The Beholding, page 20
“No!” Tess gripped Tommie even more closely and backed down the stairs. “What if he does something harmful to Tom? He doesn’t need my son.”
“Do as he demands,” Luke insisted calmly. “I won’t let anyone hurt your boy, but it might save the girl.”
“I can’t leave him.”
Meade closed the distance between them and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Mrs. Harper. Red Kettle won’t harm your son, but he can be a powerful enemy if you don’t allow him to do what he believes will save her. Your son’s life will be in more danger if you don’t do as the Cherokee asks.”
“She’s dying, Tess.” Luke’s voice quavered.
Tess stared into Tommie’s eyes. “Are you afraid?”
“No, Mommie.”
He looked so small, the Indian so fierce. “Well, I won’t be either then,” she whispered, braver than she felt. “Remember, I’ll wait downstairs for you to come tell me Runs-Too-Slow is all right.” Giving him a kiss and a hug, Tess reluctantly allowed Luke to take him from her arms.
The men disappeared into the room, then Tess took a seat on the davenport in the parlor. Hours ticked by as she waited, straining for every sound, counting every intricate design in the rosewood settee to keep from worrying.
Booted footsteps made the stairs creak and Tess jolted to her feet, bracing herself for whatever news she was about to receive.
Luke stood in the parlor doorway, his face etched in misery.
“She’s not—?”
“Not yet.” Luke exhaled a heavy sigh. “Tom’s fine. A real champion, that boy. Taking it all as serious as it is. You’ve done a good job of raising him.”
“What’s the medicine man doing?” Tess noted the way Luke kept rubbing the butt of the Colt as if something had stained it.
“Practicing some of his cures. Gave her some God-awful-smelling potion. Said it would keep her spirit at ease. If it’s anything like what the Apache use, it’s probably peyote or tiswin. He altered her state of mind so she didn’t feel the pain so much. At least the bullet’s out now.”
“Did he give any of the medicine to Tommie?”
“I wouldn’t let him. I told him that if the two minds were in the same state, it would be hard to make the separation.”
“Thank you.” Tess watched him stride over to the fireplace, lift the Colt from the holster and place it on the mantel.
“I’ve got to get out of this shirt.” Luke unbuckled the holster and let it slide to the finely polished floor. He began to unbutton the new shirt, his hands trembling as they edged down toward the blood staining the material.
“I’ll get a pitcher and some water. You can wash up.” Tess hurried out to the kitchen, found the necessities and quickly returned. Luke was bare-chested now, but his hand again stroked the Colt’s ivory handle. Back and forth, back and forth, as his eyes looked out the window, seemingly at everything. At nothing.
“Luke?” Worry flared and made her voice hesitant. Tess cleared her throat when he didn’t hear her. “Luke, is something wrong?”
He swung around, gripping the Colt. Puzzlement creased his brow. As if the metal burned to touch it, he gingerly set the Colt back on the mantel.
“Nothing for you to fret over,” came the quiet reply. “I need some air.”
Tess became frightened. She had never seen him act this way. “What are you going to do?”
“Just stay in the house.”
“Don’t go out there, Luke. We don’t know what Runs-Too-Slow’s people will do.”
“Maybe that’s just what I need … deserve.”
“You’re talking wild.”
“This is none of your business.”
“It is,” she insisted. “I care for you!”
“Then don’t care, Tess. Just leave me alone.”
Silence ensued, filling the room with turbulent emotion. “You wouldn’t understand,” he finally said, unaware that he handled the weapon once again.
“I’ll try.” She hurried to his side. With a gentle press of her hand over his, she made him stop the constant rubbing. “At least let me try.”
Worried over his strange fascination with the Colt, Tess wondered how she might get him away from the gun. Urging his fingers open, she pulled him forward a few steps. “Come to the kitchen with me. We’ll make coffee… No, leave the gun.”
For a moment Luke didn’t budge, then finally followed. He looked upstairs as they passed, but Tess felt compelled to draw his mind away from the little girl.
