Sacred Is the Wind (32 page)

“Let's see,” Joshua cackled. “That makes—”

“Have I ever shown you my chess set?” interrupted the priest.

Kate stood in the front room, in the dark. She stared down the hall, then searched the blackness around her. She wasn't alone in the room. She heard the back door slam, swing open in the wind, slam again. She could not remember bolting the door on her way out. She remained still, her breathing shallow.

“Who is here?” she asked. No answer, but she heard someone slowly exhale, as if just coming awake. Kate reached blindly out to the wall and located the brass receptacle just inside, a few inches from the doorsill beneath an oil lamp hung from the wall. Her fingers fumbled over and removed a match. Three steps to her right she knew she would find a lamp on the table near the arm of the couch. She struck the match and lit the lamp, lowering the smoked glass shade down over the flue, and turned, gasped, straightened upright. The medical bag fell from her grasp.

“No cry of love, no outstretched arms and a few quick steps to embrace, no delight, but a look of horror. Then perhaps you thought I would still be waiting at Penn Station after all these weeks,” said Sam Madison. His long legs were stretched out, his lanky body collapsed in the easy chair. In his rumpled coat and vest, the rain-soaked slicker in a pile at his feet, he looked every bit the worn and weary traveler.

“How did you find me?” Kate said. She realized how silly her question sounded. She had left him a note explaining her actions and that she had taken a position with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. It must have been quite simple for him to track her down. Of course, she had also begged him not to follow her, that her departure was for the best.

“It was easy,” Sam said, leaving his explanation at that. He sat up in the chair, noticed the slamming door. “Sorry. I mustn't have shut it all the way. I will now.” He rose, steadied himself. “Must have fallen asleep. It was so damn dark in here.” He walked out of the living room and down the hall to the kitchen. He hit his knee against a chair and muttered an oath. Kate picked up her medical bag and brought it into the dining room which was still in the process of being converted into an office, thanks to the skill of Father Hillary. Not to mention the hard work of the troopers Kate had been able to cajole Captain Morbitzer into lending her. The men seemed actually grateful to be spared the captain's afternoon close-order drill. The soldiers of Camp Merritt were bored. Nothing ever happened on the reservation. Kate wished for a little boredom herself. She was tired. She had worked the better part of two hours setting the broken leg and fixing the limb in a proper splint. Finding him had certainly jolted her awake. She couldn't remember anything but confrontations with her father, at least not for the last few years. When she was a child, yes, he had tried to be a loving parent. But at his every attempt her mother would interject some cutting remark a child could never understand, something said to drive him away. Not that he hadn't helped her from afar. Indeed, her years in medical school had been filled with very few difficulties, thanks to the reputation of the Madison name and Sam's always timely bank drafts.

A light blossomed in the kitchen. She heard Sam stoke the coal in the wood stove and hand-pump water into a coffeepot. Kate hung her rain-soaked slicker on a peg by the front door and wandered down the hall to the kitchen. She watched as Sam poured a cup of coffee for himself and one for his daughter.

“I took the liberty of helping myself. Then I forgot all about the coffee. I was so tired from the ride I went in and sat down and dozed off.” He took a sip, grimaced. “I let too much of the water boil away. Soon as what I added starts to boil, we can freshen our cups. It's been a long time since I made coffee for myself, much less slept out on the road. I should have hired a driver with the carriage.” Kate, still at a loss for words, sat at the kitchen table and continued to study her father as he made small talk about the weather and his discomfort. In his late forties now, Sam Madison had matured gracefully, thanks to the wealth inherited from his father. His hair was thinning fast now but was impeccably trimmed, his suit was of the finest cut. He was developing a slight paunch, all the more noticeable on his otherwise bony frame. His cold blue eyes were deep-set and shadowed, the eyes of a man who did not sleep well at night. He turned and stared out the back window at the cedar-and-pine-covered hills, visible for a moment in a flash of lightning. The darkness returned and where he had looked out at the storm, he now saw his own countenance reflected in the glass. His breath clouded the windowpane. He shifted his gaze to the reflected image of his daughter seated behind him at the table and thought for a moment she was the incarnation of Esther.
Why could you not forgive me? It was all for you, I feared for you
. He rubbed his eyes, wiped his face on the sleeve of his coat, and willed the ghosts away.

