Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (3 page)

“No, thanks, I’m stopping in Crossroads. But I’ll be back for the board meeting tomorrow.”

Martha walked the man to the door, then led Abby upstairs to a room at the far end of the hallway. A small lamp shed its warm glow over the room and blotted out the black night beyond the windows. Twin beds flanking the night table were covered in patchwork quilts. Folded at the foot of each was a gray Navajo blanket patterned in earth tones. A vanity table stood beneath the window opposite the beds, and a rocker and chest of drawers provided the balance of the furniture; a closet filled the space adjacent to the door.

“This was Connie and Sharon’s room. My oldest girls. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”

“Thank you.”

Martha patted one bed, and Abby sank down gratefully. The older woman sat facing her on the other bed.

“Arthur told me you’re from New York.” Abby nodded in agreement. “How come you left to come out here?”

Abby considered the question for a moment. “Well, it’s an exciting city, a good place to live, really, but not for me.”

“Why?”

“Not enough sky, or green, or open space. Too many people, too much noise and bustle, and now...” She paused and took a breath to put down the feelings that threatened to escape. “Now there are too many bad memories.”

“Maybe someday you will tell me?”

Abby shrugged and smiled sadly. “Maybe.”

“You got folks?”

A look of pain darkened Abby’s eyes and tightened her lips, but she said only, “No.”

“Got a man?”

At that question her smile returned, bitter to be sure, but a smile nonetheless. “Not any longer. Why?”

Martha shrugged. “Just wanted to know if you got ties back there.”

“Some friends, a professional contact or two, that’s all.”

Martha rose and walked to the door. Turning, she said, “Bathroom’s at the other end of the hall. The day starts early around here--breakfast anytime after five. If I’m gone, help yourself to what you see, or cook what you want.”

Then she left Abby alone.

Too tired to do more than change into a T-shirt and baggy sweatpants, Abby slid beneath the covers and fell into a dreamless sleep, never waking until the following morning, when the smells of bacon and coffee wafted upward to the second floor.

Chapter
2

The world outside was still dark when Abby walked down the unlit hallway toward the bathroom, towels slung over one shoulder and a change of clothes dangling from her fingers. Her sleep-fogged eyes missed the figure just leaving the bathroom until they collided. Her forehead smashed into the bottom edge of a square chin, and as she attempted to steady herself she inadvertently landed on a booted instep and stumbled backward, cracking the back of her head against the doorframe. More embarrassed at her clumsiness than truly injured, Abby leaned against the door for a moment to collect herself before doing further damage.

“Are you okay?” came an impatient query, and before she had a chance to answer strong arms lifted her and carried her back into her room, then set her down on the bed. “Lie back,” he directed curtly. “I’ll get a cold cloth.”

Abby did as she was told, and he returned only moments later, the chill in his tone matched perfectly by the ice-cold compresses he placed at the back of her head and on her forehead. But when she began to shiver he lifted her gently, freeing the covers, which he then tucked around her, waiting until the warmth calmed her.

“Better?”

Hoping to ease the tension between them, she teased, “Much better, Dr. Tallman. Thank you.” After a pause she asked, “Is your chin okay?”

“I’m fine. And just call me Cat, please. The flattery is unwarranted... and futile.” Abby felt herself flush at the rebuke, but he chuckled. “That brought some color to your cheeks, didn’t it?”

“You have a way of doing that to me,” she answered ruefully.

“I’ve noticed.”

He checked her pulse, grateful that only he knew how his own was racing shamefully at her nearness. Then he removed the cloth to look at her forehead and check the bump rising at the back of her head, his fingers pressing lightly on the bruises.

“Sorry,” he said, as Abby winced. “Didn’t mean to hurt you. You’ll have some swelling for a day or two, I’m afraid, and a black-and-blue mark for a few more beyond that. It can’t be helped; you broke some blood vessels.”

“Actually, I think it was your chin that broke them.”

He looked up sharply, saw her smile and responded with a small one of his own. “Let’s say we both contributed something.”

“See what we can accomplish when we put our heads together?” Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was open and friendly despite her discomfort.

Too open, and too friendly, Cat thought. “Don’t waste your time trying to cultivate me, Miss Colton. I’m not that easily manipulated.” The smile faded, and the sparkle dimmed. “See you in court,” he tossed off casually.

Then he was gone. He’s a lost cause, Abby thought. An objective that needs more patience, more energy and more desire to attain than I have to expend.

She swung her legs slowly off the bed and very carefully stood upright. Deciding that everything was in order, she picked up her towels and clothes and made her way back to the bathroom.

At eleven o’clock, Abby and Arthur Koehler walked into the council building and down a short corridor to the office of the school board. She had dressed simply in a silky, off- white man-tailored blouse and a softly pleated beige wool skirt topped with a tweed jacket. Her brown pumps added a good two inches to her already considerable height, but she’d honestly felt the need to present an imposing image, if only to bolster her self-confidence for this first meeting with her new employers.

Outside the closed door she paused to gather herself together. Under one arm she tucked the envelope she was carrying; then she ran her damp palms down the sides of her jacket, took one deep calming breath and nodded to Arthur, who rapped softly.

A voice spoke from within, and he opened the door, letting her precede him into the room. He closed the door behind him, and with a hand ushered her forward to stand directly in front of the long table behind which sat four men and one young woman, who seemed to be about Abby’s age. In her nervousness, Abby found it impossible to focus on individual features, and one face merged into another. She knew this would pass, though, and concentrated instead on the things that were being said.

