Hawke's Pride, page 24
Twenty minutes later Hawke sat his stallion on a small knoll, looking down on the white silence of the snow-covered valley, hurting to his very soul. He had finally accepted the fact that Rue was gone, and it had turned him into a cold, bitter man, an empty shell of what he had once been. Only his father and the children kept him staying on at the ranch. If not for them, he'd have ridden away as soon as he was able to mount a horse.
How I envy Josh, Hawke thought, his eyes dull. His foreman had ridden away as soon as the fever had left his boss, and all his vital signs were good. He had known that his ramrod was deeply attracted to Rue, but in his jealousy had believed that Josh only wanted to take her to bed. He felt sorry for the man now, for he knew the pain Josh, too, must have suffered at her disappearance.
The wind moaned in the trees and there was a feeling of snow in the air. Another cold blanket for my poor little Rue, Hawke thought, his shoulders sagging.
The shadows thickened, but still Hawke remained. He dreaded returning home. The house seemed so empty now. Pa went about, his face still, speaking quietly when he did talk. Even the children didn't romp and play, laugh and argue, like they had when Rue was with them.
Clouds of frosty breath issued from the stallion's nostrils as he stamped his hoofs against the cold, anxious to get back to his warm stable. Hawke patted Captain's shiny black neck, and with a sigh of resignation, he turned the mount homeward.
The wind was driving white pellets of snow in his face when the dark shadow of the house loomed in front of Hawke. Through the lighted window, he could see the children sitting at the table, listlessly watching their grandfather as he worked around the kitchen range preparing supper.
A ranch hand moved out of the darkness and Hawke handed Captain to him with a brief thanks. The cowboy wasn't surprised at the single word. Their boss didn't talk much these days, and smiled less. Of course he didn't have much to smile about, losing his young wife and all.
As the cowboy led Captain away, he wondered if Hawke would turn to Lillie Meyers again. He had seen the woman ride up to the house this afternoon. Her being a widow now, she no longer had to sneak around to see Hawke.
"I was gettin' worried about you, son." Jeb looked up from the stove when Hawke entered the kitchen. "I thought maybe your leg had given out on you."
"No, the leg is fine, Pa," Hawke answered, hanging his jacket on a peg, then stamping the snow off his boots onto a rug Rue had laid there and had insisted everyone use. "I was just checkin' if the men had hauled enough hay to the cattle."
"They should have," Jeb grunted, turning over a steak in the heavy skillet. "They've been workin' ten hours a day bringin' it out to the dumb critters."
By the time Hawke washed up at the dry sink, Jeb had the steaks on the table, along with boiled potatoes and some hard-looking biscuits.
"So, what did you do this afternoon?" Hawke asked, giving Tommy a poor facsimile of his old smile, then ruffling Susie's hair.
"We didn't do much of anything," Tommy grouched. "It was too cold to go outside."
"Yeah, it's cold out there," Hawke agreed, having a hard time sawing through a tough piece of steak he had helped himself to.
When Tommy and Susie gave up trying to cut through their meat and picked it up with their fingers to gnaw on it, Jeb said apologetically, "I know I'm not much of a cook. Not like…"He paused and no one finished the sentence for him. It wasn't necessary. All three knew to whom he was referring.
Supper was over and the children had gone to bed when Jeb looked up from his contemplation of the fire. "That Meyers woman was here this afternoon. Her mount was about dead from fightin' its way through drifts of snow. Somebody ought to make her plunge through drifts up to her belly. She might think twice then before makin' a poor dumb animal do it."
"It's doubtful, Pa. Lillie Meyers is not one to have soft feelins' for an animal—or a human, come to that."
"She said to tell you she'd be back tomorrow. Said it real bossy-like, like I was one of the hired hands."
"Don't let her rile you, Pa. She's not worth a second thought."
"She's a shameless hussy, that's what she is. Chasin' after a man when her husband is barely cold in the grave, and poor little…" Again Jeb let a sentence dangle.
It grew quiet between the two men, the snapping of the fire a background to whatever paths their memories took.