A large table and four chairs stood in one corner of the kitchen while a pot-bellied stove took up the other. Tess motioned Luke into one of the chairs, then set about heating the stove. As she worked, she talked and noted Luke’s silence. She asked questions that had little to do with the shooting, hoping her constant prattle might instigate an answer or two and keep him from brooding. But by the time the stove had heated and the coffee percolated, Luke still sat with his elbows on the table and his hands laced through the hair at his temples. Tess seat a cup of coffee in front of him, taking a chair next to his.
Luke’s thumb rubbed the rim of his cup, the same as it had polished the gun. Tess’s mind sped through words to say, searching for a subject to break his silence, bring life back to his faraway stare. Finally it locked on something trivial but funny in its own way. “Did you know that every time one of us gets upset, we drink a cup of coffee? Remember the first time we met, you—”
“That’s all the hell a gun’s good for,” Luke interrupted. Standing, he bumped the cup and spilled its contents. “Killing innocent people.”
Was that what this was about? The shooting had reminded him of killing Clifton? She reached out to touch Luke, but he jerked away. “You said you warned Clifton but he got in the way. That was no more your fault than this girl’s death would be.”
“I’m not talking about Harper, Tess. Runs-Too-Slow. I as much as pulled the trigger.”
Before she could utter another word, he pushed her aside and jerked open the door, disappearing into the backyard.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Luke, you can’t blame yourself.” Tess followed him into the twilight, grabbing his elbow and demanding that he turn around to face her. No crowd waited in the back, a surprise amid the fear and desperation filling her thoughts.
“Can’t I?” He spun. The confident manner, so much a part of him, vanished. Dark with emotion, his eyes looked strangely vulnerable, his expression strained and serious. “Luke Reeves. Hater of bullies. Gunman. My appointment to West Point didn’t impress my parents, you see. Nothing I ever did seemed good enough to satisfy Olivia because I would always be less than the perfect son. I didn’t have the good sense to be born unscarred, so I headed west. Fell in love, but Laoni decided not to marry me. Then all I wanted to do was hurt as I’d been hurt, so I joined up when the fighting started between the states.”
Tess’s heart contracted as she fought off dual emotions—fury at a mother who couldn’t love her own child and a pang of jealousy over a woman she had never met. Do I really want to know this? she asked herself before questioning aloud, “Do you still love this Laoni person?”
“No… I thought I did, but I don’t think I would know love if it walked up and struck me in the face.”
Not understanding how all this related to his anguish over Runs-Too-Slow, Tess fought her curiosity and attempted to guide the conversation to less emotional ground. But Luke could not be dissuaded. Once open, the doors to his past fell from old hinges.
“Didn’t agree with the Rebs on the issue of slavery, so I sided with the North. I didn’t want a commission, but they assigned me one because of the appointment to West Point. One of the lieutenant generals happened to be a fellow classmate and wouldn’t let me go in as a foot soldier. You can imagine how the conscripted Yanks felt about one of their officers being a Texan.”
Luke wiped his hands on his neck as if his throat hurt. “Almost got strung up. We had beaten a patrol of Rebs and they were in retreat. I ordered my company to cease fire and let them alone. The company brought it to the attention of my commanding officer. Said I was a traitor.”
“Did they court-martial you?”
“Nothing as legal as that. I would’ve been hung, but news that the war was over days before the battle saved my hide. We just hadn’t gotten word, so it proved an unnecessary campaign to begin with. But more than that, my commander agreed with me. Like me, he grew tired of killing people whose reasons for fighting had nothing to do with the issue of slavery. People who were defeated long before we ever faced them.” Luke’s fist clenched. “All I’d learned at West Point didn’t apply in those slaughter fields. Learning to salute and guard duty, even trying to put a few slave traders in prison, is little reason to take lives a man knows nothing about.”
Tess placed a hand over his clenched fist. “Is that why you became a bounty hunter?”
“I didn’t fit anywhere else. The solitary life suited me. Just because I’d fought on their side didn’t mean the Yanks were willing to change their attitudes about me as a Texan. When I headed South, I wasn’t given much of a welcome either. Not only did the defeated hate me, so did the conquerors.”
