Agnes and the Renegade (Men of Defiance) (12 page)

When her tears had stopped, Aggie pushed herself up to look at Chayton. “The story on the deerskin ends with that terrible day, but that was a few years ago. Why isn’t there anything else in the timeline?”

“Because I ended that day.”

Aggie dug a handkerchief out of her pocket. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She turned and looked back at Chayton. “Why did you leave the reservation?”

His lips thinned. His nostrils flared. His jaw shifted from side to side as if he fought the first words into his mouth. “My white grandmother made it impossible for me to stay.”

Aggie frowned. “White grandmother? I thought your parents were Lakota.”

“They were. My mother was adopted into the tribe when she was about White Bird’s age.”

“She was a captive.” Aggie was shocked.

“She was one of us. She had her freedom. She could have left at any time. But she loved my father and their life together. It was from her, and later Logan, that I learned English.”

“You speak it very well. I didn’t think you could at first.”

“I do not like to speak your language.”

“Tell me why are you here and not with your people at the Agency?”

“I was asked to leave by my chief.”

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

He shook his head. “It is because I was born of a white mother. After my family was murdered, I went with my village to live at the Agency. It was there that my mother’s people found me. They attempted to ransom me from my people. I told them they could not ransom me because I was
Lakȟóta
. My mother’s people have more money than sense. They kept increasing their offer until the Agency managers agreed to sell me to them.”
 

Aggie threaded her fingers through his, offering her strength to him.
 

“Still, I did not want to go. The white men from my mother’s people decided they would take me. I fought with them. Others joined the fight. A great
Lakȟóta
man was killed. And a child. Their deaths were my fault. My mother’s people were banned from the Agency. And I was as well.”

Chayton sat up and began folding the pictograph, then rolled and tied it. She reached over and took his hand. “What happens now, Chayton?”

He looked at their twined fingers. His thumb brushed against hers. “It is up to you.”

She studied him. “I think you should go meet your grandmother.”

“No.” He stood and walked to the table to set the pictograph down.

“Why not?”

“Because if I see her, I will kill her. She has interfered in my life, made it impossible for me to be with my people. I am a man of my tribe, Agkhee. I cannot live without my people.”

“You have your daughter, still.”

“She is where she needs to be. Logan and Sarah are teaching her how to live in the white world. Any interaction from me will distract her from the path she must follow.”

Aggie stood up. “Then I will be your people, Chayton.” He stared at her. After a long minute, he came toward her, crossing the room in three long strides. He grasped her face in his hands and bent down to kiss her.

Aggie closed her eyes, savoring everything about the moment: the way his body felt against hers, the sweet, wild smell of him, the way his hair curtained them, the calluses on his palms, and the pressure of his fingers against her face. And, most wondrous of all, the way his lips felt on hers.

She was twenty-five years old, and she’d never been romantically kissed. She’d spent more than half her life in Theo’s household, but for much of that time, they were isolated from the rest of the world by his work and her studies. When his artist friends visited, he was careful to keep her chaperoned. One time, she’d asked Theo about whether he’d ever been in love. He’d given her a long look, then left the room without answering her. In fact, it wasn’t until he lay in his bed, dying, that he answered her.
 

“You asked once if I ever loved anyone,” he whispered. Aggie nodded, moving to sit on the bed so that he wouldn’t have to make an effort to speak. How she would miss talking with him, the wisdom he imparted. “I was in love.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged. “I loved my art more. I couldn’t tolerate any interference or separation from it. And now, what have I to show for my life? I’m alone and about to leave my art anyway when I die. I wish like hell I’d not been alone in my life.”

“You aren’t alone, Theo. You’ve had me for thirteen years. I’ve tried to be like a daughter to you.”

“You are my daughter. And how lucky I was to have you when I refused to let anyone else in my life.” He reached up and patted her cheek, his hand stiff and cold, knotted with rheumatism. “Don’t make the same mistake. Go out there, girl. Find your art. And find your heart. And keep both as close as you possibly can. I’ve kept you from the world for far too long.”

