Fireblossom (44 page)

Susan O'Hara gasped aloud, and Fox put his other arm around her for support. Maddie had gone stark white.

"Reverend Smith officiated at our wedding," she said weakly. "How could—I mean, less than two days ago he was eating bride cake in my father's parlor!"

In unison Star and Bullock intoned,
"Indians."

"I hope you'll elaborate," said Fox.

Seth Bullock suggested that his partner go on ahead to the funeral, which was to be held at Preacher Smith's house. When the door had closed behind Sol Star, Bullock said, "I have just been composing a letter to a Reverend Chadwick in Louisville, Kentucky, informing him of the details of his friend's death. I discovered his name and address among Preacher Smith's things. It's a sad business."

"What
did
happen?" Fox pressed.

"Preacher Smith was attacked by a band of hostile Indians while returning from Crook City to Deadwood yesterday afternoon. He was shot through the heart, and we believe that death was instantaneous. Certainly there can be no doubt that he is with his Master now, in a far better world than this." Bullock removed his bowler and gazed sadly at the floor for a moment. "I'll be conducting the service at Reverend Smith's grave, and I plan to read part of a poem that he wrote. Have you heard it?"

"I didn't know that he was a poet," Maddie said. "I should love to hear the verses."

Seth Bullock took a piece of paper from his suit pocket, unfolded it, and read:

This evening is the first of June,

And snow is falling fast.

The tall pines sigh, howl, and moan,

Responsive to the blast.

The shades of night are gathered 'round;

The fire is burning low,

I sit and watch the dying coals,

And think of long ago.

Silence fell over the room, then Susan O'Hara spoke. "That was really very lovely."

Bullock nodded and put the paper back in his pocket. "Preacher Smith must've been among the first to come to Deadwood, if he was writing about a summer blizzard like that. He was a true man of God, living out here without any comforts, risking his life every day to bring some peace to the souls of others. I reckon he was a martyr."

Fox was thinking about Wild Bill. It was beginning to seem risky just living in Deadwood. "I wonder why Indians would kill Preacher Smith," he mused. "Did someone see them? Is there proof?"

"Well, sir, those that found the body told me it was Indians, so I guess there must've been some sign." He put his hat on again and started toward the door. "You're welcome to stay, ladies, and look through the sample books until I get back. Shouldn't take long." With one hand on the knob, he glanced at Fox. "Can't understand why you'd bring that squaw to a town like Deadwood. People around these parts will always look for someone to go after when they think they have a score to settle. I sure wouldn't feel safe in Deadwood these days if I was an Indian." Bullock's bushy dark brows rose as he added, "Nothing personal, of course. Just a word to the wise. I like you folks."

When they were alone, Maddie and Gramma Susan took chairs at the fabric table and began to leaf through Bullock's sample books, murmuring words of shock and sadness. Fox listened to them, his own heart tight with pain for the loss of one more good man. Bullock's "word to the wise" had started him off on a different trail of thought.

"Do you mind if I leave you two here for a while?" he asked. When Maddie encouraged him to pursue his own business so they could return home soon, he kissed her cheek, and Susan's.

"Aren't we all lucky," Susan said absently.

"Lucky just to be alive, if seems, in this town," Fox replied, and headed out onto Main Street.

In some ways, Deadwood looked just as it had that day he'd first ridden into town on Watson, and in other ways it was very different. The sides of the gulch were still barren and muddy, littered with burned trees that resembled black toothpicks from afar. There were still miners everywhere one looked, including in between and under the buildings lining Main Street and Sherman Street. There were still fancy girls leaning off balconies in the badlands, gamblers and rowdies flowing in and out of saloons, merchants throwing garbage into the streets, and Chinese still bustling about their northern section of Deadwood.

On the other hand, the narrow gulch was more crowded now than anyone could have imagined even a few short weeks ago. Fox thought back to the last walk he'd taken with Bill Hickok, when they'd remarked on the new establishments that were springing up like weeds. Jacob Goldberg had arrived from Montana while he and Maddie were away at Bear Butte, and now Goldberg ran the Big Horn Store. There were new restaurants and hotels Fox hadn't noticed before, not to mention more saloons and hurdy-gurdy houses than ever. Jack Langrishe and his wife had established their theater, albeit out of canvas, and were now performing plays with the help of two other actresses. The other day Mrs. Langrishe had told Annie Sunday that a new school was going to begin serving the children of Deadwood, run by a teacher called William Commode.

