Runaway, page 21
As if in a dream, she stepped from him, looking again at the pool surrounded by lush grasses, the scattered sunlight through the tall trees and the wildflowers growing in abundance beneath her feet. “I didn’t remember it being this beautiful here.”
“This is only a place, each part of it here for a purpose. The sky and sun to warm the water and bring the flowers to bloom, the pool to lure the animals to drink and the grass to provide them with nourishment.
“This place is natural and right. You are the thing of beauty here, Bright Eyes. Our coming together here will be as it should be. A joining between a man and woman, vowing to spend all of their days together.”
Josie’s face flushed at his words, her smile a beguiling invitation to the man who had chosen her. The fluid melody he wove with his rich voice, the words he chose to describe the act of marriage brought a joy to her expression she hardly seemed able to contain.
He reached to touch his horse on the hindquarter nearest him, several words in a dialect Josie did not understand apparently urging the animal to move from where they stood. The pony nickered softly, walked to the edge of the water to drink, then turned to graze.
“Many Fingers…” Josie began, her words halted by his fingers against her lips.
“No.” He shook his head. “I will not be that name to you any longer. My mother gave me a white man’s name when I went to the white man’s school. She called me Jeremiah. No one else has named me that. I want you to say it for me. I need to hear it from your lips to see if it is right.”
She nodded and he slid his fingers to cup her face, brushing the hair from where it had fallen in tangled locks against her skin. His fingers laced through the dark tresses and he waited.
“Jeremiah.” It was a whisper of sound, and she blinked as she spoke it aloud. Then with a breath that sighed between them, she said it again, with a soft, crooning edge to her voice that made music of the simple name. “Jeremiah?” Her smile was tender. “I like calling you a name that your mother gave you. Will it be mine alone to use?”
“If you like,” he said. “If you want, I can be known as Jeremiah from now on. We can use my other name to follow it.”
“You mean what Maggie calls you? Tall Horse?”
He nodded. “If you like, I will be Jeremiah Tall Horse. It is my white man’s name.”
“You are still Indian, even if your father was not.”
“I will always be Indian, but I will live in the white man’s world with you, Josephine. It is my choice.”
“It may be a long time before the people in town accept you.” Her eyes were sad as she spoke the truth that would cause pain to both of them.
He bowed his head until his forehead touched hers. “I will be whatever I must be to have you, Bright Eyes. In my heart I will be Josephine’s warrior, no matter what name I am called.”
He turned her around until she faced the pool, his muscular body forming itself to her back. His arms surrounded her and she leaned against his warmth. Long fingers touched her dress, skimming the slender bones of her shoulders; and then, with surety, his hands formed themselves to the proud thrust of her breasts. She shivered at the pressure of his firm touch, her eyes closing as she leaned into his caress.
“These will feed my sons.” It was almost an intonation, a chant, his own eyes closing as he uttered the words.
With firm purpose his hands moved to spread across the width of her, reaching from one hipbone to the other, his fingertips brushing against the joining of her thighs.
“Within this space you will carry my sons, and together we will give them life.” His fingertips pressed deeper between her legs, a strangely passionless touch, yet filled with intensity. “And here,” he said quietly, “our sons will come forth and I will hold them in my hands.”
Her head pressed against his shoulder, and from beneath closed lids tears gathered and fell in a shower that only served to add radiance to her glowing countenance.
“Yes!” It was a whisper of affirmation.
Turning her again to face him, he tilted her head and bent to erase her tears, his tongue a gentle touch against her skin. “You cry for joy, my Bright Eyes?”
She nodded. “I know you don’t use the same words I do, but in my heart you have just told me of the love you feel for me, Jeremiah.”
“You are my heart.” His mouth moved to hers, and with whispering touches he kissed the lips he had only dreamed of possessing as his own.