Luke stared at her with pain and bitterness that wrenched her heart.
“I became cynical and withdrawn from people. Tracking wanted men gave me a sense of accomplishment that nothing else could. I not only got good at it, some say I’m the best. But men always want to challenge a shootist. Men like Ragmorton. Even Daggert. Now because I was stupid enough to let two drunks rile me, that little girl lies up there bleeding to death.”
Tess pressed his fist until it softened beneath her touch. “Luke, you aren’t to blame. It had nothing to do with you.”
Pulling away his hand, he flung back harsh words. “Would you be so understanding if it was Tommie’s life slipping away up there? Would it be so easy to forgive my temper that stirred up this whole mess if the bullet hole was in your boy and not Runs-Too-Slow?”
Anger flared as she met his hard gaze. “I don’t know, Luke. I’m as human as anyone else. But no amount of soul-searching or cutting yourself to the core like this is going to help that little girl or change destiny.”
“I know that.” He flung his arms out in exasperation. “I just can’t deny what I feel anymore. I thought I was dead emotionally until you and Tommie came along. Until that little girl took the bullet meant for me. I’ve lived too long using the law as an excuse. Too long acting without feeling.”
Knowing this was the moment she could have all she hoped for, the moment where he would be hers alone if she chose to make him so, Tess fought the inner battle of doing what she knew was best for him or satisfying her own dreams and desires. But the choice was out of her hands, made uncomplicated by the caring in her heart. Tess gathered her courage and challenged him. “You told me, Luke Reeves, you had to finish whatever job you’re doing because it’s not done. You can’t give up now. You gave your word.”
When Luke’s hands clutched at her waist, Tess opened her arms and he pulled her desperately against him. His body shook violently as his voice trembled with emotion. “I pray to God I never see another child spread-eagled in the grass, hurting from a bullet meant for me.”
Though not a tear dampened her shoulder, Tess failed to hold back her own. She wept for Luke. For his fear of losing the child. And to mourn the misery that had become his life.
The back door opened, and Meade stood in its threshold. “The girl’s parents are here.”
Tess felt Luke’s back stiffen seconds before he let go and turned away. Straightening her hair, she smoothed the bertha and glanced at Luke. “Are you coming?”
“I’ve got to get a clean shirt. Can’t meet them like this.”
“I’ll wait for you in the parlor.” She hoped he understood all she really promised. I’ll be at your side. I’ll help explain. I won’t let you go through this alone.
Tess followed James Meade into the kitchen. “Did you tell them what happened?”
“Red Kettle has come down now. He’ll explain.”
“Is the girl alive?” She glanced up as they passed the staircase and halted outside the parlor door.
Meade raised a finger to his lips and whispered, “Red Kettle has told me little. He won’t until Screeching Bird and Laughing Wind meet Mr. Reeves.”
For a man who had just learned that his daughter had been shot, the large, blanketed Indian appeared calm. Too calm. Sitting next to him, his wife rocked back and forth with her eyes closed, hugging herself and uttering words that sounded like a chant.
Grim, Red Kettle’s face revealed nothing as the Cherokee took a chair opposite Runs-Too-Slow’s parents. Tommie scooted over to allow the translator room beside him and laced his fingers through Red Kettle’s. The shaman’s features lit with a brief smile as he gripped Tommie’s hand with the gentleness of a grandparent, but his face quickly resumed its stoic mask.
Tess noted Tommie’s tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, but he seemed unafraid of the medicine man. All attention shifted to the parlor door where the bounty hunter stood, drawing Tess from her concern for Tommie to a deeper one for Luke.
Red Kettle started in without preliminaries. “Lucas Reeves, Screeching Bird says if his child dies this night, you must leave Ute-cha-og-gra before the sun rises.”
“Wait a minute,” Tess protested, rushing to Luke’s defense. “Everyone in town knows what happened.” She met Screeching Bird’s gaze defiantly. “We don’t have any supplies gathered and haven’t made arrangements for a stage. We can’t leave Wichita!”
