Wind Song (11 page)

The raucous, rough voices still ringing in her ears, she drove hellbent for Betsy past the remaining saloons.

She almost fell off the seat when the wagon cut a sharp curve out of town. Desperately gripping the traces, she held on for dear life, not daring to slow down until the shouts and curses had faded away and the town of Hays was nothing but a spot beneath the darkening sky.

Only when her safety was assured did she slow the horse to a trot. It would soon be night and she had no where to go.

She supposed she could go back to the soddy. The thought, as surprising as it was daring, was quickly discounted. What in the world would Luke Tyler think if she showed up on his front doorstep again? Especially in view of the incident she'd witnessed with his son, Matthew.

Still, what choice did she have? She had originally planned to pitch her tipi outside of town and try to obtain temporary employment until the school was rebuilt. But after her narrow escape, she had no intention of ever going back there.

She was equally adamant about not returning to the Tyler soddy.

Refusing to succumb to the tears that stung her eyes, she tried to think of how her father would have acted in similar circumstances. She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes to scan the wide expanse of dark purple prairie, determined to challenge anyone or anything that posed a threat.

She hoped to God that nothing would.

Chapter 9

The moon cast a silver glow upon the vast grasslands that rippled in the gentle breeze like waves on a restless sea.

The constant motion of the grass kept her on the edge of her seat. Every shadow suggested danger. She was convinced that Indians were about to attack, and if not Indians, then surely buffalo. Recalling the buffalo stampede the night before, she shivered and felt around her feet for the gun.

Relief washed over her when she located the weapon. She laid it carefully on the seat next to her. Reassured that it was easily accessible, she continued to scour the dimly lit terrain like a general in enemy territory.

The dank odor of grass and earth gradually gave way to the rancid smell left from the recent prairie fire.

Coyotes howled in the distance. An occasional owl flew overhead, but otherwise her journey, though long, was blissfully uneventful.

Although it was not all that late when she picked out Luke Tyler's windmill, probably around ten or so, the window of the soddy was already dark. She pulled on the traces and the wagon rolled to a stop.

The lively beat of Indian drums prompted her heart to pound nervously. Recalling what Mr. Tyler had said about sound traveling on the prairie, she nonetheless felt a cold sweat creep up her spine.

In her estimation, the mere fact that she could hear the drums meant the Cheyenne were too close, no matter how far away they might be in actuality.

She felt tired and hungry, and the cold night air was beginning to slice through the thin fabric of her clothes. Her discomfort, along with the drums, made her reluctant to continue her journey. The dark soddy called out to her like a safe refuge. She only wished she had the nerve to knock on the door and ask for shelter.

Surely, Mr. Tyler wouldn't object if she spent the night on his property. If she left first thing in the morning, he wouldn't even know she'd been there.

She skirted the sod house so as not to wake father or son, and pulled her horse and wagon behind the barn. After taking care of Rutabaga's need, she took her gun and climbed into the back of the wagon. Between the tipi and her trunk, there wasn't much room left.

Grateful for the bedroll she'd forgotten to return, she curled up in a ball and prayed for a quiet, uneventful night without buffalo, Indians, or--heaving forbid--snakes.

The crow of a rooster coaxed her out of a deep sleep into a half-conscious slumber. She might have stayed in that dreamlike state forever had some primal instinct not snapped her into full wakefulness. Fighting her way out of her bedroll, she grabbed her gun, this time, thankfully, by the handle, and brandished it in front of her.

The boy drew back, his eyes wide with fear. He was perched on top of her trunk.

"Matthew!" she gasped, letting the gun fall to her side. "You nearly scared the life out of me." She carefully tucked the gun back into her bedroll. Matthew continued to watch her, his eyes wary.

She motioned him closer. "It's all right, Matthew. I'm not going to hurt you."

The fear left his eyes, but not the curiosity. She smiled at him. "You want to know what I'm doing here, don't you? Well, so do I." She scanned the area around her and was struck anew by the empty vastness of the land. "So do I."

She pulled on her boots ad climbed out of the wagon. She offered her hand to Matthew and he readily accepted it. "Easy does it," she said. The sun felt warm on her back.

The hum of bees and other insects provided a bass harmony for the melodious song of the yellow-breasted meadowlarks. Suddenly the horrors of the last two days seemed like a bad dream.

Thrilling to the early-morning symphony, she took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy smell of damp soil and dew-sweetened prairie grass. Moving away from the shade of the barn, she caught a whiff of the wildflowers that grew in incredible abundance all around.

A prairie dog sat upright before dodging headfirst behind a mound of dirt.

"Interesting animal," she said, pointing for Matthew's sake. "We don't have those back home." A jackrabbit raced past them, and she laughed in delight. "We don't have jackrabbits, either. We only have cottontails."

It suddenly occurred to her how many opportunities the prairie offered for exploration and discovery. Despite her unsettled future, she felt a sense of anticipation.

Mr. Tyler's voice floated toward them. "Matthew!"

Maddie swore silently beneath her breath. She had hoped to make her escape before anyone found out she was there. Since escape was impossible and there was no time to do anything about her disheveled appearance, she heaved a sigh and braced herself.

Mr. Tyler walked around the barn and stopped in mid-step. A look of surprise crossed his face as he gaped at her. "Miss Percy!"