Fox mulled over all these changes, realizing again that a prosperous future awaited those smart or crazy enough to stick it out. He and Maddie had decided to stay. He would start up his own sawmill, with Titus as the manager, and they'd begin by planting seedlings to replace the trees they took down. Progress would continue with or without them, and at least Fox and Maddie had scruples.

Now, however, he was trying to get a feel for his town again. Preacher Smith's killing baffled him. He didn't want to think that any of the people he knew at Bear Butte could have done such a thing, but, remembering He Dog's words in the council tent, he knew it was possible. The Lakota Indians had a different point of view regarding whites arrogant enough to trespass like thieves in sacred
Paha Sapa.
The citizens of Deadwood could never understand how the Indians felt; in truth, they had no interest in understanding or sympathizing with them at all. To do so would mean seeing them as fellow human beings, with rights and feelings, and that would complicate everything. The chasm between Indians and the whites was too great, it seemed, to ever be bridged.

Was Sun Smile in danger here?

Fox wandered into the badlands, listening and watching as he tried to get a sense of Deadwood's mood. It wasn't a difficult task. Within minutes Garnet Loomis blew out of the Gem Theatre like a frigate in full sail. Clad in a cheap gown of magenta silk trimmed in torn feathers, her debauched face painted in a way that seemed to accentuate each line and roll of fat, she was like a walking advertisement for the badlands.

"Wait justa minute, dearie!" She grabbed his shirtsleeve and held it fast. "What's your hurry? Come on in and I'll letcha buy me a drink!"

Her breath already stank of whiskey, but Fox tried not to make his revulsion too obvious. "It's kind of you to ask, Garnet, but in case you haven't heard, I'm a married man now. Newly married, in fact."

She reached up with her other hand to touch the locks of dark hair that curled over his collar. "God was sure workin' hard when He made you! Doesn't seem right that one woman'd have you all t'herself! Well, at least our little Victoria don't hafta pine for you no more. A couple of days ago, a millionaire from Denver proposed to her. She went off with him this mornin'. Gonna live in a mansion and be a stepmama to three youngsters!"

"Is she indeed?" Fox's heart lightened at the thought. "I hope she is very happy. Victoria is one of the kindest women I've ever known. I might not be here if not for her."

"And what about
Lorna?"
Garnet hissed, wagging her head toward the red-haired girl seated forlornly at the bar inside. "Don't think we don't know how you broke her heart, and how you wanted her in the first place 'cause she looks like the snooty girl who thought she was too good to have me in her house!"

"You're referring to my wife," Fox replied coolly, "and I hardly think that Lorna is in a position to worry about having her heart broken. It seems to me that that would be an occupational hazard for upstairs girls. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I have other business—"

Suddenly Garnet's voice dropped to an evil-sounding whisper. "I knowed you was an Injin lover that first day I metcha! You think you're better'n the rest of us in your house on the hill, but you can't make up your own rules and get away with it!"

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"That
squaw.
You think the people in this town'll stand for that?"

"That's right, Garnet," called a familiar voice. "Our friend here has set himself up as a sort of sultan in that house that's tucked away from the rest of the town."

Fox pivoted to see who'd spoken. Graham Horatio Winslow III, who had obviously been drinking, waggled his fingers.

"What did you say?" Fox challenged in deadly tones.

"Just that you're like a sultan up there with your own little kingdom and a white wife and an Indian wife. One shudders to think what sort of goings-on—"

"Winslow, I suggest that you shut up before something very painful happens to you," Fox cut in. "Sun Smile is my wife's half-sister. She has come to live in the Avery household at the request of her father, Stephen Avery. Sun Smile was widowed recently and is still in mourning, but we hope that she'll come to find happiness with her new family, since the future for the Lakota Indians is so bleak." He looked at Winslow, and then Garnet, who yawned as if bored. "I have treated both of you with enough courtesy to give you a truthful explanation. I would hope that you would return that favor by correcting any malicious gossip that you might overhear." Fox pierced Garnet with a stare as sharp as splinters of blue ice, and she dropped his sleeve and took a step backward. "I bid you good morning."