A log burned through and fell with a soft thud, jarring Hawke and Jeb back to present. "I expect we ought to get to bed, son," Jeb said, standing up.
Hawke agreed, but the last thing he wanted to do was go to that cold, empty bed and bleed inside because Rue wasn't curled up in his arms.
Chapter Fourteen
"When Rue heard the door latch rattle, her hand froze on the long-handled spoon she'd been stirring the venison stew with. She knew it wasn't Adams. He always made a lot of noise stamping the snow off his boots while Dog whined and scratched at the door.
A gnawing fear building inside her, she moved quietly to the door and stood listening, strained and tensed. The cabin sat at the end of the valley, isolated, vulnerable to attack by white man or Indian.
She glanced at the old flintlock over the mantle and wondered if it still worked, or was it something from the old man's past that he kept out of nostalgia. But even if it still worked, she doubted she could handle the long, awkward thing.
Rue gripped the wooden bar and shook it. It held fast, solid and dependable. A man would have to take an axe to it in order to get inside.
Not so frightened now, Rue told herself that she would just ignore whoever was out there, and sit quietly away from the window.
The window! What if whoever was out there decided to break the glass? She'd better close the shutters real quick and bar them as well.
She was about to hurry away from the door when a feminine voice called tentatively, "Adams… are you in there?"
Rue breathed a ragged sigh of relief It was Adams's squaw. She was early. The old man had said she'd be arriving in the evening.
I can't just leave her standing outside, Rue thought, and lifted the bar from the iron clamp. She swung open the door and gazed at the startled Indian woman, who clutched a snow-covered blanket shielding her head and shoulders.
Adams… he is not here?" the woman asked timidly, concern in her voice.
"He's still gathering his furs." Rue smiled at the bulky shape, unable to make out her face concealed by the covering pulled forward. She opened the door wider. "Come on in and get warm. He should be coming along any minute."
The woman stepped inside and removed the wet, ragged blanket.
"Your name is Rainy, isn't it?" Rue took the article from her.
"That is what Adams calls me." There was amusement in the Indian's voice.
"My name is Rue, I'm a friend of Adams," Rue said, hanging the wrap on a peg. "Come sit by the fire and we'll have some coffee while we wait for him."
Rue bustled nervously around, filling two cups with coffee, her ears attuned for Adams's arrival. She wished he'd get home. She didn't know how to entertain the woman, what to talk to her about. Her only encounter with Indians had been a frightening experience.
She handed Rainy a cup, and got her first good look at Adams's lady friend. She's certainly no beauty, Rue thought of the fortyish-looking woman. Her features were flat, and her skin badly scarred from smallpox. Her shy smile as she took the cup was beautiful, however, and Rue warmed to her. She had been hungry for a woman's company for a long time.
"Have you walked far, Rainy?" she asked, after taking a sip of coffee. "You must be tired."
"I no walk." Rainy shook her head. "I ride pony. I put in barn."
"Oh." Rue frowned slightly, wondering how it had been possible that she hadn't heard that. She knew that Indians had the ability to move almost noiselessly; were their ponies taught to do this also? She remembered then that Indian mounts weren't shod. "With the covering of snow on the ground, it would have been hard for her to have heard hoofbeats.
An awkward silence built between the two women, and Rue searched her mind for some common subject they could converse about. Nothing came to mind. Their worlds were so different from each other.
She repressed a big sigh of relief when she heard the familar sound of Adams stamping his feet, and Dog scratching at the door. She almost ran to lift the heavy bar, then stepped quickly out of the way when Adams rushed in, exclaiming, "Is Rainy here yet?"
Rue grinned. She hadn't known the old man could move so fast. She watched curiously to see the pair greet each other, and was a little disappointed. They did not rush into each other's arms as she had imagined they would, but only gripped each other's hands, smiling happily.
"How have you been, Rainy?" Adams asked softly. "You look thinner than the last time you was here. You got enough food in your village?"
"Almost nothing." Rainy shook her head sadly. "The braves have run out of bullets for rifles, and now depend on bows and arrows." The sad lines on her face deepened. "At least smallpox hasn't come to our village like that of the Arapaho tribe to the east. It is bad with them. A few die every week from hunger or sickness."
