"Why do your people insist that my tipi flap face east?" she asked, after he had explained how Cheyenne draw pictures of great hunts and other memorable occasions onto their tipis.
"So the wind does not blow tipi down," he explained.
It made perfect sense, of course, and she began to understand that everything the Cheyenne did was in perfect harmony with the world around them.
"And the drums," she asked. "Why do they beat?"
He was unfamiliar with the word "drums," and she acted the word out.
"Tomtoms," he said, nodding, using a word he'd learned from the soldiers. "Tomtom keep time." He demonstrated by slapping his thigh quickly, then slowly. "Make happy sound when papoose enter world."
Maddie's enchantment grew. "All that drumming I hear is to help a mother give birth?"
"Not only births," he told her. "When man take squaw." He held a finger from each hand together to indicate.
"For weddings?" She thought of all the times she had listened to the drums and had felt anxious. "What about war?" she asked. "Do the drums…tomtoms…beat for war?" He looked confused by the question, and she pretended to fight an imaginary foe.
Understanding crossed Lefty's face. "War." He nodded.
"How does a person know what the tomtoms are trying to say?"
He looked surprised by the question. "Ears tell," he explained.
While they talked, she happened to notice a lone horseman watching them from the distance.
"Who is that, Lefty?"
"That Red Feather. He son of Chief Talk To The Sun."
"Why doesn't he join us?"
Lefty traced a stern finger in front of him. "Red Feather think white woman's school bad thing."
"But why?"
"He says this is Indian land. White man should…" He moved his hand to indicate the word he was looking for.
"Leave?" she suggested.
He nodded. "Leave."
"There's so much land out here. It seems there's room enough for us all."
Lefty's eyes followed the thin line of smoke that moved across the distant horizon as the Kansas Pacific--or the Iron Horse, as he called it--raced westward. He pointed away from the train, to the east. "My people live here…how say…many moons."
She followed his finger. There was no indication of inhabitants in the direction he pointed, only flat prairie, serene sky, and the perfect harmony of nature.
His people had roamed the land for hundreds of years, and yet there was no trace of them anywhere; the land was left intact.
"Then your people come and everything change."
"Is change so bad?" she asked.
"Some change good." He pointed to his hair, but his smile quickly faded away as he added, "But some change not so good."
Lefty left her by the windmill, and she watched him race his pony across the grasslands until man and land became one.
Behind her, Red feather remained on his horse and kept watch. Outlined against the sky, he looked timeless and noble, like the bronzed statues that were becoming so common in Washington.
Feeling faint from the blazing-hot sun, she walked to the soddy, taking care to bolt the door after her.
It was much later that she looked outside and found him gone.
Chapter 17
She debated whether to mention Red Feather to Luke, but finally decided against it. She didn't want Luke to think that Lefty and his friends would pose a problem for him or Matthew. In any case, Red Feather had done nothing wrong.
There was yet another reason why she hesitated in sharing her concerns. Luke maintained a cordial, yet guarded, demeanor toward her. He was willing to discuss the running of the farm, but Matthew and anything pertaining to his own personal life was clearly off limits. This in turn made her less inclined to share many of the mundane, everyday things she might normally have shared with someone with whom she was so closely associated.
Despite his reserve, she found herself an unwilling opponent in some sort of game that felt as intense as any game played for high stakes.
At odd times--as she put the Indians through their early-morning calisthenics, or worked on her museum displays, or went about her many chores--the strangest feeling would wash over her.
She invariably found Luke watching her at these times, though he tried to pretend otherwise by quickly looking away.
What was wrong with the men of the prairie? she wondered. First Red Feather, then Luke, both watching her like she was an animal to be stalked. Was it some sort of strange courtship ritual? Unique, perhaps, to Kansas! No sooner had the thought occurred to her than she burst out laughing.
Few men had thought her worthy of courtship in Washington. She doubted that even the severe shortage of women on the prairie would make her that much more appealing here.
Still, the possibility that Luke might be interested in her romantically was a thought she was reluctant to discount. The truth was, she became obsessed with the idea and soon found herself going out of her way to search him out, as if to prove how ridiculous the idea truly was.
Twice the same week she rode her horse out to the fields to take Luke and Matthew a cool drink. On both occasions Luke was so intent on his work that he failed to see her at first, which allowed her time to watch him at her leisure. She sat on the spare saddle Luke had loaned her and feasted her eyes upon his shirtless back. Muscles that looked as hard as iron rippled beneath his gleaming sun-bronzed skin, and his sturdy thighs strained against the canvas fabric of his trousers. Despite the heat, his actions were swift and his powerful body moved with fluid grace.
It was Matthew who always spotted her first, and as much as she regretted that her secret observations were interrupted, it filled her with pleasure to see the joy on his face at sight of her. Indeed, his face lit up brighter than a lantern, and he stopped whatever he was doing to signal Maddie's arrival to his father with a piercing whistle that brought a loud protest from nearby birds and prairie dogs. His strong little legs quickly cleared the distance as he ran into her open arms. Luke joined them and he always seemed pleased to see her, but never as pleased as she'd hoped. Or maybe she was expecting too much from him; he wasn't a particularly demonstrative man, not even with Matthew.
