Cheyenne Splendor, page 32
Trace whirled, his hand reaching under his vest. “I told you—!”
“No, Trace!” She caught his hand, and Iron Knife knew the dark, moody cowboy must be as deadly as he looked. “Mister,” she said, “I must insist you leave us alone or I don’t know if I can control my husband—”
“Does the name Texanna mean anything to you?” He stared into her eyes. “If it doesn’t, I’ll leave you alone and—”
“Texanna?” The girl was looking up at him, and she was turning deadly pale. “W-who are you? That was my mother’s name!”
Texas. Texanna. Cimarron. He shouted out loud in his excitement. “Cimarron! Do you know me? I’m your brother! Do you know me?”
She was staring at him in bewilderment, and now he was so certain of the family resemblance, his words poured out. “I’m your brother. We left you in Texas; the town of Fandango! Our mother’s name was Texanna and our father was War Bonnet!”
For just a moment, he thought she would faint. Her face turned deathly pale, and she swayed so that her husband caught her and held her close. “Darlin’, are you all right? What’s this all about?”
“My brother! Oh, I barely remember!” She was weeping now as she buried her face in her hands, then threw her arms around Iron Knife. “Trace, this is my big brother, remember what I told you?”
He held her close while her husband looked from one to the other, then finally held out his hand awkwardly. “Well, stranger, I reckon I owe you an apology. And your name is?”
They shook hands. “Once I was called Falling Star, but I am now Iron Knife.”
Trace grinned as he tipped back his Western hat. “Well, Iron Knife, why don’t you go have breakfast with us and we’ll talk?”
Iron Knife was abruptly aware of people around them staring at the noisy reunion. “I—I’d like that.”
“Oh”—Cimarron caught his arm—“there’s so much I want to know; so much catching up to do!”
“Darlin’ ”—Trace smiled—“let’s not stand out here on the platform; let’s buy this man some steak and eggs and you all can talk at leisure. Our train doesn’t leave ’til this afternoon.”
The beautiful girl talked excitedly as Trace hailed a carriage. “Take us to the best cafe in town,” he ordered the driver.
Iron Knife had thrown caution to the winds now, so eager was he to talk to his sister. He would worry about his own problems later.
He hardly said anything, nor did the Spaniard until they were seated in a fine restaurant. His sister was the one who talked, her lovely face animated.
He watched Trace watch her. Evidently, the wealthy Texan adored her; it shone in his dark eyes. For the first time, he noticed that Cimarron wore expensive jewelry: blood red rubies, and a large diamond and ruby ring.
“All right, partner”—Trace grinned, as the waiter stood by—“you want a sirloin or a T-bone?”
He wasn’t certain what to order. “Whatever you’re having.”
Trace gave the order with a flourish. Evidently he was a man of wealth, used to having the best of everything. Within minutes, Iron Knife wrapped his hands around the warmth of a strong cup of coffee and savored it gratefully.
“Now”—Cimarron sipped hers and leaned forward—“I want to hear everything from the beginning.”
“There’s so much to tell.” Iron Knife drank the coffee and sighed with pleasure. “I don’t know how much you remember about the past.”
“Not much,” she admitted, “I was raised by an old preacher and his wife. When they died, I went to live with Aunt Carolina and her two fat daughters.”
Iron Knife frowned. “Yes, I remember Aunt Carolina; she didn’t like me.”
Cimarron laughed. “She didn’t like me, either. In fact, I had to leave Fandango when—well . . .” She smiled fondly at Trace. “How I ended up on the Triple D Ranch and became Senora Trace Durango is a long story in itself.”
“Tell me,” Iron Knife said as a steaming platter of steak, eggs and biscuits was placed before him. He and Trace dug into the food with hearty appetite, but Cimarron ate lightly as she told her brother everything that had happened to her over the past years.