The man in the middle rose and extended a hand, first to Arthur, then to Abby. “Good morning, Arthur, and hello to our new teacher.”

Abby acknowledged the greeting and before long found herself deep in a discussion of her plans for the children. The board members were surprisingly receptive, and for the first time she dared to hope for eventual success.

“I’m sure you all realize that problems will arise, but I’ll work very hard to make something good happen. And I’ll be grateful for your support and your patience.”

She handed the envelope to John Hunter. “These are my credentials. I thought you might want to examine them for yourselves.”

Just then a short rap shifted everyone’s attention to the opening door. Abby wasn’t surprised to see Cat Tallman enter. After all, he’d promised to attend the meeting.

It was obvious that he’d come straight from some dirty job and had cleaned up on the run. A jacket was slung over one shoulder, and his shirt was damp at the collar and carelessly tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The hair at his temples was wet where he’d washed his face, and there was a charm about his disheveled appearance that, under other circumstances, might have elicited a smile from Abby. Instead she kept her features expressionless.

“Sorry I’m late. There was a problem at the building site.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Did I miss much?”

“Not much,” John Hunter assured him. “We were having a talk about the problems Miss Colton expects to meet. And we were looking at these.” He held up Abby’s certificates and recommendations. “Want to see them?”

“Pieces of paper to me, nothing more. Her credentials have to be passable, at least, or Arthur wouldn’t have brought her here. That’s not what’s bothering me.”

Here it comes, Abby thought, and she steeled herself for the attack she knew was imminent.

The man who had been introduced to her as Luther Eagle leaned forward. “Why don’t you folks sit down. Now, Cat, you ain’t a board member, of course, so you can’t vote. But we respect your opinion, so why don’t you speak your mind?”

“With all her talk about problems, I’ll bet there’s one she never even thought of, and you’re all too polite to mention it. But I’m not bothered by either convention or blindness. As far as I’m concerned, the biggest problem we have is that she’s a white woman. Her people exiled us to the reservations in the first place, and we were left here to die without dignity. When we somehow managed to survive, her people took our children away from us, to schools where it was hoped they would forget their own culture and adopt that of the white man, where they were punished for speaking their own language, where they were expected to look and behave and live like white people.

“A century later, when it was obvious that exile hadn’t worked, they lured hundreds of thousands of us to the cities with promises of jobs and a better life, then set us adrift, hoping we’d disappear through assimilation. And many of us did, some to live like the white man, some to live in poverty and isolation, without the strength that our religion and culture could give them.

“Her people have written textbooks, made movies and aired television shows that depict us as mindless savages without conscience who raped and murdered innocent white people, that insist we are men without honor, and drunkards and thieves. She’s part of the society that refuses to recognize us as humans with dignity and pride, as moral men, as people with rights and justifiable claims to our own homeland.”

He’d been sitting motionless, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, his hands clasped before him. Now he rose and began to pace slowly, as if physically venting some intense emotion that threatened to explode.

“That’s the legacy she’s brought with her. And don’t tell me that she’s worked with Indian kids before. I know that. But they were urbanized kids, whose parents are more interested in assimilation than preserving an ethnic identity. We have a whole other set of problems out here that she can’t begin to deal with, because she’s never had to. We’ve got to teach our kids what they need to make their way in the world without sacrificing the Lakota way of life. I don’t see how she can help us do that, especially when she doesn’t know how we think or what we feel. She comes from a different world, a different culture. She’s not one of us, and I’d prefer to see someone like Emma, here, teaching our kids, over some outsider, and a white outsider at that.” He perched on the windowsill and went silent.

All eyes turned to Abby, and everyone waited as she took a moment before answering. “I won’t debate Mr. Tallman on Indian-American history.” She turned to him. “Except to say that the origin of my ancestors and the color of my skin are no indication of what I believe or don’t believe, what I do or don’t represent, or even if I represent anything at all.” She smiled at Emma Walker. “With apologies to Ms. Walker, who is, I am certain, fully capable of stepping in, I would like to discuss my ability, or lack of ability, to teach your children.

“The children I taught were different, but not for the reason given by Mr. Tallman. Unlike your children, who are living outside the mainstream and are easier to protect, those children were leading two lives at the same time. I was drawn to them precisely because they wanted to learn how to live within the ‘system’ without becoming swallowed up by it. Contrary to what Mr. Tallman has said, while I was teaching them how to get along in the white man’s world, at home they were learning the red man’s way
--the religion, the culture, the values of their grandfathers and grandmothers. We gave them the opportunity to choose between the two ways of life. Whenever those cultures conflicted, we tried to find ways to make them compatible. When we failed, the children chose the way that was more important to them, the set of values that fit the best. But no matter how they chose, at least they had choices.”

She turned to face Cat again. “Despite any negative cultural or historical baggage you think I may be carrying, I can help your children just as I helped the others. I can help them understand the world outside this place and prepare them to make their way in it. I can show them that they, too, have choices. With help from your elders and leaders, we can ensure that the old ways are not lost to them, even if they leave here. And if they stay, it will be because they have chosen to do so, have chosen to make a contribution right here, not because they can’t make it in that other world. I don’t see what more you could ask of any teacher, white or red.”

“You’re pretty free with that word ‘choice,’ aren’t you, Miss Colton? What would you know about not having any?”

“I know all too well what it’s like,
Mister
Tallman. I know how it feels to be told, ‘Here is your place, and here you will stay,’ and to have no voice in the matter, or, what’s even worse, to feel that you have no right to a voice in the matter.”