She came away from both these encounters more confused than before. It suddenly occurred to her that not only did she seek him out to satisfy her curiosity, but she
wanted
her suspicions to be true. It was a startling thought, one that took her breath away.
It took her three days to come to terms with it. Once she did, she wondered why Luke was taking so long to make his intentions known. If this game they played was some sort of courting game, than maybe there was something she was supposed to do in return, perhaps send him a signal of encouragement.
Most of the men in Washington had been rather boring. She had allowed one or two of them to give her a chaste kiss, but had never felt the need to have the kiss repeated; indeed, when one man, a senator's son, made the mistake of trying, she firmly pushed him away and gave him a piece of her mind.
She was never one to engage in flirting--not like her friends who made fools of themselves by flitting their fans and batting their eyelashes. Certainly Luke wouldn't be waiting for her to carry on so, would he? She wondered if she could even bring herself to bat her eyelashes. Surely the Cheyenne women didn't resort to such a ridiculous pastime.
Lefty laughed when she asked him. "No bat eyes," he said, after she demonstrated.
"How does a woman show a man she likes him?"
Lefty grinned. "Warrior steal woman band…" He indicated something that was worn around the wrist. "If woman like, she let him keep."
"And if she doesn't like him?"
"She send someone for band."
"I like your ways," Maddie said.
Lefty looked pleased. "I like your ways, too." He thought for a moment. "But not bat eyes."
Matthew began the practice of joining her each morning as she led the Indians through their calisthenics, and he and Running Deer became fast friends. He even taught Running Deer how to whistle, and the two could be heard trying to outdo one another.
At the end of every day, after returning from the fields with his father, Matthew quickly came to find her and together they spent a pleasant hour, before she prepared supper, searching through the grass for things to display in the museum. By the middle of June, the prairie grass was still green but had grown knee-high making it more of a challenge to discover the treasures that were hidden beneath.
She enjoyed the boy's company and, despite his lack of speech, felt so in tune with him that she quite forgot she was the one who did all the talking.
She sensed Luke's anxiety whenever she and Matthew spent time together. At such times, the door of the soddy remained open, even when the wind was blowing. It wasn't unusual for him to stand on the steps watching them do their morning workout, his forehead creased and his face grim. At other times, his vigilance was more discreet, but no less noticeable.
It seemed to her that Luke was always waiting for disaster to strike. He was constantly on the lookout for prairie fires, and it was his habit every morning and every night to stand a distance from the soddy to scan the horizon. He monitored the sky, studying every cloud as if it spoke to him. Even the slight creak of the windmill would send him running outside to investigate.
One didn't have to live in Kansas for long to understand such vigilance, but she sensed that his watchfulness went beyond environmental concerns. He appeared to be waiting for someone, and every time the train whistle sounded in the distance, he tensed and quickly sought out Matthew.
Who was he waiting for? And what did it have to do with Matthew?
It was a question she put to him that Friday morning as he helped her spread the laundry across the grass to dry.
"No one," he said, his back to her. "I'm not waiting for anyone."
He was a man who kept many secrets, and it was hard to know if his refusal to look at her meant he was keeping yet another one from her now.
"Then it is just me you don't trust with Matthew?"
This time he did turn to her, and the look on his face told her that she had touched upon some deep, abiding pain. "Trust has nothing to do with it. There're things about him…"
"What do you mean, ‘things'? Are you talking about the tantrums?"
"You know I am. You don't know what he's capable of."
"And you don't know what I'm capable of!" Frustrated that he had such little regard for her vast experience with children, she turned and spread a sheet over the grass to dry.
"Maddie…"
The sound of her name on his lips made her heart leap. She turned, and the uncensored look in his eyes touched every womanly cell in her body. It was clear that he wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her. It couldn't have been more clear had he said it aloud--which he didn't and probably never would.
The silence stretched between them, and she watched helplessly as desire faded from his eyes and the usual cool indifference took its place. She realized the next step would be up to her. Somehow she must let him know that she wanted him to fulfill the promise she had seen reflected in his face moments earlier. The promise of a kiss…
Oh, Lord, she wasn't good at this. She wished now that she had paid more attention to the parlor games played out by the others. At the time, she much preferred to spend her time in her father's lab or up to her chin in books borrowed from his extensive library.
Her heart pounded and her knees felt soft as mush. Shaking now, she held her breath and blinked rapidly.
Luke knit his brows. "Is there something wrong with your eyes, Maddie?"
"Wrong?" She had never felt more mortified in her whole life. "There…there's nothing wrong." Eyes stinging with humiliation, she bent over and pulled a newly laundered flour sack from the wicker basket.
"About Matthew… Don't fight me on this."
Cheeks burning, she watched him walk to his horse and mount with easy grace. Soon he was galloping along the trail leading to his crops.