Graham stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "There's something about you that's just not right, Mr.
Matthews.
I'd bet my family fortune that you have a secret, and I mean to discover what it is. Maybe it's common for men around Deadwood to be known by just one name, and not have a past—but why would an eastern gentleman like you, with an education and a fancy, well-bred mother, do that unless you have a secret? You even dressed up like a miner and acted like you were from the West, until your mama turned up to expose you! Simply inexplicable. I for one am proud as punch of each and every letter in
my
name, and—"

"Winslow, you are a long-winded fool," Fox cut in, then turned and walked away. He hadn't proceeded more than a few steps when he heard Graham Winslow begin to speak again.

"Lorna! Loorrrna!... There you are! Just the beauty I've been searching for!" The rest of his speech was lost as the young man from New Haven—with the extremely important name—staggered into the Gem and out of sight.

* * *

"Sun Smile would like to join us for tea, wouldn't you, dear?" Holding the hand of Maddie's half-sister, Annie Sunday drew Sun Smile into the kitchen of the Avery house. "Madeleine, Susan, would you think me overbearing if I asked that we take tea in the parlor today? I thought that it might be best for Sun Smile to experience this properly the first time." Annie Sunday's kindly voice brooked no argument from any of the parties concerned.

Maddie and her grandmother exchanged glances. "Actually I was thinking of inviting you to our home for tea. That's why I'd just come in—to ask Gramma if—"

"But you cannot mean it!" Although Annie Sunday smiled, there was no humor in her demeanor. "In fact, I ought to apologize to you on behalf of my son. He wasn't raised to live like that, and I must tell you that I was shocked when I arrived and had a good look at that...
cabin.
I'm certain that he improved it to some extent before your wedding, but the place is no more fit for a proper tea than that tiny cottage where I now live." She paused. "Besides, it would be good for Stephen to join us. And while he may be much improved, he's still tired from the excitement of the wedding and should not be forced to leave the house."

Her reasoning was so sensible that they had to agree. While Maddie helped her grandmother prepare the tea and slice pieces of cake, she noticed that Annie Sunday had placed Sun Smile on the settee and then brought Stephen out to sit beside his daughter. They made an oddly affecting picture: the earnest white man in his tailored trousers and stiff-bosomed shirt seated next to the neatly dressed yet spiritless young woman.

Maddie decided that Sun Smile seemed even more disturbing in her ladylike gown because she still looked so much like an Indian with her straight black hair and dark skin. Moreover, her eyes still burned with grief and pain, and another emotion that Maddie feared might be rage.

They all took seats in the parlor. Annie Sunday began to talk about the plans she had for Sun Smile: reading and writing and sewing and cooking, to name a few. Stephen voiced his approval and reached for his daughter's hand. Although Sun Smile did not resist, she continued to look straight ahead while he beamed at her.

Sipping her tea, Maddie tried to decide what she thought about her new mother-in-law. Annie Sunday had an annoying habit of taking charge of everything and everyone in sight, but how could Maddie argue in the face of her sensible ideas? Now that she and Fox were truly married, she hoped that she would have an opportunity to become better acquainted with his mother. Perhaps they might even be friends if the woman could back away just a bit from her efforts to control nearly everyone Maddie loved.

Perhaps a good starting point would be a private conversation between herself and her mother-in-law. She might share what she had come to understand about the Lakota Indians, in the hope that Annie Sunday would not try so hard to force Sun Smile into the mold of a white woman. She was just about to invite the elder Mrs. Matthews to visit her when a rumbling noise reached her ears.

"What's that?" asked Stephen.

Annie Sunday went to the window and peeked through the ruffled curtains. "Why... I believe that must be a—
mob
coming toward the house! I am reminded of some of the crowds that used to cause a ruckus in the streets of Washington before the Civil War broke out." She put on her spectacles, nodding. "I believe they're angry about our dear Sun Smile."