Fireblossom (40 page)

"To the outside world, maybe, but not when you're next to him. There's an aura around him that's so strong, you almost believe he might pull it off."

"I know what you mean; Bill had that. Look what happened to him, though... and Crazy Horse'll go down, too. General Crook's out there, I hear," Charley said.

Fox nodded. "Crazy Horse told me the general's been trying to chase them down ever since Little Bighorn. His scouts just sighted ol' Three Stars and his troops camped on the prairie a fair distance north. Crazy Horse had enough sense to burn the grass behind his people as they moved south from Montana, but Crook underestimated the Sioux again and now the word is that his horses are starving and the men are about out of rations, too."

"There's nothing stupider than a white man in Indian country," Charley observed. "Y'know, I wouldn't publish an account of my adventures with Crazy Horse in the
Pioneer
if I was you, Fox. There's lotsa folks in Deadwood who might wonder just how friendly you got with the Sioux. Maybe you didn't hear that the
Pioneer
was calling to hang any whites found to be trading ammunition to the Indians—?" After wiping his mouth with a napkin, he pushed back his chair. " 'Course I know you wouldn't do nothing like that. Bringing an Indian squaw into town is one thing, but there's a big difference between the two."

"You heard about Sun Smile?" Fox said, with mild surprise, as they walked toward the sunlit doorway of the hotel.

"Your ma likes to talk. She was over at Star and Bullock's store last time I looked. Prob'ly still there since she seemed to have a long list of things to buy."

Fox bade Colorado Charley a hasty good-bye, thanking him for the breakfast and conversation and agreeing that they would meet again soon. Charley wandered off into the badlands, while Fox went over to Deadwood's new store on the corner of Main and Wall streets.

Annie Sunday Matthews made a striking picture. She stood in the middle of the plain, rustic store which still smelled of freshly sawn pine, wearing a tasteful polonaise walking suit made of cream broadcloth with sapphire-blue buttons and trim. Although the suit was simply tailored and she wore no jewelry except her diamond wedding band, Annie Sunday exuded taste and breeding. Her hair was drawn back softly into the usual chignon that set off her handsome face and fine hazel eyes.

A dark-haired man who was most notable for his bushy eyebrows and mustache was holding an animated conversation with Fox's mother. Another man with an angular face and thinning brown hair was seated behind the store's desk. A surprising amount of merchandise filled the room.

"Why, Daniel, how delightful to see you," Annie Sunday greeted him, extending a gloved hand. "I wondered where you had gone when I awoke this morning. Have you forgotten simple courtesies like writing a note to inform others of your whereabouts?"

Fox was spared a reply to this incredible question by Seth Bullock, who stepped forward to introduce himself and his partner, Sol Star, who then bowed from behind the desk. Both men wore suits and paper collars.

"How proud you must be to have such a remarkable mother," Bullock proclaimed. "It took great courage and resourcefulness for her to come all this way alone. She's just the sort of woman Deadwood
truly
needs."

"You won't get an argument from me," Fox agreed obliquely.

"Mrs. Matthews has been telling us that she taught school for a good many years," Sol Star put in. "That's what Deadwood needs—a first-rate teacher to educate our children."

"I can't think about such a project yet," Annie demurred. "My son needs me first."

"Ma! What are you saying? How could I be so selfish to keep you to myself when the children of Deadwood are in dire need of a
teacher
? It sounds like you were destined for such a position; makes me think that the hand of God led you out here"—Fox swept his arm overhead—"to the wilderness!"

"Certainly I'll consider it," she murmured, directing a sharp glance at him. "I must say that I find the civic spirit in this town to be very... fervent. Why, Daniel, did you know that Mr. Bullock has taken on the job of sheriff? He's just been telling me that the reward has been raised to fifty dollars in clean, merchantable gold dust to anyone bringing in an Indian's
head!"
Annie Sunday paled slightly. "Truly there are aspects of life here that shall be difficult for me to adjust to. I certainly pray that no one will think of harming our dear Sun Smile."

"I don't think that's the kind of Indian the reward is about, Ma," Fox assured her, while trying to figure out how to get her out of the store before she said his real name again or anything else he'd regret. He should have known better than to let her out of his sight without explaining that the people here didn't know him as Daniel Matthews. Of course, she'd been in Deadwood for days. Had she already spread his real name all over town? "Would you mind waiting for me outside?"

"But, my purchases—"

"I'll take care of everything," Fox told her through a clenched smile.

"Well, since you put it that way... Gentlemen, I must bid you good day." Regal as a queen, she nodded to them both and swept out the door.

Fox asked to see a list of the items his mother had bought. Most of the furniture was on order and he asked Star and Bullock to hold off on their search for the pieces she'd requested. Everything else that wasn't a matter of personal taste, he told them, might be delivered at their convenience. "I'll return in a few days to pick out my other household goods personally," he said before paying them and taking his leave.

Annie Sunday was perched on the seat of the Averys' open wagon. Little Ben sat next to her, holding the reins. There was a moat of waste and mud separating the store's wooden porch from the wagon, so Fox was forced to stand a few feet away and converse with his mother.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Ma, but I'm a grown man. I'd like to do my own shopping." His tone was gentle. "We can discuss this better at home, I think. Why don't—"

"You never cared one bit about picking anything out for yourself before," she interjected. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were about to take a wife!"

"We'll talk about this later. I'll meet you at home at midday."

With those parting words, Fox set out in search of Preacher Smith.

* * *

Maddie was nearing her wits' end. At her father's behest she had spent the better part of the morning trying to coax Sun Smile to come out of the prairie schooner and into the house. However, each time she tried to interact with her half-sister, the effort seemed to widen the chasm between them. Sun Smile was adamant in her rejection; it was impossible to pretend otherwise or to stem the tide of hurt and resentment that swept over Maddie after she'd been pushed away.