With a fluid movement he lowered her to the carpet of grasses beneath them and his hands were gentle as he took her clothing from her body. His fingers were as water flowing against her skin as he wooed her, his words a strange blend of his native tongue and soft sounds she recognized. She was lulled by the caress of his voice, the endearments he spoke wrapping her within their embrace. He called her his dove, the brightest star of the dawn. He breathed her name, whispered that her scent was sweeter than that of the meadow flowers.
Beneath his touch she called to him, trying the syllables of Jeremiah on her tongue. Her hands traced the shape of his head beneath his dark hair as she told him of her yearning to be all he needed, all he would ever desire in a woman.
His kiss gave her assurance, his arms holding her as he told her she was more than he’d ever dreamed of, that her beauty was more than he’d ever expected to hold. He groaned his praises in scattered kisses against her face. “You are the desire of my heart, Josephine,” he said, moving against her.
Her tears of joy flowed as he joined them as one, his touch tender, yet powerful. Soothed by his crooning symphony of endearments, she offered herself to the gentle piercing of her body, her woman’s flesh opening to him, enclosing him in her depths and giving him the whole measure of her womanhood.
There, against the surface of the earth he revered, beneath the sun and sky he greeted each day with his hymn to the dawn, he made her his own, called her his wife and prayed for blessing on their union.
No matter that tomorrow might bring another form of marriage vows to his lips. It was in this moment that for Jeremiah Tall Horse, Josephine Tolliver became his bride. In his native tongue he vowed to the heavens above that he would cherish her for the days of his life. Upon the memory of his mother he pledged to protect her and give her sons of his loins.
He lifted his body above her as he offered his seed at the mouth of her womb, and his exultant cry was a paean of praise to the beauty of their coming together. Her name was a whisper on his lips as he lowered his body to rest against the slender form beneath him.
They blended, her soft parts giving way to the muscular frame of the man she had taken to herself in these moments. She held him tightly, her arms around his waist, her hands sweeping in slow measure across his flesh, fingers tracing small scars as she memorized the length and breadth of his back.
“Come,” he said finally, rising in one smooth movement and drawing her with him to stand in unashamed nakedness in the sunshine. “We will wash in the pool.”
“I can’t swim,” Josie said quickly, nevertheless following him to the edge of the water.
“No need,” he told her, his arm secure around her waist. “It is shallow. We only need go far enough to bathe.”
The sun was beyond the trees as they returned to where their clothing was scattered. The air was cool against their skin and Josie shivered, dressing quickly. Jeremiah knelt to help with her shoes and stockings, then rose to don his breechcloth. Folding the petticoat she had dried with, she turned to the man who watched her.
“I’m ready.” How she would face the family she had walked away from at this man’s command was not mentioned. When they would speak their vows before a preacher and where they would live together was not a matter for them to consider today. It was enough that they had done as Jeremiah Tall Horse had decreed. The wedding they must plan would be for others to observe. This time together had been for two people to share. And with that, she was content.
“Are you planning to put me in jail, Sheriff?” Clara sat at the kitchen table, her expression stoic, her shoulders squared as if she was willing to face whatever consequences she must.
“I don’t think so, Miz Clara.” Carl Mosley stood just inside the kitchen door, hat in hand. He and John Hogan’s boy had loaded the body of Bennett Percival onto a wagon from the livery stable and covered it with a canvas Will had found in the barn. “I doubt you’re going to run off, are you?”
Clara shook her head. “Been here for thirty years, Carl. I doubt I’ll be pullin’ up stakes anytime soon.” Her mouth tilted in a grim smile, but her hands shook as she knotted her fingers together in her lap.
Carl Mosley’s face held compassion as he looked at the woman who was so obviously holding herself together with tenacious strength.
With a gentleness that appeared contrary to his authoritative demeanor, he explained the procedure he would follow. “We’ll have an inquest when the judge comes in tomorrow, ma’am, but I’m thinkin’ everything is pretty cut-and-dried. You were protecting your family. There’s not a jury in the country that would condemn you for that.”