The food was excellent, and Iron Knife tried not to wolf it down; but he ate with gusto as Cimarron talked. When all the food was gone, he pushed back his plate with a satisfied sigh and sipped his coffee.
“Double damnation,” Cimarron said, “I’ve talked your ears off; now it’s your turn.”
Iron Knife told her how, as a little boy, he and Texanna had been captured and forced to return to her white family. Texanna had been expecting a baby girl who was born months later. For five miserable years, the three had endured the prejudice of the little Texas town. “It all came to a climax the night Jake Dallinger tried to whip me to death, and about that same time, our father, War Bonnet, rode into town to rescue us.”
“Why did I get left behind?”
He shook his head. “There was a mob between us and the preacher’s house, so there was nothing to do but escape back to the Cheyenne. Then Texanna died and War Bonnet was killed by the Pawnee warrior, Bear’s Eyes.”
Cimarron blinked hard, and Trace handed her a handkerchief with a gentle gesture. “Are you all right, darlin’?”
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “I didn’t know our parents were dead, but I reckon I’m not surprised. If they had been alive, I know they would have returned for me.”
Iron Knife patted her shoulder. “They meant to come for you; but they both died within a few months of each other, and I was just a boy. Once I grew up, I didn’t know where to look any longer.”
“You wouldn’t have found me,” she comforted him, “I’ve left Fandango. Trace and I were recently married.” Cimarron looked at her husband fondly. “I’m Cimarron Durango now.”
“This must be the season for reunions,” Trace mused. “Just before we left on this trip, we got a letter from my sister, Dallas. She’s been missing throughout the war, and we just found out she’s married and on a ranch in Arizona, the Wolf’s Den.”
“You know what?” Cimarron’s eyes lit up for excitement. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a family reunion sometime? We could all meet at our ranch, the Triple D. We’re in the Texas hill country near Austin and San Antonio.”
Iron Knife’s mind had returned to his personal problems. “I would like that,” he said. “You’ve been back east?”
Cimarron nodded. “A honeymoon and business trip.”
“You know about trains? Which ones go to what cities?”
“Sí,” Trace said, and he looked puzzled by the question.
Iron Knife hesitated. How much should he tell them about his problems and where he was headed?
Cimarron was staring at him. “Brother, now that I think about it, what are you doing in a train station in Saint Louis?”
He hesitated again. He didn’t want to cause them any trouble.
Now they both seemed to be studying his cheap, ill-fitting clothing.
Trace said, “Amigo, I don’t like to pry, but if you’re in some kind of trouble, I want to help you.”
Cimarron reached out to put her small hand on his arm. “Trust us; what can we do?”
“I am a dog soldier,” he said proudly. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sí,”—Trace nodded—“but I am half-Cheyenne, also. Does not a brother help a brother?”
He looked into their eyes, knew he could count on them. They would not speak with crooked tongues. With a sigh, he told them everything that had happened.
They listened, concern in their eyes.
“So that’s it,” Iron Knife finished. “I don’t know if the law is looking for me, why this Saint Louis judge, Griswold, would want to jail me. Hershel Warton owns Wartonville, and I’m afraid he might cause trouble for Serenity Peterson.”
“Hmm,” Trace mused, “the Durangos have money and power, too; maybe there’s something I can do.”
“And if the train stops in that town”—Cimarron smiled—“I’ll buy a bunch of hats from this woman who helped you.” Her gaze seemed to look him over.
“Her dead father’s things,” Iron Knife explained. “I could hardly be seen in prison garb.”
“As big as Saint Louis is,” Trace said, “I reckon there’s plenty of men’s stores here.”
Cimarron’s eyes lit up. “That’s right. Trace, let’s dress my brother, buy him a ticket, get him on the right train—”
“I couldn’t let you do that.” Iron Knife shook his head.
“But of course you can,” Trace insisted. “It will be my pleasure; you have made my wife very happy this morning.”
“You men finish your coffee,” Cimarron said. “We’ve got a lot of shopping and visiting to do before we put Iron Knife on a train to Boston.”