With a great deal of trepidation, she approached the wagon again at noon, carrying a plate of sliced chicken, fried potatoes, buttered rye bread, and a plum. When she poked her head under the canvas cover that arched over the wagon, the smell was overpowering. Sun Smile was cloaked in shadows, huddled against a trunk that had been filled with her few cherished possessions. As soon as she heard Maddie's step, she averted her face so that all that was visible was a snarled mass of black hair.

"Sun Smile, aren't you hungry? I know that you can understand me," Maddie said, speaking slowly and clearly. "I have brought you food. Father hopes that you will come into the house. We want to take care of you."

Sun Smile made pushing motions in the air with one grimy hand and began to moan, softly, her mourning song. At last Maddie shook her head, set the food inside the wagon, and turned back toward the house. However, her attention was soon captured by a horse and rider nearing the top of the drive leading to the Avery home. The man was waving—and moments later she could see him clearly.

It was Graham Horatio Winslow III.

Maddie sighed. The last thing she wanted was to play hostess to a social call. But at least she looked presentable, even pretty, in a graceful amber faille walking suit that set off her brilliant hair and showed her figure to advantage. She moved forward to greet her guest as he hailed her.

"Ah, my dear Miss Avery!" Winslow dismounted a trifle awkwardly and clasped his derby in his hands. "My eyes gasp at your beauty!"

"Do they?" Maddie asked whimsically. Then she smiled. "It's nice to see you, too, Mr. Winslow."

"Ah, you have not forgotten! How can I describe my relief? And I cannot refrain from remarking on the amazingly similar clothes you and I have chosen to wear today. Is it not singular?" He bent his curly blond head to sweep a hand downward, encouraging her eye to follow. Indeed, Winslow did wear a light brown suit, a cinnamon-colored vest of watered silk, and a brown silk tie over his stiff-bosomed shirt and celluloid collar.

"Quite singular, sir." And, as it was inevitable, Maddie succumbed to propriety and invited him in for a glass of lemonade.

When they were seated on the settee, Winslow whispered, "I must make a confession."

Maddie could see her father through the doorway to his room and knew he was listening. "A confession?" she repeated weakly.

"Yes. Yes, it's true. I heard this morning that you have been among the Indians. I want you to know that this knowledge does not in any way alter my opinion of your character, Miss Avery. In truth, I must tell you that you appear to be unblemished by the experience."

"I'm not sure I understand you, sir."

He set down his lemonade and tried to take her hand, but she eluded him. "I mean, my dear, that I know you are too fine to allow anything you may have been forced to experience to tarnish your character. Perhaps you have, instead, become more... how shall I say it? More womanly, as a result." He blushed and began to perspire. "Miss Avery, I know that you and I did not strike up the sort of friendship I had hoped for after my first call here some weeks ago. However, a great deal has changed since then. I have become more and more discouraged in my quest for a suitable wife in this godforsaken town. My mind doth ever return to
you."
Graham caught her hand this time and clutched it fast in his damp grip.

Startled, Maddie tried to pull away. "Really, Mr. Winslow, I don't—"

"Wait! Hear me out! Has it not occurred to you, my dear, that there were already few enough suitable men out here for you to choose from? Now, after your little journey... Well, need I say more? However, I am willing to overlook it!" he announced triumphantly. "In fact, I might even regard it as a sort of... aphrodisiac..."

"Mr. Winslow!" Maddie gasped. "I'm certain I did not hear you correctly!"

"Dare to believe it, Madeleine!" he exclaimed passionately. "It's quite true: I am asking you to become Mrs. Graham Horatio Winslow the Third!"

"Of the New Haven Winslows?" It was Stephen, calling from his bed in tones of mock wonder.

Graham jumped to his feet, still clutching her hand, and cried, "Yes! Yes, sir, the very same!"

Maddie was dizzy with the urge to giggle when another voice spoke from the kitchen. "Now, hold on." The door swung open and Fox seemed to fill the room as he strode in and loomed over the younger man. "Let go of her hand."

"I hardly think that you have the right to tell me—"

"Fox!" Maddie's face shone with a radiant smile.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, Mr. Winslow," Fox said in a low, menacing voice."I have every right to threaten you at this moment. You're proposing to the woman I intend to marry this Saturday."

A series of gasps seemed to bounce around the parlor. Even Gramma Susan poked her snowy head in from the kitchen, her face bright with surprised pleasure. Stephen was trying to get out of bed, and Maddie had gone white, her mouth frozen in the shape of an O. Without another word, Winslow released her hand, twisted his derby, and marched toward the door.

"Don't hurry back," Fox called after him, unable to resist.

Winslow pivoted in the doorway. "No man humiliates a New Haven Winslow and gets away with it. You have not heard the last of me, Mr.
Daniel Matthews!"

Chapter 24

August 19, 1876

"I still can't imagine what came over Fox," Maddie mused as she sat in a tin bathtub tucked into a curtained corner of the kitchen. "Are you sure he really means to turn up today, Gramma Susan?"

"Well, of course he does!" Susan O'Hara paused in the midst of spreading almond icing on the rich bride cake she had been laboring over for most of two days. Peeking around the curtain, she added, "I've spoken to Fox myself. He loves you, sweetheart. Don't you believe that?"

"Actually... yes." It was a mild day for August—a perfect day to spend in the Hills. Maddie drew her knees up in the small tub, tipped her head back over the rear lip, and leisurely soaped one slim arm. "In fact, I probably have more knowledge of his love for me than he does, but that doesn't mean I thought he'd
marry
me—especially on such short notice. Why, we've barely spoken since we got back to Deadwood! I mean, even after that crazy scene with Graham Winslow, he didn't take me off alone for a proper, tender proposal."