Cassie’s hands rested on Clara’s shoulders, hoping her warmth would soak into the woman’s chill flesh. “Can I get your shawl?” she asked, bending to whisper in Clara’s ear.
“No, I’m all right. I’m just worried about Maggie. She hasn’t said a word, just curled up on the sofa and went to sleep. ‘Tisn’t natural, not to talk about what happened to her.”
“She’ll be all right, Ma,” Will said quietly. “Josie will tend to her when she comes in.”
“I don’t know why that man took her off that way,” Clara fretted. “She should have been here for Maggie.”
“Maggie had you and me and Cassie, Ma,” Will reminded her gently.
With a nod he signaled to the sheriff, and the two men left the kitchen. “Do I need to bring the women to town for the inquest?” He spoke in an undertone as they walked to the wagon.
“Your mother will have to be there, for sure,” Carl Mosley said. “Just as a formality, but the judge will want to talk to her. Where do you suppose the Indian took your sister?” He glanced at Will, his curiosity apparent.
“He said he’d be back soon. Wherever they went, Josie won’t be long away from her child. She’s gonna be anxious to get her hands on her.”
The sheriff mounted his horse and nodded at John Hogan’s boy. “Let’s go, son. It’ll be dark before we get to town. We’ll need to bury this fella in the morning, I’m thinking. I doubt anybody’s gonna be lookin’ for him. No sense in puttin’ it off.”
“When will the judge be coming? I’ll bring my mother in whenever you say.”
Carl took up his reins, easing deeper into his saddle. “Probably after noon some time. Shouldn’t take long, Will. Sure is funny how things happen, ain’t it? Josie’s husband showin’ up and causin’ a fuss that way. Seems to me she’s better off without him, anyway.”
Will kept silent, nodding his agreement.
“There’s some good men in these parts who’d give their bottom dollar for a good woman like Josie. She won’t be a widow for long, I’d wager.”
Will smiled. “No, I don’t think she will.”
The death of Bennett Percival overshadowed all else, and the quiet wedding of Jeremiah Tall Horse and Josephine Tolliver took place without fanfare. The pastor of the Methodist church in town interrupted his morning’s study time to perform the ceremony, barely raising an eyebrow as the Tollivers gathered in his church for the brief ceremony.
The ceremony was simple. With a few words spoken over them, with a certificate the genial preacher signed with a flourish, and with the combined embrace of her family behind her as she spoke her vows, Josie became the legal wife of Jeremiah Tall Horse. That the real ceremony had taken place a day earlier was a secret they shared with no one.
Clara had supplied the ring, removing it from her finger after breakfast to place it in the callused hand of the groom.
“Maybe Josie’ll have a better time of it if you put this on her finger,” she’d said gruffly. “It held up for me for thirty years.”
Jeremiah had bowed his head, nodding his thanks. “I know she’ll cherish it, ma’am.”
“What’s this about your name being different from now on? Here I just got used to callin’ you Many Fingers and Maggie talkin’ about you being Tall Horse. Now Josie tells me you’re going by a different name.”
Jeremiah’s jaw had firmed as he’d met Josie’s gaze across the kitchen table. “I am marrying a white woman. I will use the name my mother gave me when I entered the white man’s world. It will be easier for Josephine if I do this.”
“Am I supposed to be callin’ you Jeremiah, then?” Clara had asked.
He’d nodded briefly. “That will be my name.”
From the church to the new courthouse was but a short walk. A gauntlet of stares followed the seven figures who formed a small parade from one place to the other. Josie’s hand lay on her husband’s arm, Cassie and Will following close behind. Hand in hand, leading the way, Maggie gripped her grandmother’s fingers, strangely sober, as if she recognized the solemnity of the occasion. Bringing up the rear, the preacher kept step, having told Will he would lend his support should it be needed.
They climbed the three wide steps to the courthouse door, their reflections gleaming from the glass the town had had shipped by way of train from St. Louis. Head high, Josie swept through the door her husband held open for her, then waited inside for him to join her. Together they entered the courtroom, taking seats in the front.