Rue's hands gripped the back of a chair. Rainy was talking about the tribe that lived near the ranch, the ones Sly had taken her to. She thought of the boy, Little Star, the one who had cut her bonds, setting her free. Was his little stomach gripped with hunger pains tonight? She wondered if he was even alive. She prayed that he was.
Adams interrupted Rue's worrisome thoughts. "That stew sure smells good, honey. Is it about ready to be dished up?"
"Just as soon as you've washed," Rue answered.
A short time later the three of them sat at the table, eating with hearty appetites, especially Rainy. Rue wondered if the woman would ever stop eating. She couldn't believe the amount of food Rainy consumed was a compliment to Rue's cooking, but rather from near starvation.
When the big pot in the middle of the table was empty, Rainy wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and giving a loud burp, she smiled, and said, "Good stew, Rue."
"Thank you, Rainy." Rue suppressed her shock at the vulgar sound and smiled back. When she began to stack the dirty dishes, Rainy rose from the table. "I help you."
"No, no, you go sit before the fire with Adams. You must have a lot to say to each other."
Rainy's brow wrinkled in thought. "Me and Adams, we don't talk much," she said. "Do you talk to Adams?"
Rue smiled wryly. "Some. But mostly I listen while he talks."
Rainy clamped a hand over her mouth, smothering a giggle. "Me too. I listen. Adams, he is long of wind."
Rue laughed out loud. The Indian woman had a good sense of humor, she thought as Rainy sat down beside Adams. One needed that in order to put up with the old windbag. She smilingly shook her head when Adams started in on a long, involved tale.
Rue took her time cleaning the kitchen area, giving the pair some privacy. Maybe Rainy wanted to say something to Adams that she wanted kept secret. But when the old man rambled on and on, giving Rainy no opening to speak if she wanted to, Rue joined them, taking a seat on the raised hearth.
It seemed she had barely settled herself when Adams was standing up and winding the clock, his last act before retiring. Was he going to bed already? For goodness sake's, it was barely past seven o'clock. Usually he didn't run down until ten at least.
"I've had a busy day," he muttered, avoiding Rue's startled look. "I'd like to turn in early."
Rainy giggled, and Rue understood Adams's hurry. The old scamp couldn't wait to get the Indian woman in bed. He had meant it when he said that his juices hadn't dried up. Rue got to her feet, announcing that she was tired also. She said good night and quickly disrobed down to her long-legged underwear.
Rue hoped, as she slipped between the covers, that Adams would give her time to fall asleep before he started stirring his juices. She'd be embarrassed to death if she had to lie there and listen to them.
She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. The more she concentrated on it, however, the more awake she became. She just wasn't used to going to bed so early.
Oh, hell, she wailed inwardly when Adams's mattress began to rustle, accompanied with his grunts, and the slapping of two bare bodies in rhythmic time.
Rue tried to shut out what was going on only a few feet away, but it was impossible. Her old friend was quite gusty as he sought his satisfaction, not at all a silent lover. She pulled her pillow over her head, thinking that surely the bedframe would collapse, tossing the pair onto the floor.
Finally, after several minutes, the thumping and slapping rapidly escalated, the bed creaking in protest. Adams made a strangling sound, then all was quiet, only the sound of his heavy breathing filling the room.
At last, Rue sighed. Maybe I can get to sleep now. She eased on to her side, careful not to alert the couple that she was still awake.
She could dimly make out the shapes of the lovers, Adams still sprawled on top of Rainy. After a moment, however, he rolled off her and laid flat on his back. Rue was about to close her eyes when Rainy sat up and moved to kneel between Adams's spread legs.
Giving an impatient snort, Rue turned her back to them, uncaring whether they knew she was awake or not. She pulled the pillow over her head, shutting out Rainy's ministrations and Adams's raspy, heavy breathing.
She was drifting off to sleep when the bunk bed began squeaking again. Oh no, she thought, giving her pillow a whack. Adams, you old fool, you won't be able to walk tomorrow, let alone run your traps.
