Magnificent Passage (42 page)

The sound was unearthly. It started as a low wail and rose to a baleful moan. At first just the voice of one woman, but soon other women joined in. The first rays of sun brightened the horizon, casting just enough light to make out the frail shape of Willow Wind among the women lying almost prostrate on the ground. Mandy's heart began to pound. Her eyes searched the dawn for any sign of Hawk. Instead she saw Running Wolf walking toward her. He held his head high, but the lines of his face were tense, his eyes dim with fatigue. Just as he reached her, Dark Moon rushed between them.

“This is all your fault!” she said to Mandy. “Wherever the whites go, death follows! You have killed him as surely as if you fired the bullet.” Her pale eyes were hot with unshed tears as she turned and raced toward the women on the ground. She threw herself among them and took up the keening sound.

Mandy looked up at Running Wolf. Someone was dead? What could Dark Moon mean,
she killed him?
Killed who? Her eyes continued to search for Hawk, but she could not see him among the others.

“Where is Hawk?” She turned to Running Wolf in desperation. He might not understand her language, but he would know she was trying to find her husband.

He shook his head and spoke in Cheyenne, trying to
make her understand. She refused to listen. Fear gnawed at her. Her insides coiled into a knot as she read the sympathy on his face. She started to run toward Lean Man, but Running Wolf grabbed her arm and pulled her up short.

He spoke a few words to Dark Moon, and the girl rose from the ground.

“He says to tell you Hawk is dead. He says to tell you he grieves for both of you. The warrior Black Hawk was shot as he crossed the river toward home. His body fell into the current and was carried away. They could not find him. But they are certain he is dead.”

Mandy closed her eyes. Her mind reeled and she swayed against Running Wolf, barely able to stand. What were they saying? Hawk couldn't be dead. He'd promised to return. They were going to the fort and then on to Sacramento City.

“It is your fault.” Dark Moon was screaming at her. “Your fault. You and all the whites. He should have married me. I would not have let him go. It is all your fault.”

Running Wolf stepped between them. He couldn't know what Dark Moon had said, but her tone was clear enough. He shoved her away, and then addressed Mandy, calling her Wishana. He said something in Cheyenne, then left her alone with her grief.

Mandy could barely breathe. How could Hawk leave her again? He said he would return. He never broke his word. Maybe this was all some horrible mistake. She wandered into the teepee and sank down on the buffalo-skin pallet.

A mistake. Please, God, let this be a mistake. But her eyes clouded with tears and an awful ache choked her throat. Running Wolf would never lie to her. No. There
was no mistake. Her husband was dead. The ache in her throat became a sob. The thick buffalo robes beneath her dredged painful memories of the pleasures she and Hawk had shared. It had been a place of great happiness. Now it would be a place of great sorrow. She remembered his gentle lovemaking and promises of their future together; the home they would make in California and the family they would raise. Her fingers trembled as she touched the wolfskin pillow and memories of the handsome white warrior flooded her mind. How she would miss him. She closed her eyes and felt the heavy, hot tears roll down her cheeks. I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will, she thought. Her chest burned with great heaving gasps. She drowned in her sorrow as she imagined her husband drowning in the swirling depths of the river. Her grief became a tangible consuming force. She wondered if she could survive the agony of it.

For three days the village remained in mourning. Willow Wind came to her teepee each day, and the two women held each other in silent communication, sobbing out their grief.

For Mandy the tears would not end. Food nauseated her. She was unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls. The endless nights she spent lying awake on her lonely pallet. She felt weak and helpless. Her body was becoming thin and frail.

Finally, after days of grieving and with the help of the others, she began to regain some semblance of control. She decided the sooner she left the mountains, left the bittersweet
memories, the sooner she might recover, if she ever recovered at all.

With the reluctant help of Dark Moon, she was able to make Running Wolf understand her wishes. By the middle of the second week after her husband's death, she was headed toward her home at the fort.

E
ven after weeks at the fort, Mandy could not conquer her grief.

She ate little and her face looked sunken and pale. Both Julia and her father worried about her constantly. She tried to erase thoughts of the big man, but nothing could make her forget him. Maybe Dark Moon was right. She should never have let him go. She blamed herself for a while but knew in her heart he would have gone no matter what she said. He had been determined to help the people he loved.

Forcing herself to be thankful for the short but happy time she had had with him, Mandy finally gained some semblance of order in her life. And some good came from her return to the fort. She and her father became closer than they had been since her mother died. They talked for hours about things rarely spoken of before: her mother, his career, the promotion he had received during her absence—he was Major George Ashton now. Mandy could sense his pride in having achieved that rank, and it made her proud too.

Mrs. Evans had begun to play a prominent role in her father's life since Mandy left. Mandy noticed how he fidgeted, seemed just a bit uncomfortable, every time the plump,
rosy-cheeked woman arrived at the door. Mandy hoped she would be able to encourage the gentle courtship.