He felt his eyes fill up, blinked rapidly. With all he had been through, it seemed almost like an answer to his prayers to cross his sister’s path here at the railroad station. Sometimes, maybe God stepped in. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Trace stood up, and shrugged off his gratitude. “You are my wife’s kin, sí? Blood runs thick among the Durangos. It is only fitting that we help you.”
So it was that over the next several hours, they visited and shopped in the best stores in Saint Louis. At first, Iron Knife was nervous about the soldiers, the occasional lawman, but it dawned on him that his sister and brother-in-law looked so prosperous that no one would dare to question them. Besides the lawmen were looking for a lone Indian, not three people on a shopping spree in Saint Louis.
Finally, it was afternoon, and they returned to the railroad station. Iron Knife now wore fine clothes and the most expensive and softest of boots. He had money in his vest and a ticket to Boston.
Trace lit a slender cigarillo as they stood waiting for the eastbound train. “Hombre, that’s a round-trip ticket,” he said, “so you can get back from there; there’s one for her, too . . . if she’ll come.”
Cimarron’s beautiful face clouded. “Oh, brother, is there a chance she won’t?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m going—to find out.”
He and Trace shook hands solemnly.
Trace said, “Good luck to you, amigo. Remember, you and yours are always welcome at our ranch. Just ask anyone in Texas for directions to the Triple D Ranch. Big as it is, anyone can tell you where our spread is.”
“Thank you,” Iron Knife answered warmly, “I think my sister is very lucky.”
“No, I’m the lucky one.” He slipped his arm around his wife and hugged her. “Where can we reach you if we ever need to?”
“I have a friend named Todd Shaw who works at the newspaper in Denver, and another friend there in Colorado Territory named Cherokee Evans.”
In the background, the train whistled and the conductor called, “All aboard!”
Cimarron made a little cry of dismay. “We can’t part yet; we haven’t had time to really talk!”
Iron Knife picked up his small valise and looked toward his train. “I’ll come visit you sometime.”
Cimarron’s eyes watered. “Are you sure?”
“I promise.”
Trace held out his hand and they shook again. “Iron Knife, remember, our place is yours. You ever want to come see us or need a favor of any kind, just ask.”
“I’ll remember that . . . friend.”
“All aboard!” echoed in the background.
Cimarron threw herself into Iron Knife’s arms, hugged him. “Vaya con Dios,” she whispered, go with God.
He held her close, thinking how much she looked like their mother. All these years, he had vowed he would find her and now she had found him. This had to be more than a coincidence. Iron Knife’s heart was at peace except for his own problems with Summer. “Cimarron, I’ll bring my family down to Texas sometime, and we’ll have a family reunion. I promise.”
“All aboard!” The train gave a warning whistle.
Iron Knife paused. There was still so much to say.
Trace cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’d better go, amigo,” he whispered. “You’ll miss your train.”
Cimarron smiled. “I’m so glad I found you after all these years. We’ll look into this thing about Warton, I promise, and try to help Serenity Peterson, too.”
“Thanks, sister. The great god, Heammawihio, must have made our paths cross each other’s today. And thank you, Trace.”
The train in the background shuddered, then began to move away from the platform.
Cimarron threw her arms around Iron Knife’s neck. “My brother; oh, my brother!”
He hugged her breathless. “We’ll see each other again. I promise! Hahoo naa ne-mehotatse.”
“What does it mean?” She was crying.
He wiped a tear from her lovely face. “It’s Cheyenne: thank you and I love you.” His own vision was blurring as he grabbed his small bag and ran for the moving train. Once aboard, he went to a window and waved to the couple on the platform until they were lost from sight.
Now he found a seat and relaxed. With money and fine clothes, he could travel in style, and no one would question him or connect him to an escaped convict in Missouri.