“I can save us both a lot of pain,” Kate said. She took a swallow of coffee and almost gagged on the thick bitter brew. She set the cup aside. She stood and walked across to her father and stared out at the storm, their reflections almost merging in the window.

“I never thought I would come back. Not among these people. I am told the survivors from the Warbonnet are among the Northern Cheyenne here.”

“I am not going back,” Kate said. She placed a hand on her father's shoulder. “Go home, Father. You don't belong here.”

“And you do?” Sam replied with a voice thick with sarcasm. “You think the pigment of your skin makes a difference, that it makes you Indian. Kate, you aren't a savage. You are a Madison, my daughter, a civilized human being, for heaven's sake.”

“I am needed here,” Kate said. She turned and walked back into the hall.

“I said that very same thing once to my father,” Sam said. “But times changed. I grew up, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Kate. “And you forgot.” She looked back at her father. “But Mother didn't.”

“No. Your mother did not forget,” Sam bitterly agreed. “Nor did she forgive.”

“And yet you stayed married to her. Despite your absences, you always returned to her. But you could have sent her away if she made you so unhappy,” said Kate.

Sam sighed softly and set the coffee cup aside, walked over to the table and sat down. He leaned his elbows on the table and folded his hands beneath his chin in a prayerful gesture. “I loved her.” He glanced up at his daughter. “And I know it is hard to believe, but I love you. Oh, at first, when you furthered your education and entered medical school, I was glad to send money, to help in any way the Madison name could, but only because I knew what people thought of you and your mother. And me too. Sam Madison's squaw. Sam Madison's little red-skinned daughter, poor dear savage. I wanted to prove to them how exceptional you were. I wanted to shove your success down their throats. I wanted you to triumph for me. Me! And then, much later, I began to have such a feeling of pride for you and in you. And when you graduated I didn't care anymore about opinions and how I could hold you up to my associates … oh, the things a vain man is heir to … I was happy for you. I envisioned us together. Because I knew you would not only survive but … but continue to triumph in the city, in this culture your mother never understood, in civilization. I had lost Esther but I had you. She hardened your heart against me, I know. But if you only give me a chance, if you will just come back with me and let me show you how good life can be for us. Let me be your father. I am going to sell off the shipping interests. I am pulling out of South America. We'll make time to get to know each other, to see the world. And after a long rest, why, I know I can get you appointed to the medical college in New York.” Sam brightened as his vision of the future unfolded before him, in this humble kitchen on an Indian reservation in south-central Montana. “
See
the world? By God we can
have
the world!” Caught up in his own dreams, he had not noticed Kate rise from the table. Now he heard her footsteps in the hall. Alarmed, Sam followed his daughter back into the front room.

“Don't you see?” he said. “Try to understand.”

“No. You try!” Kate snapped. She crossed over to her medical bag and took out a black-leather-bound journal. “This is private. But I will let you see it. Now I am going up to change clothes. Here, take it.” She placed the journal in his hands and disappeared up the stairway to her room above. Sam walked over to the couch and sat down near the oil lamp. He opened the journal and began to read.

July 3, 1889
. Our last night on the road from Miles City. Agent Gude and the young Captain Morbitzer have been very kind. They have tried to make me as comfortable as possible. But I am filled with apprehension. And the same burning question I have asked myself since leaving Philadelphia: Am I doing the right thing?

July 5, 1889
. It is morning. I have time to reflect on the night before. A tremendous celebration here for Independence Day. All looked as though they were enjoying themselves. I should have joined in but felt too much a stranger. And I felt so alone. As I did in my father's house. Am I a frightened girl again? Where is my sense of purpose that has sustained me for so long? Dig deep, Dr. Madison, and find it. First things first, then. The people won't come to me unless I come to them. So be it. I met an interesting man yesterday, about my age. Although his manners left something to be desired, I found him … interesting. I am told he has a small ranch. Perhaps I shall begin at his place. I am sure the Indian agent will give me directions.