"Mr. Tyler," she said briskly. Why hadn't she thought to brush her hair instead of watching the wildlife? Or at the very least change her bedraggled clothes?

He walked toward her, his brow creased. "Didn't you find Hays?"

"Yes," she said her voice weak. "It was exactly where you said it was. The problem was I couldn't find a place to stay."

"I'm sorry…I…" He stared at her torn sleeve and his eyes narrowed in alarm. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," she said, feeling self-conscious.

His gaze lowered to the tear in her trousers. "Nothing?"

"I ran into a group of drunks. I doubt that they meant me any real harm."

His eyes quickly met hers. "I should never have let you go to Hays yourself." The soft lights of concern quickly left his eyes, and his face grew dark with a sudden flash of anger. Thinking his anger was directed at her, she drew back and was about to jump on the driver's seat and take her leave, when he surprised her by inviting her to breakfast.

"Well…I…" She was starved, and this was probably the last chance to eat for who knew how long? Accepting his offer was a matter of survival. "If you're sure it's no trouble..."

"No trouble at all. Coffee's ready." He glanced at Matthew. "And as soon as this young man gathers the eggs and milks the cow, breakfast will be ready."

"That's very kind of…" Before she had a chance to voice her thanks, he had already walked away, his long strides carrying him effortlessly over the packed sod ground.

After Matthew left to do his chores, she stood behind the barn and quickly changed into pretty blue trousers and matching skirt. She topped this outfit with a white blouse. The clothes she'd worn on the previous day would require some skillful repair. Just thinking of the way those men in Hays had attacked her filled her with renewed indignation and fury. Never had she been treated so shabbily in Washington!

She touched her toes fifty times and stretched her arms overhead, as was her usual habit. But it took more than her normal exercise routine to dispense with her outrage and concentrate on her current situation. It took a vigorous run, followed by more bending and stretching.

Her exercises completed, she walked briskly to the water barrel at the side of the soddy. The sparkling clear water was cold but invigorating. She dried herself with a clean flour sack and pinned her hair up in a no-nonsense fashion.

Ready to face her host, she walked toward the door. She was nervous, and her hand shook as she knocked. Lordy be! What was the matter with her?

Matthew opened the door, but it was his father who invited her in. "Come in, Miss Percy."

She stepped inside and remembered to close the door gently. "Breakfast smells delicious."

Matthew hurried to take his place at the table. Once seated, he pointed to the chair next to his. There was no sign of anger in his expression or manner, nor anything to suggest he was capable of the kind of fury she had witnessed a day earlier.

"Thank you, Matthew." She brushed a fine layer of dirt off the chair before sitting down.

Luke filled two cups of coffee, then set the pot down on the stove before sitting down opposite her. "You look amazingly fit, given your ordeal."

She wondered what ordeal he referred to. She'd been through so many in the last forty-odd hours since arriving in Kansas, she was beginning to lose count. "Hays is not a fit place for man nor beast."

Again she noticed the hard look in his eyes, the tightening of his strong, firm jaw. A shiver shot through her, and she wished she'd thought to bring her wrap. "If Sheriff Beckleworth was doing his job instead of attending meetings--"

He shot her a look of surprise. "You know Sheriff Beckleworth?"

"I met him briefly."

"Beckleworth is Colton's sheriff. He has no authority in Hays."

"As far as I could tell, no one has authority in Hays. I thought there was a fort nearby."

"That's part of the problem, I'm afraid. Many of the troublemakers were probably off-duty soldiers. There's not much to do at the fort. So the men ride into town during furlough and get drunk."

"Was Colton as rough and lawless as Hays?"

"Colton was a family town. We had a few troublemakers, but nothing like you'll find in Hays." After a while he asked, "Did you find Mr. Boxer?"

"Yes, for all the good it did me." She described the unsatisfactory meeting she'd had with her employer. "He insists that I keep to the terms of the contract before he'll pay me the money he owes me. So that's what I came back to do. Teach school."

A look of thoughtful contemplation crossed her host's face. "I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. You can't teach without students, and as I'm sure you've already noticed, students are pretty hard to come by around here since the fire."

"Mr. Boxer insists that the school will be built in a few weeks' time, and that all the original families will return. He says the entire town will be rebuilt soon. They have the plans already made up." She smiled at Matthew, who had not taken his eyes off her during her entire discussion with his father. "Meanwhile, Matthew can be my student."

"I need Matthew in the fields with me." It was a simple enough statement, and she would have accepted it at face value had it not been for the obstinate narrowing of his eyes.

"I just wanted to help. Your son needs an education, and I thought since I have nothing much else to do with my time…"

"Matthew is getting an education. He's learning to farm. One day this land will be his. One more year and I'll be eligible to prove up."

"Prove up?"

"The homesteaders act requires me to live on this land for five years. Next year, I'll get the deed and this will all be mine. Mine and Matthew's."

Maddie glanced at Matthew, who was watching a tiny white grub inch its way up the dirt wall. "As I'm sure you'll agree, a farmer needs to know how to read and write."

"Have you forgotten, Miss Percy, that my son cannot talk?"

She took a deep breath. Conscious that the boy had lost interest in the small insect, she chose her words carefully. "No, I have not forgotten that. But it seems to me--"