“Let it go, Tess,” Luke ordered quietly, gently pushing her shoulders so she would no longer place her body as a blockade to his. “I’d say the man is being more than fair. I’ll see to it that you and Tommie catch the next one. Here.” He drew out a small bag from a pocket of his trousers. The jingle of coins hinted what was inside. “Take this and get what you need. Daggert can take you the rest of the way. If I don’t meet you along the trail somewhere, I’ll catch up in Denver. You’ll want to rest there before you go on to Georgetown.”
“There’s only one stage line from here to Denver. Ragmorton’s brother runs it.” Meade studied the end of his cigarette, then glanced up at them from his position near the fireplace. He picked up the Colt, eyed it, met Luke’s gaze, then quickly replaced the gun on the mantel. When the Colt had left the mantel, Screeching Bird had risen to his feet. “Meant to warn you about that earlier. Guess it just slipped my mind.”
“Convenient, isn’t it, Meade?” Luke took a step toward the mayor. “Get me out of the way. Convince Mrs. Harper to stay.”
“I had no such intentions.” Meade backed away as Luke stepped closer.
Luke told Red Kettle what he intended to do. Red Kettle translated. The bounty hunter slid his arm past the mayor and retrieved the gun, slipping it into the holster on the floor.
“Luke did not kill Mr. Ragmorton,” Tess defended, grateful that Screeching Bird was a cautious man. Perhaps he would be even more so in reckoning with Luke. “Mr. Reeves struck Ragmorton because the man insulted me and several others. If these kind people are willing to accept Luke’s explanation, then surely the Ragmorton family can’t condemn him. Are you unwilling to help us, Mayor?”
Meade rocked on his booted heals. “My concern is first and foremost for Wichita.”
Tess’s eyes glinted with anger. “If you really want the best for this town, then show these people your kindness instead of wasting time trying to plot against Luke. If he has to leave as they’ve requested, then you can’t convince me to stay. May I remind you I can either boast about Wichita to other women interested in settling here, or I can be a hindrance.”
The mayor’s features wrinkled into a scowl. He didn’t like to lose an argument, and he had already done so twice with this particular lady. “Ragmorton owes me a few favors. I’ll see what I can do.” Meade moved as if he were in no hurry, but kept his word and left.
Luke faced Screeching Bird’s fierce countenance. “I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying, Screeching Bird. If not, I hope Red Kettle will translate for me.”
Red Kettle began to talk in his native language.
Tess heard Luke’s breath draw in and exhale slowly as if he were garnering something more than strength.
“I will forever keep the honor your daughter has given me, here.”—Luke pressed one palm to his forehead, then to his heart—"and here. Whether she lives or dies, her blood is mine. I owe your people.”
Red Kettle translated and frowned. “He knows nothing of owe.”
Luke searched for the right word. “Trade, then. As she helped me, so will I find a way to help her people.”
Words passed between interpreter and Screeching Bird, spreading pride through Tess. The steel of Luke’s eyes, the tone of voice, even the way his legs locked in a bracing stance, convinced her of the sincerity of his commitment. And as she knew, his word once given became law.
Screeching Bird lifted one hand to his forehead, touched it with his fingertips, then slid the hand out in front of him in a down-turned wave.
Luke glanced at Red Kettle.
“He accepts Luke Reeves’s trade.”
Luke held out his hand. Red Kettle offered an explanation. Red hand gripped white.
“Now we go. Until the sun rises.” Red Kettle and Screeching Bird went upstairs to get Runs-Too-Slow while Laughing Wind shuffled to the door, her eyes opened yet unfocused as she continued to chant.
Tess wanted to say something, touch her, offer sympathy, but the silent shake of Luke’s head warned her that she would overstep some indefinable boundary that kept white and red women apart.
Tommie kept equally silent, now clutching at the flounces of Tess’s dress. Needing the feel of human contact to calm her own disquieting emotions, Tess pressed him close, finding the weight of his small body against her skirted legs comforting and reassuring. The feeling strengthened at the sight of Screeching Bird carrying his daughter downstairs.