And then, almost before it had begun, it was over. It was the considered opinion of all concerned, including the judge, that the death of Bennett Percival was due to his own behavior.
Clara was absolved of all guilt in the matter, and at the conclusion of the judge’s remarks she sagged in her chair with a faint sigh.
“Are you all right, Ma?” Will slid his arm over her shoulder, bending low to whisper in her ear.
“I will be.” Her spine resumed its normal state and she lifted her chin, lips compressed but steady. “We just do what we have to, Will. Better me doin’ the deed than that half-breed you brought home with you. He’d have ended up swingin’ from the end of a rope if he’d gotten there before I pulled the trigger.”
“He’s Josie’s husband now, Ma.” Will’s voice held rebuke as he led her to stand near the window.
“I’m gettin’ used to the idea,” she answered. “I reckon he’ll take better care of her than the other one did.”
“He’ll be sleeping in the house tonight,” Will reminded her, a warning evident in his tone.
“It’s gettin’ pretty crowded in there, Will. How soon can you fix up that old bunkhouse for them?”
“I’m going to stop at the lumber mill before I go home today and pick up some wood to use for another partition inside. Then it’ll be up to the two of them to tell me what they want done to the place,” Will said.
Jeremiah’s eyes were veiled as Will met his gaze across the room. As if he knew the gist of the conversation and had overheard the faint censure in Clara’s words, he strode to where they stood, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window.
“We will not stay in the big house. I’ll work in the bunkhouse when we get to the farm,” he said quietly. “It has already been washed down. I only need to repair the floor and build a couple of walls. I’ll move my belongings from the barn and Josephine and I will sleep there tonight.”
Will shook his head. “You’re welcome to stay in the house until we get the bunkhouse in shape.”
“No.” His denial was firm, his eyes holding a message Will was forced to respect.
“I don’t mind helping,” Will said agreeably. “I’ll give you a hand when we get home.”
“Thank you,” Jeremiah said solemnly. “But this is something Josie and I will do.” Jeremiah turned to his bride. “Are you ready? Where is Maggie?”
“Here I am, Tall Horse.” The little girl reached to take his hand. “Are we gonna live in the bunkhouse now? Mama says I can help move my bed out there.”
“You can help.” His eyes softened as he beheld the child, and he squatted to her level. “You are a brave girl, Maggie. You make me proud of you. I’ll be your father from now on.”
“Do I still call you Tall Horse if you’re my father?” she asked, her forehead furrowing as she spoke. Placing her tiny fingers against his face, she pressed her lips together firmly. “I think I’ll still call you Tall Horse. It was my name for you first, wasn’t it?”
He smiled, a glow lighting his face. “You saw into my heart, didn’t you, small one? You claimed me long before your mother knew she would share my path.”
“I always loved you, Tall Horse, as soon as you gave me your special name.” She reached for his hand, tugging him to rise. “Let’s go home and fix up our new house.”
Cassie’s hands pressed against her belly and she turned sideways to better see herself in the mirror. “I think I feel a little fatter.”
“Just around the middle, mostly.” Will stretched and yawned, his feet pressing against the footboard of the bed. Patting the mattress next to him, he beckoned her. “Come on to bed, Cass. You’ve had a long day.”
“You can’t tell yet, Will?” Her tone was disappointed as she turned from the mirror.
He grinned. “I can tell, all right. You’re growing out of all of your clothes. You don’t like coffee anymore. You’re forever suckin’ on Ma’s dill pickles and you get all out of sorts at the drop of a hat.”
She pounced on him, sprawling across him before he could catch her. Her fists pounded on his chest in time with the words she spoke. “I’m not out of sorts! I’m sweet and kind and—”
Her words were cut off by the pressure of his lips, his big hand clasping the back of her head, forcing it close enough for his mouth to capture hers. “I’ll let you prove that right here and now,” he said solemnly, releasing her after a moment’s persuasion.