Michael Spirit Wolf stared at the two-story house. He noticed the light appear in the upstairs window. Kate was obviously home. But he made no move toward the house, for he had also noticed the buggy and mare tethered out behind the house in the cover of a woodshed. Michael sloshed across the mud toward this unidentified carriage. The mare craned its head around as Michael stepped in under the roof. He noticed the mare's lead reins had been wrapped around one of the logs in the woodpile at the rear of the narrow shed. The carriage stood just out of the rain. As Michael entered the shed's meager protection, a figure loomed up on the other side of the carriage and backed away, as startled as Michael. Lightning flashed and Michael recognized James Broken Knife.

“You're too late,” James chuckled. “She has a visitor tonight. A white man.” The tribal policeman's features were flushed from his efforts. His eyes were black smears lost beneath his furrowed brows and thick jowls. He looked as mean and hard as he was, and Michael knew enough to be wary of the man. He smelled the alcohol on the sergeant's breath. “Nothing here tells me who he is. Damn rented carriage. Must have brought his clothes into the house.” James leaned on the buggy. Its iron springs creaked beneath his weight. “Reckon he plans to stay the night. He has good taste, huh?”

“Why don't you shut the hell up?” Michael answered.

James chuckled. “Very brave. Like your father. I was there, remember? The mighty Panther Burn, war chief of the Cheyenne, leading his people into General Miles's camp. I saw them arrest him and lead him away in chains. The panther … chained.” James lifted the jug to his lips, took a swallow, lowered it, and replaced the cork. He sloshed the contents and judged how much he had left. The hell with the stranger, the carriage, and Michael Spirit Wolf too.

“I remember. Everyone remembers,” said Michael Spirit Wolf in an ominous tone. But James would not be baited. He had the law. And the law was power.

“One day maybe I'll get the chance,” James said. He sighted along the jug. “Bang! Bang! And Panther Burn dies. Or maybe the son of Panther Burn.” James aimed the jug at Michael. “Bang!” Then the tribal policeman walked unsteadily off toward the street. He was already drenched to the skin. A little more rain wouldn't matter at all. Michael looked at the windows of Kate's house. An amber glow filtered out through the black of night from the kitchen window, from the bedroom window up-stairs. Michael thought of his mother, of Rebecca's first meeting with Panther Burn and how she knew in her heart they were called together from the very first time they stood alone in the wind. Michael and Kate had stood together in the wind and watched the storm rage upon the earth and heard the wind call them by name. Michael dug his hands into his coat pockets and decided to wait a bit, at least until the downpour eased. And then, by heaven, he would come calling. He could care less as to this other visitor. He felt a little foolish and grinned to think of what Uncle Joshua would say. Foolish or no … Michael kept his vigil in the rain.

July 20, 1889
. I delivered a baby son to the family of Lester Old Mouse. It was a hard birth. I thought I might be forced to cut on the mother but happily the baby corrected itself with a little help from me. I did not have long to enjoy my triumph, however, as Lester's youngest daughter, Sarah, took to coughing and all but lost consciousness. She had gotten a kernel of corn caught in her throat. I managed to extract it with a twig and some hairpins but I shouldn't like to try again. Checked on Mr. Hollow-breast. The fractured femur is mending nicely. I should set all my breaks with a flatiron and rope. Have covered many miles today. Michael accompanied me on my way into town. Rebecca Blue Thrush will have nothing to do with me but at least she keeps to herself whenever I come out to the ranch. The hurt runs deep in her. How I wish there was a cure for the heart's pain. Setbacks … victories … my life is full. I am needed here. And slowly I am making a place for myself. Had to promise I would attend an officers' party at Fort Keogh with Henry Morbitzer. At least I said I would meet him there. The things I must do to keep him helping me with the renovations of my house into a hospital. Tired. Tired. Tired.

July 21, 1889
. Children visited again today. Ate the last of the peppermints. However, a fresh supply should arrive with my shipment of Pharmaceuticals from Miles City. The children are so sweet. They love to look at the bottles of medicines and all the liquids and powders and pills in my medical bag. Oh, I am not accepted by all, not yet. But I belong here.