait!" She pointed to the wagon. "I'll take you home."

The woman shook her head and kept walking. Not knowing what else to do, Maddie joined Luke and Matthew, drying themselves with a clean flour sacks she had set out for them earlier.

"Who is that?" Luke asked.

"I'm not really certain. I met her when I went to the Cheyenne village."

"What was she doing here?"

"I don't know. She showed up this morning, but I have no idea why. " Maddie scanned the distance. It worried her that the old woman was traipsing across the prairie by herself.

"Something smells good," Luke said.

"Rabbit stew," she explained. "I never saw a jackrabbit before coming here." It surprised her that during her father's trip to the prairie in search of buffalo, he had not thought to capture any of the less impressive but no less interesting, prairie animals for display.

During dinner, Maddie talked about the things she had observed during an earlier walk. "It's the most amazing place, this prairie," she said, breathless with excitement. "I saw a hawk approach the nest of a mourning dove, and the dove pretended to be lame."

Luke listened in the way he had of listening to her, his head inclined slightly, his eyes warm and alive, as if she nurtured some vital part of him. "Pretended? Why?"

"So that the hawk would think it had itself an easy catch. And you know, it worked. The hawk followed the mourning dove, and the nest was saved."

Matthew greeted this news with a wide grin.

Warmed by the joyful look on his young son's face, Luke asked, "What about the mourning dove?"

"She returned a while later without the hawk." Feeling shy before the intensity of his gaze, she turned to Matthew. "Isn't that wonderful news, Matthew?"

Matthew nodded his head, his eyes aglow.

Luke watched his son from across the table. He'd never seen the boy look so happy as when he was in Maddie's company. He watched her every move, seemed to hang on to her every word. Luke couldn't blame Matthew for that.

Lord, she made the prairie sound like some magical place filled with the most wondrous creatures. It amazed him to think how blind he'd been to his surroundings.

"Maybe the prairie wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the infernal wind," he conceded.

"Oh, but that's the amazing part!" she declared. "I've been studying the wind, and I've noticed something. Most of the plants out here depend on a certain wind velocity for the seeds to pop open. Some seeds scatter in the gentlest wind; others require a gale."

Luke gazed at her in wonder. Seen through her eyes even the wind earned respect, if not complete tolerance.

Lord, the wind, the endless grass, the glaring sun--all of it took on new meaning for him because of Maddie.

After dinner, the three of them washed and dried the dishes. Matthew indicated he wanted Maddie to tell him a bedtime story.

"Maybe your father will tell you one." She glanced up at Luke. "I have to work on Matthew's little bird."

Luke looked puzzled. "Work on it?"

"Matthew wants me to display the bird in the museum. Before I can do that, I must prepare it for display."

"You know how to do that?"

She nodded. "I used to help my father in the lab."

She gave Matthew a hug, lit a lantern, and carried it outside. It was dark and still warm, the earlier breeze giving way to the softest whisper of moving air.

She hung the lantern from a stick that stuck out of the side of the sod house. Standing in the circle of light, she balanced a board upon a keg to use as a worktable. She then laid the tiny bird gently in the center of the table and, with knife in hand, made a careful incision beneath the wing.

The knife had been a gift from her father, along with the bottle of arsenic that was used as a preservative. She kept both in a leather case. She had never thought to use the knife or the arsenic until tonight, and it surprised how much her hand shook.

She needn't have been concerned, for her confidence grew after the first incision, and she could almost hear her father's booming voice echoing from the past, guiding her through the many steps that would preserve--without compromising--the beauty of nature.

It was late before she completed the task. Too late to show Matthew what a wonderful addition to the museum the bird was going to make.

She buried the innards and then scrubbed down her workbench and tools.

She then plunged her hands into a bucket of clean water and scrubbed them in lye soap. The light had been turned off in the soddy an hour earlier, and she suspected Luke and Matthew were already asleep.

Nevertheless, she doused her own lantern before stripping off her clothes and lowering herself into the tub of water that she'd set out earlier for her bath. The water was tepid, and she tried not to think of the hot baths back home. Water temperature aside, there was something magical about taking a bath beneath a star-studded sky.

A sound unlike any she had ever heard before floated out of the darkness. Her heart beating fast, she sat up in the tub and listened intently. She soon realized that the soft, reedy sound was coming from a flute.

She reached for a towel and stepped out of the bath. Wrapping the towel around her, she hastened to the tipi.

Shivering, she dried herself briskly and quickly donned a nightgown. The flute stopped and after a while she fumbled in the dark until she found a candle and tinderbox.

Once lit, the candle flickered softly, casting shadows on the tipi walls. She stood at the door of her tipi and stared out into the darkness. Only the usual sounds of night could be heard.

Who was it?
she wondered. Who would wander about at night, playing music beneath the stars? Smiling to herself, she dropped the flap of the tipi in place and reached for her hairbrush.

Upon hearing the flute, Luke had climbed out of bed and slipped on his boots. He stood at the doorway and listened to the clear, melodious tune. All too soon the music stopped. Wanting it to continue, he stepped outside and stared into the darkness.

The sound of a horse galloping across the prairie told him it was probably one of the Cheyenne. White men would follow the road. Indians, however, seemed to have no qualms about cutting through the grasslands and following the natural trails, even at night.

Spotting the glimmer of light from the side of the house, he closed the door softly behind him and walked toward the tipi. Maybe Maddie would know the name of the musician.

He stopped in mid-step when he saw her shadow play across the walls of the tipi. She was brushing her hair.

He'd not been able to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about the night she'd shared his bed. How she had changed everything. How the endless lonely prairie, the ugly sod house, the ever-threatening sky had suddenly become a treasure to cherish.

And Matthew--Oh, God, Matthew. Even he had changed. How it did Luke's heart good to see his son smile again and laugh, to see color in Matthew's bright young face and excitement in his eyes.

Love. The word hugged him in a cocoon of longing and need. But it was a fleeting warmth at best. He feared love as he feared hate. Both could be dangerous to a man like him. Isn't that what he had been brought up to believe?

Still, as he stood watching her brush her hair, it was hard to conceive that anything he felt for this woman could be the least bit dangerous. Certainly not the love he felt. No sooner had he put his feelings into words than he was overcome by disbelief.

Lord, it can't be love. All these warm, puzzling, wonderful, frightening feelings…can't be love. He could never--must never--allow himself to love.