"Does this mean the woman has moved in with you?"
"She hasn't exactly moved in with me," Maddie explained. "She leaves after sunset and arrives at dawn."
"What is she doing here?" Luke asked.
"She's…protecting my virtue."
Luke's eyes widened in astonishment. "From…from who?"
"Shooting Star."
Luke turned and in doing so accidentally knocked over a rabbit, the latest in the growing number of mounted animals that were beginning to clutter up the soddy. He gritted his teeth. Since Maddie had stuffed that damned cardinal, Matthew insisted upon carrying home every carcass he found.
The place was beginning to look like a damned morgue! Why couldn't Maddie take up needlework or soap making like other women?
"This is the last straw. I won't have it, Maddie. The woman has got to go!"
"I tried to tell her that," Maddie explained. "I asked Lefty to translate."
"Then I shall tell her. And believe me, I won't need anyone to translate." Luke stormed outside. The woman watched him warily, clutching her shawl.
His exasperation left him. He simply didn't have the heart to scold an old woman, no matter how much she provoked him. "You can't stay here," he said gently. She glared at him, but remained steadfast in her demeanor.
"You…" He pointed at her. "Can't…" He shook his head. "Stay here. You must go home." He pointed in the direction of the Cheyenne encampment.
There was no response. He ran his fingers through his hair. "I said, ‘Go home!'" The voice he used was intended to be understood.
The woman jumped to her feet with a youthful energy that surprised him. He drew back, thinking she was going to strike him. She did attack, but not physically. Instead, Picking Bones screamed at him, spewing words like venom. He had no idea what she said, but it sounded downright hostile, maybe even threatening. By the time the tirade had ended, she had earned his grudging respect.
He was more than a bit relieved when she shuffled off.
He turned at the sound of musical laughter behind him and watched in amusement as Maddie tried to control her mirth.
"I would say that you're not exactly her favorite person," she said, and in the soft glow of the setting sun, she looked radiant.
"I got rid of her, didn't I?"
"For the time being."
"That might not be such a good thing," he said softly. "For that means you'll have to protect your own virtue."
"You needn't concern yourself about that. Most men take one look at me and run the other way."
He considered this for a moment. He didn't feel much like running. If anything, he felt drawn to her like a moth to a lantern. "Why do you suppose that is?"
"My mother says it's because I'm not ladylike enough."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. She says a lady never runs except to protect her virtue."
He laughed at this.
"And a lady should never lift objects over her head. Nor should she raise her voice."
He thought about the loud, commanding voice he woke to each morning, so different from the silky softness of her present voice, and smiled. What a sight it was to see her leading the Indians, and any other visitors who had the misfortune to be in the vicinity, in her brisk calisthenics classes.
Her mother was right. "Ladylike" was not an apt description of Miss Maddie Percy.
He swallowed hard in an effort to dislodge the lump that had suddenly risen to his throat. "I'm glad."
"What?"
"That you're not a lady."
"Why…why would you be glad about that?"
"I know from experience that a lady can't survive out here in this hostile land. Why? What did you think I meant?"
"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing at all." After a moment's silence, she added, "I better go back inside. I promised Matthew to tell him a story."
His impulse was to keep her there, to take her in his arms and hold her. He took a step forward, but the clamor of angry voices from his past prevented him from reaching out to her.
"If I don't see you, have a good night."
He usually spent his evenings in the barn. "You too," he said.
She stood for a moment longer. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and planted a hard kiss on his mouth.
Startled, he gasped and pulled back. "What the…"
Her arms dropped down to her side. "I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't mean anything." She sounded hurt, and he chastised himself for overreacting.
"Don't apologize…you surprised me, that's all." He straightened his shirt. He'd never known a woman could be so demonstrative. He didn't know what to do, what to say.
She stood motionless. He wouldn't have thought her capable of standing so still.
"I just wanted to tell you how obliged I am to you for letting me stay here," she said.
"I'm the one who should be thanking you. For everything you've done for Matthew…for me."
"That's very kind of you to say."
Damn, he hated this. Hated the polite talk, being constantly on guard. "Maddie…" Her name was barely more than a sigh on his lips. He reached out to her, but she'd already turned and was walking away.
"Good night," she called softly over her shoulder. He heard the door to the soddy open and close--and then, silence.
Picking Bones continued to show up like clockwork every morning. The stoic and intrusive presence of the old woman was beginning to get on Luke's nerves. What right did she have to plant herself on his property and glare at him every time he had occasion to raise his voice at Maddie--which seemed to be every day lately?
Not that he meant to raise his voice, but Maddie brought out the worst in him. If it wasn't one thing, it was another."
Ruminating on the perplexing situation he was in, he walked into the soddy and found himself face to face with a fierce snarling bobcat. Gasping in horror, he dropped to his knees and grabbed a chair in an attempt to defend himself.
Maddie turned from the stove, her face aghast. "My word, Luke, what is it?"