A face came to him, a beautiful heart-shaped face with pale blue eyes and yellow hair. Summer, his woman, his love. He must see her; must go to her. My once in a lifetime love, my Summer Sky. One thing was certain, the whole drama would come to a climax when he arrived in Boston!
Chapter Twenty-one
Outside the fine Van Schuyler mansion, the gold and russet October leaves blew across the expansive lawns. Summer turned from the window, watched her father settle himself in his library chair with his morning coffee. Upstairs, the noise of the children playing reverberated through the big house. The twins were taking their mid-morning nap. “You wanted to talk to me, Father?”
“We’ve something to discuss.” He sipped his coffee and frowned.
She had a feeling this was not going to be a meeting she would enjoy. More and more as he aged, Silas, with his prominent hooked nose and piercing eyes, reminded her of a hawk. She felt abruptly like a field mouse or a rabbit under his withering gaze, so she returned to the window and looked out instead. The early morning sun was just melting the shimmering frost off the trees and rooftops. The last few days of October. In a few days, winter would begin with all its cold and snows. That made her think of those times she and her love had shared their cozy buffalo robes in a tipi on the windswept prairie. Tears came to her eyes. Her once in a lifetime love. She had written him of the twins’ birth and had heard nothing in reply. Yes, it must be true that he had found another love. Yet could she give him up without a struggle? A trip to Colorado in bad weather with five children would be difficult, even though she was fast regaining her strength.
Father cleared his throat behind her, and she whirled around. “Summer, I’ve been quite patient with you as I know the last few months and particularly the last few weeks have been very difficult; but the twins are flourishing now, and it’s time to get on with your life.”
“Hmm.” She thought of her mother’s room upstairs. Silas had not allowed one thing to be moved. It was exactly as it had been the night Priscilla died—like a shrine. Silas was not getting on with his life. She dared not say that, of course. She might as well face this unpleasantness head-on. “What is it you want to talk to me about, Father?”
“You know you are very welcome to stay here with me indefinitely,” he said.
Summer saw herself trapped like her mother in this eerie house, she and her children under the control of her grim, overbearing parent. She managed not to shudder visibly. “Thank you, Father, I—I haven’t really given it much thought.”
“Then it’s time you did.” He put his coffee cup down on the small table next to his chair and looked at her.
“I had some idea of returning to the West.”
“To what?” he snapped, and glared at her. “We’ve discussed this before and I thought you would come to your senses! There doesn’t seem to be anything there for you; and certainly no good prep schools for Lance.”
“I do have four other children besides Lance,” she reminded him pointedly.
He shrugged. “Quite. so, but the other boy looks too much like a savage, so he’ll have a hard time of it; and after all, what value does the world place on girls unless, of course, they make a good marriage?”
“Your attitude appalls me!”
“And your actions appall me!” he snapped back. “A girl reared with the best of everything and attending the best schools runs away with some savage and lives in sin with him, produces bastard offspring, and causes this family no end of embarrassment—”
“I doubt anyone was embarrassed but you,” Summer shot back.
“Be that as it may,” he said crisply, “I’m in control of the family holdings and fortune. Remember he who has the gold has the power.”
“I don’t need your money!” Summer was seething.
“Oh? You can say that, can you, when you have spent most of this past year living in luxury at my fine home, with maids at your beck and call?”
“I can be packed in five minutes,” she said. At least in the past few months, some things had changed; Father’s angry bluster no longer scared her.
“And pray tell, where would you go with your five little children?” He smiled coldly now, as if he held all the winning cards.
Where would she go? What could she do with no job skills and no money? She took a deep breath and swallowed back her anger. “I’m sure, knowing you, there is a point to all this.”
“You do know me pretty well, don’t you?” He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her as if he were assessing the value of a property. “I always thought you would marry Austin Shaw, thus merging my empire with theirs.”
“You know I visited with Austin when he was in town a few months ago.” Summer dismissed that suggestion with an impatient shrug. “He knows I love another.”