Aggie reached around Chayton’s waist. It was strange standing so close to someone else, having another body next to hers. Ever since her childhood, there’d been no one in her life who’d hugged her, held her. This was nice. Chayton’s mouth moved against hers, opening. She followed his lead. He touched his tongue inside her mouth. Startled, she pulled back and looked up at him.

He smiled down at her, then frowned. “Agkhee, have you never been with a man?”

“No.”

He sighed. She felt the tension in his body tighten. He wrapped his arms around her and held her closely with her face tucked against his neck. “It is time for me to go.”

“What do you mean ‘go’?”

He ran his fingers over her cheek. “I cannot stay with you. You are not my wife.”

“But I’ll see you again, right? You’ll be back?”

He nodded. “It is hard to stay away from you.” He started toward the door. Aggie followed him. He looked back at her.
 

She smiled. “Are you glad you didn’t kill me that first night?”

Chayton grinned. “Time will tell.”
 

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t kill me. And I’m glad you didn’t let that mountain lion get me.”
 

“That lion guards my cave. I raised her from a cub. She warns me when the men from town come for me.”

“Oh, Chayton. How can you stand to be so alone?”

“I cannot.” He kissed her forehead. “Have a good sleep tonight.”
 

She waved to him as he slipped into the darkness outside. “Good night to you as well.”

CHAPTER TEN

Chayton stood in front of Agkhee’s house once again. Two more nights had passed since he was last here. If he could have kept away, even tonight, he would have.

“I will be your people,”
she’d said to him. “I will be your people,” he repeated to himself, longing for what she offered. He stared into the shadowy interior of the woman’s house from the window. A fire flickered and danced in the hearth. He yearned to enter, yearned to be welcomed to someone’s fire once again. He knew, were he to announce himself, she would invite him in. She always had, except for that first night he’d broken in. She couldn’t know what it meant for a lone woman to welcome a man to join her. She’d admitted her innocence, and still she opened her home to him.
Wašíču
customs were different from those of his people. Such a thing probably meant nothing to her. Nothing of any importance meant anything to a
wašíču
.
 

In the end, because he was weak, because he ached for any amount of time not spent alone, he opened her door and stepped across the threshold into her house. She looked up quickly, then hurried toward him.

“Chayton! You’re soaking.” She drew him forward, close to the fire’s warmth. Her touch sent a shiver through him. “And freezing.” She put another log on the fire. “How long were you out there?”

So very long
, he answered silently.

“You should remove your wet clothes. I’ll get you a towel. And a blanket.”

She returned as he was removing his tunic. Her gaze slipped across his chest before lowering to the bundle she carried. He could feel himself thickening. He told himself it was because of his cold body being so close to the fire, but even he didn’t believe that lie.
 

He wanted this woman. The fire illuminated her hair as it lay about her face in tawny streams of red, gold, and brown—the colors of river rocks. Her eyes were like the sky on a bright summer day. Tiny spots of color sprinkled across her nose on a background of white skin. He was a head taller than her, and half again as wide—he liked the differences in their sizes.

He hadn’t hungered for a woman since Laughs-Like-Water was murdered. Not for any of the women, widowed or maiden, at the Agency. Not for the
wašíču
women he’d seen in town the few times he went there. When his people kicked him out of the Agency, he’d accepted that he would walk alone for the rest of his life. And yet here he was, aching for this woman, the one named Agkhee. Without his tunic, it was impossible to hide his reaction, so he didn’t try. He untied his leggings from the thong about his waist, then sat to remove them and his moccasins.
 

When he looked up at the woman, she was preparing something by the stove, her back to him. “Are you hungry?” she asked without turning around.

“Yes.”

The small room was filled with a rich scent coming from the big iron stove Agkhee was working over. His stomach growled. She’d fed him several times now. She was a good cook. Tomorrow he would bring her another rabbit. Maybe he would cook it for her while she worked on her paintings. The first rabbit didn’t count toward a courtship because she’d been deep in a vision and hadn’t been aware of being provided with food. The second one didn’t count either, since he’d exchanged it for the pie she’d made.
 