The next morning when Rue awakened, however, Adams had already started his rounds. Rainy sat at the table, sipping coffee, a very contented look on her flat face. Rue watched her a moment, thinking that the woman would be terribly embarrassed when she had to face Rue.
Rue was musing how she could make it easier for both of them when Rainy looked up and smiled at her. There was no embarrassment, no guilt. Had the pair of lovers thought she was asleep after all, or did they take the attitude that coupling was a natural act and that she would look upon it as such?
Rue sat up and swung her feet to the floor. "Did you sleep well last night, Rainy?" she asked, hurrying to the fire and turning her backside to it.
"Oh yes, a little." Rainy giggled. "Never sleep much first night with Adams. It takes most of the night to ease his hunger."
"So I discovered," Rue muttered under her breath. "He was like an old hog with a troughful of slop."
To Rue's surprise, she enjoyed Rainy's visit. They spent the afternoons in front of the fire talking together, sometimes comparing cultures. Rue privately gave thanks for being white, while Rainy thought that in the main white women were a useless, pampered lot.
And thankfully, after that first night Adams didn't hustle Rainy off to bed as soon as supper was over. He was content to stay up, talking away until his usual time for retiring. But every night the bunk bed creaked and groaned at least once.
Rainy's week came to an end, and the sun shone bright the morning she prepared to return to her village. Rue was surprised that she hated to see Rainy leave, that she would miss the genial Indian woman. She had grown very fond of her.
Adams looked up from filling cloth bags with the supplies he'd brought in from the storage shed. "I wish I could give you more, Rainy," he said, tying off a bag of beans, then meting out some sugar, "but it's still a ways until the passes melt and I can get to town to buy more."
"Do not worry about me, Adams." Rainy laid a hand on his arm. "The two deer you shot yesterday will fill many hungry bellies."
Adams walked over to the mantle where he kept his boxes of ammunition for his rifle. He stood a minute, counting the thin shells, then shook his head. "I wish I could give you some shells for the braves to use, but my supply is gettin' low."
"We will be all right," Rainy again assured the old man. "Winter hunger nothing new to our people. We manage."
"Well, let's get started then," Adams said, lifting the bulging haversack off the table. "I want to get you back to your village before dark."
Rue took Rainy's blanket off its peg and drapped it over her head and shoulders. "I look forward to your next visit, Rainy." She gave the woman a quick hug, not knowing whether she should kiss her cheek.
Rainy's face flushed with pleasure. She had not known the warm embrace of a woman since she lost her mother when she was fifteen years old. She blinked away the tears that shimmered in her eyes.
"I am leaving my pony with you, Rue."
"But, Rainy, I can't take your mount," Rue protested. "How will you get home?"
"She's gonna ride with me on Mule," Adams explained, giving Rue a warning look. "It will please Rainy if you take her pinto."
Rue gave a slight nod of understanding. Rainy would be hurt if she refused her generous gift. She smiled her acceptance. "Thank you very much, Rainy. I will take the best of care of him. I only wish I had something to give you."
"You have given me your friendship," Rainy said softly. "No white woman has ever done this before."
"Then it is their loss," Rue said, her eyes suspiciously wet now.
Adams hustled Rainy outside then, anxious to get started. It would take him an hour to get Rainy home and then he had to run his traps. It would be well after dark by the time he returned to the cabin.
Rue watched the pair ride out of sight, then turned from the window with a sigh. The cabin seemed so empty without Rainy's chatter. It had held back thoughts of Hawke, of the pain and bitterness he had done to her. It would all return to haunt her now.
She smiled mirthlessly. Rainy's presence hadn't helped her at night, when she lay in bed, almost dreading to fall asleep. A night seldom passed that she did not dream of Hawke. The dreams never varied, only their contents differed. She didn't know which was worse. The one in which she dreamed of Hawke's making love to her, stirring the undiluted passion he always roused in her, leaving her aching when she awoke with unreleased passion thudding through her body, and hatred for herself that she still desired her husband.