The subject she and her father discussed most often was her future. That was the toughest topic of all. She couldn't seem to think ahead. Her mind would cloud with images of her husband: his boyish grin, his sandy hair, his soft brown eyes. Any plans she tried to make felt hollow without him. She knew she must do something constructive, but couldn't seem to find the will to start. In the back of her mind, Uncle William's job offer loomed the most promising. She loved California, had come to love Sacramento City and to consider it home, but the memories there were strong. Going there might make her feel worse.

Her father would have been happy to have her stay with him, but she was afraid that if she did, she might interfere in the budding romance between him and Mrs. Evans. Besides, after all she'd been through, just caring for her father could never be enough for her. She hoped time would bring the answer.

Four weeks after her arrival at the fort Mandy began to feel ill.

“Sam, honey, are you sure you're okay?” her father asked, taking up the nickname he had called her as a child. It made her feel closer to Hawk, and she liked it.

“Seems like you've been under the weather a little too much lately, and I don't like it.” His gray eyes squinted with concern, the lines deepening in his weathered, suntanned face. She huddled beneath the quilt on her narrow bed. Her stomach rolled, and she closed her eyes, trying to control
her nausea. Her father placed a damp cloth over her forehead.

“You look mighty peaked. I'm gonna have the surgeon stop by this afternoon,” he said.

“I'm sure it's nothing, Papa, really I'm fine.” A knock on the front door interrupted them.

“I'll get it. You just stay put.” He crossed the short space to the door and moved into the parlor. Mandy could hear the soft murmur of voices and knew her cousin had arrived for her daily visit.

Julia burst into the room with her usual enthusiasm, and Mandy was always pleased to see her. She and Jason were doing splendidly, both very much in love.

“Are you sick again this morning?” Julia asked as she took the tiny room by storm. Her calico skirts swirled around her. Her chestnut hair swung wildly.

Mandy smiled weakly. “I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be fine by tomorrow.”

Julia pursed her lips and scrutinized Mandy oddly.

“Uncle George, would you please excuse us? We women need to talk.” She smiled up at him, and Mandy could see that in the past months Julia had softened her uncle's heart.

“Excuse me, ladies. I'll leave you for now. But I'm still sending the surgeon.” He pulled the heavy door closed.

Mandy wet her lips and felt another wave of nausea. She swallowed hard, finally able to control it. “What's all this about?” she asked.

Julia sat on the edge of the bed and cradled Mandy's cold hand. “When you came back you told us you'd fallen in love with the man who took you to California. Travis? . . .”

“Yes.”

“You also told us the man had been killed. Neither your father nor I have had the heart to press you further on the subject.” Julia held tightly to Mandy's hand and searched her eyes with a pair of the same green shade. “There is no easy way to say this, so I'll just come out with it. Is it possible you're . . . with child?”

Mandy bolted upright in the bed and stared at her cousin, speechless.
Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it?
The monthlies she'd missed she'd contributed to depression. But it wasn't depression at all! A small place in her heart knew she was going to have a child. She felt tears well in her eyes as she thought of the baby's father, but she pushed the sadness away.

“Yes! Oh, yes! I'm going to have a baby!” She threw her arms around Julia and hugged her tightly. For the first time in weeks, Mandy felt something besides numbness. She looked down at her stomach. It was still flat and firm, but soon . . . soon . . . I'll be round with child, and then I'll have some part of him again, she thought.

The look of dismay on her cousin's face brought her back to reality. “But what's the matter? This is the most wonderful news of my life!”

“Mandy, dear,” her cousin said gently. “Don't you realize the babe will be a . . . will be a . . . ” She couldn't bring herself to say the hateful word.

“But we were married!” Mandy exclaimed, reading her cousin's thoughts. “We were married in the Cheyenne village with Strong Arrow and Willow Wind and—I know I should have said something, and I planned to, but somehow I just couldn't bring myself to talk about it yet.”

Julia hugged her, then set her away. “Well, I'm happy for
you,” she said. “We'll tell the rest of them to go straight to hell, if they don't like it!”

Mandy gasped at her cousin's language. Slowly, comprehension of her predicament dawned. The people at the fort wouldn't believe her story, and even if they did they wouldn't recognize an Indian wedding ceremony as legal. She hadn't even told her father. Maybe he wouldn't believe her either. Maybe he'd throw her—and her unborn child—out of the house. It was a long way back to California, and maybe even Uncle William would be unwilling to help her.

“Oh, Julia!” Mandy felt fresh tears welling. “I don't want our child to be called a bastard. He doesn't deserve it.” She realized she had referred to the baby as a
he,
and that same tiny voice told her the child would be a boy.

Julia looked determined. “You once said, ‘Don't worry, we'll think of something,' and we did. Jason and I are together because of you. My happiness is a result of your courage. I'll think of something. I promise you.”

Mandy stopped crying and looked up at her cousin. There was a familiar set to her chin and something new—a fierce protective gleam in her eyes. Mandy relaxed a little and reached for a handkerchief. Nothing was going to spoil her happiness. She had something to live for again. She refused to let anything stand in the way of that.