But now, if she accepted fresh meat from him—consciously and without an exchange of any sort—he would know she was interested in him.
 

He wondered if white women were courted differently than
Lakȟóta
women. If he and Agkhee were still among his people, he would have an elder female relative of his speak to an elder female relative of hers to gauge her interest in a courtship. But they were alone, each of them, in this middle place between his world and hers.
 

Unless Logan represented her. Perhaps his friend was thinking of taking a second wife, despite his words to the contrary. What else would explain the gifts and provisions he brought her? Chayton thought about bringing Agkhee a deer haunch tomorrow instead of a rabbit so there would be no doubt about his suit. And he would speak to Logan about her.

Agkhee carried a plate to the table. She returned a moment later with two steaming mugs of coffee.
 

“Are you not hungry?” he asked.

“I’ve already eaten. I’m glad you came by. I made far too much food for just myself.”
 

He laid his things out by the fire, then tied the blanket about his waist for warmth. He sat at the table, but didn’t dig in. She had a knit shawl tied about her shoulders and was sitting with her legs folded before her within the drape of her big cotton dress. She looked entirely at ease.

He, on the other hand, was not. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. He didn’t like sitting on chairs. They were too bony. It was impossible to settle in them. Why whites liked them, he didn’t know. He set his feet on the floor, then sat straight in the uncomfortable chair to keep himself from squirming like a boy who hadn’t yet counted coup.
 

“Agkhee.” He looked at the woman. “Is there someone who speaks for you?”

She frowned. “‘Speaks for me’?” She shook her head. “I don’t need anyone to speak for me. I speak for myself.”

“No parents, brothers, uncles?”

“No.”

“Does Logan speak for you, then?”

“Chayton, if there’s something you need to say, say it. I’m all there is.”

He stared at her, glad for the cover of the blanket. It was a poor bargaining stance to show too much interest in what he most wanted. “Is Logan courting you?”

Agkhee’s eyes widened. He’d shocked her. “Logan’s married.”

“Perhaps he seeks a second wife.”

“He can’t. By law. And by custom. We have only one spouse each. In our world.”

Her world was the only one that mattered anymore, and he understood so little of it. “Do you desire him?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “No. Why would I?”

“He has given you a place to live. He brings you gifts.”

She lowered her gaze. Even in the dim light of the evening, he couldn’t miss the flush that rose across her neck and face. “He’s my patron. That means he’s helping me succeed in my work so that he can have first selection of my paintings. Does that make sense? He is happily married to a wonderful woman.”

“So he is trading with you.”

“Yes. He’s trading with me.”

“He is a tough negotiator. He traded with my wife.” It hurt to think of Laughs-Like-Water, at this moment, when he was courting another woman—something he’d had no intention of ever doing. But even now, he was hard for the white woman sitting with him. “Is any man courting you now?”

“No. Why do you ask this?”

He didn’t answer her. It wasn’t something that needed an answer. It was obvious what he was seeking. He dug into his food, deciding instead to show her that he enjoyed her cooking. She’d made him a biscuit like the ones Logan used to make for the two of them when they were young boys, tracking horses. It was covered in a white sauce that had bits of dried beef in it. It was hot and salty and satisfying. The coffee she made to go with it was rich and sweet. He finished his cup and pushed it toward her for a refill.

“Why did you come by tonight, Chayton?”

He came every night, unless he was checking on his horses in the Valley of Painted Walls. “I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” She frowned as she contemplated his words.

He didn’t answer her. His statement was not meant to indicate she wasn’t safe, only that he wished to see for himself that she was. English was a cumbersome language. When he finished eating, she took his dishes and set them on another piece of furniture, in a bucket with other dishes. She refilled their coffees. He took his cup and went to the door, which he’d opened. The storm still raged. It would be a long, rainy night. Agkhee came to stand next to him. She sipped her coffee as she stared out into the storm. The wind blew erratically, blustering from the north, then the west, breaking into the house in cold bursts. It was nice to be dry and watch the storm.