He held the chair in front of him, staring through the rungs at the yellow fangs.
The bobcat hadn't moved, and now he realized it was the latest in the growing number of mounted animals that filled the room.
"Damn it, Maddie!" he bellowed, unable to curtail his anger. "A man can't even walk into his house anymore without being scared out of his wits." Then knowing how dangerous his anger could be, he threw down the chair and quickly left the soddy. He mounted his horse and raced across the prairie in an effort to calm down. But it wasn't only anger he feared; there were other feelings more terrifying.
He rode for hours before he felt it was safe for him to return home. By the time his anger was spent and his other emotions under control, it was late, almost midnight, and the lights in both the tipi and the soddy were out.
He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and didn't wake up until her strident voice told him it was morning.
Lord, he thought, as he lay there staring up at the frilly petticoats on the ceiling, she sounded like a general, putting those poor Indians through their early morning drills. He did have to smile, though, as he recalled the group of potbellied astronomers running around the soddy, trying to keep up with the Cheyenne. He hadn't heard so much huffing and puffing in his life!
He couldn't seem to remain indifferent anymore. He was either smiling or frowning. Mostly frowning. Wanting her to leave. Wanting her to say. Cursing her. Praising her.
It was with these same ambivalent feelings that he prepared to leave for the fields early that Thursday morning in July.
Matthew had dawdled more than usual. He'd taken forever to eat his breakfast and twice his normal time to dress.
When it was time to leave, Matthew was nowhere in sight, and Luke was forced to search for him. He walked around the barn and stopped mid-step. The word
Matthew
was scratched into the dirt. A short distance away, Matthew was hunched over, his back toward his father.
Luke moved closer and watched quietly as Matthew finished writing his name once again in the dirt.
Luke bent down by his son's side, a lump in his throat. Matthew dropped the stick and started for the wagon, but Luke stayed him. "I didn't know you could write your name, son. That's wonderful. God, it's the most important thing in the whole wide world!" Luke wrapped his arms around Matthew and gave him a quick hug.
"What else can you write?" He picked up the stick and handed it to Matthew. "What else, son?"
Matthew took the stick and, with his father's encouragement, scratched out the word
school.
He then looked up his father, his beseeching eyes as blue as the sky.
Luke rubbed his chin. He knew full well what Matthew wanted; he wanted to attend Maddie's school.
That part was clear. What was not clear was how to answer him. What if he had one of the tantrums?
Consideration for Maddie's and Matthew's safety was uppermost in his thoughts. Even so, he regretted having to deny the boy something that obviously meant so much to him.
"What else can you write, son?" It was as if he'd suddenly been given access to a boarded-up house. He wanted to throw open every door, every window, expose every room to the sun, until every shadow had been chased away.
Matthew scratched the dirt with his stick. He took painstaking care to form each letter perfectly. The words
I love you
took shape and Luke wiped away the moisture that suddenly blurred his vision.
He wrapped his arms around Matthew and pressed his cheek against Matthew's smooth young face. "I love you, too." He squeezed his eyes tight to keep the tears at bay.
He couldn't remember saying those words without feeling apologetic, as if he had no right. Today, he kept saying them over and over, as if to make up for all the times the words had gone unsaid.
But it scared him. It scared the hell out of him. What if he felt too much? What if he lost control?
Before his worst fears could be realized, he took Matthew by the hand and led him to where Maddie was sitting on a box.
Several Indians sat cross-legged around her. Their gruff voices lifted in unison as they repeated various phrases after her.
"The sky is blue," she said. "Now, your turn."
The voices rose in unison. "The sky is blue. Now, your turn."
"Again."
"Again."
Maddie dropped the pictures on her lap and raised her eyes above her students' heads to look at him.
"Do you have room for another student?"
He absorbed the softness that touched her face when she looked at Matthew, and he was again reminded of how much he'd been denied in his youth because of who he was.
"I think we can find room."
"Are you sure?" he asked. She knew how violent Matthew's tantrums were. She knew the dangers. What he was really asking was if she could handle it.
She lifted her chin. "I'm quite sure, Luke."
"Wildfire sure," Lefty added with a toothy grin.
Luke nodded and released Matthew's hand. With childish enthusiasm, Matthew ran around the Indians and fell knee first in front of her.
Luke headed back toward his wagon, but it was a difficult moment, one that was filled with a combination of hope and dread. For two years, he'd been Matthew's sole protector. It was hard to let go. His only hope was that he hadn't let go too soon.
Chapter 23
A hot wind swept across the prairie, tossing dust clouds over the turbulent sea of grass. The wind blew so hard on occasion that one corner of the roof lifted during the strong gusts, and Maddie feared the whole roof would blow away.
Through she had spoken eloquently on the wind's behalf, in reality the wind was the one thing that Maddie most disliked about Kansas. That and the dust it dislodged, which seemed to fill the air for days after the wind had stopped.