Reckless Desire (38 page)

Shadow’s condition was unchanged in the morning. I gave him another dose of the medicinal powders, applied the salve to his wounds. He would have several scars on his arms and legs if he lived, I thought, and choked back my tears.

News of Shadow’s accident and Cloud Walker’s arrest spread quickly through the valley. All that day our neighbors came to call, expressing their concern, offering help if we needed it, leaving casseroles and covered dishes for our family.

I refused to leave Shadow’s side. I could not eat or sleep, could only sit there, feeling numb inside. I could not bear to see him in pain, to know he was hurting and there was nothing I could do about it. He had always been so strong, so indomitable, it didn’t seem possible that he could be so near death. He had cheated it so many times in the past.

His fever grew worse as the day wore on, and he became delirious. Lying there, he refought old battles and relived the agony and the ecstasy of the Sun Dance. I saw him weep for the death of his father, heard his cry of pain when our first son was stillborn, heard his anguished wail when he thought I had been killed back on the reservation.

I wept for Shadow’s pain. Taking his hand in mine, I began to talk to him, telling him of my love, telling him how desperately I needed him, begging him not to leave me alone.

Dr. Henderson came late in the afternoon. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” he said apologetically. “Mrs. Killmore went into labor this morning. It was a difficult birth. Twins. One of them didn’t make it.”

I was sorry for Mrs. Killmore’s loss, but more concerned over the fate of my own husband. I hovered near the doctor as he removed the bandage from Shadow’s side. The wound was red and ugly. I watched in horror as the doctor withdrew a wicked-looking instrument from his bag. He poured alcohol over the wound, sterilized the scalpel, and then lanced the wound.

Bile rose in my throat as blood and thick yellow pus oozed from Shadow’s side. I gazed at the doctor with alarm. Shadow had already lost so much blood. How could he afford to lose more?

Dr. Henderson kept draining the abscess until only bright red blood flowed from the wound. With deft but gentle hands he bandaged Shadow’s side, took his temperature, checked his pulse and heartbeat.

“Doctor—” I began.

“It’s up to him now,” the doctor said, nodding at Shadow’s inert form. “I’ve done all I can.”

I don’t remember showing the doctor to the door. I couldn’t seem to think or feel anything.

Hawk and Vickie went home to get some rest and look after their place. They came by that night, their faces grave with concern. I hardly knew they were there. They spoke to me and I answered, but I was hardly aware of what was said. I could think of only Shadow.

Hawk brought me a cup of black coffee laced with brandy, and I drank it without question.

Vickie came to sit beside me for a while, her eyes red and swollen. We sat together holding hands. Once we knelt by Shadow’s bedside to pray. At midnight Vickie urged me to go to bed.

“You need to rest,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

But I refused to leave my husband’s side.

The long dark hours of the night passed slowly. I sat beside Shadow, and the quiet surrounded me, seeming ominous and loud. Was it my imagination, or was death lurking just outside the door?

Half-asleep, I remembered the first time I had seen Shadow. He had been a boy of twelve at the time, handsome and arrogant. We had become friends and he had taught me to hunt and fish and skin a deer. They were not pursuits I had cared for, but Shadow thought that girl things were foolish and a waste of time, and he had refused to do anything he considered silly or undignified, which meant just about everything I liked to do.

I recalled the day of my sixteenth birthday. I had not seen Shadow for a long time. We had met by the river and he had been even more handsome than I remembered. He had worn only moccasins and the briefest of deerskin clouts, and I had not been able to take my eyes away from him. His legs had been long and well-muscled from years of riding bareback, his belly had been hard and flat, as it was now, ridged with muscle. His shoulders had been broad. Two livid scars had marred his chest, proof that he had participated in the Sun Dance. A third scar had zigzagged down his right shoulder. Like a bird hypnotized by a snake, I could not tear my eyes from him. I could only stare, awed by his proud carriage, completely mesmerized by his savage yet utterly fascinating appearance. We had not said much that day, nor had we spent a great deal of time together, yet I had known that our lives would be intertwined from that day forward.

I remembered riding the war trail at Shadow’s side, remembered my horror at killing a man. The dead trooper’s face had haunted my dreams for weeks. Shadow, always sensitive to my moods, had done his best to comfort me. Nights, when we were alone, he talked to me of his youth, telling me amusing tales of his people in an effort to cheer me. But it had been his touch, the strength of his arms and his love, that had brought solace to my troubled soul. Only in his embrace had I felt secure. Sometimes it had seemed as though the whole world had gone mad, and only Shadow and the love we shared had remained unchanged.

Memories. My whole life was filled with memories of Shadow.

At dawn I forced myself to stand up and move around. My body was stiff and sore from sitting for so long, and I suddenly felt old, so old. Going to the window, I gazed out into the distance. The sky was growing light, coming alive with glowing shades of red and gold and lavender as the sun gave birth to another new day. It was a magnificent sunrise, and as the colors slowly began to fade, I saw two red-tailed hawks soar across the clear blue sky, wheeling and diving in perfect unison until they disappeared into the sun.

“Hannah.”

His voice reached out to me, more welcome than life itself. Turning, not daring to hope, I saw Shadow watching me. He looked pale and weak, but his eyes were clear, and I knew the worst was over.

Murmuring a fervent prayer of thanksgiving, I ran to his side and placed my hand over his brow. It was cool. The fever had broken at last.

Shadow cocked his head to one side. “You look awful,” he said candidly.

“You look wonderful,” I exclaimed jubilantly. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

It was the best news I had ever heard. I gave him a big kiss, then went into the kitchen and prepared a bowl of broth for Shadow and a thick sandwich for myself. Now that Shadow was going to be all right, I was famished.

Shadow had a second bowl of broth and a cup of coffee, and I ate another sandwich.

“Hannah.” Shadow laid the bowl aside and took my hand in his. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t,” I admitted sheepishly. “I was too worried about you.”

“Come, lie down beside me.”

“I’m all right.”

“Hannah.” His voice was stern. “If you get sick, who will take care of me?”

“That’s blackmail,” I muttered, but I obediently crawled into bed beside him, my head nestled against his shoulder, my arm going around his waist. I was careful not to touch his wounded side. With a sigh of contentment, I closed my eyes.

I slept all that day and into the next.

Shadow’s recovery was slow but steady. He had been badly hurt and had lost a great deal of blood, but he was strong and possessed a fighting spirit, and that stood him in good stead now. He slept much of the time during the first week. I rarely left his side. I had almost lost him, and I could not bear to be away from him for more than a few minutes at a time.

Shadow, too, was aware of how close to death he had been. When he was awake, his dark eyes lingered on my face. In sleep, he held my hand in his, refusing to let go.

“It was a near thing,” Shadow mused one evening after dinner.

“Too near.”

Shadow grinned at me. “It was a very big bear.”

“Were you afraid?”

“Not of dying. Only that I might not see you again.” Shadow studied my face, his expression thoughtful. “Would you really leave Bear Valley if I asked you to?”

“Why do you ask?”

“One night I felt myself slipping away, and while I hovered between this world and the next, I had a vision. I saw my mother and my father waiting for me. They were dressed in buckskins whiter than any I have ever seen. I could see trees and flowers and many miles of green grass. And buffalo. Hundreds and hundreds of buffalo, grazing in a meadow.”

“It was just a dream,” I said, but I felt a strange shiver inside as Shadow shook his head.

“It was not a dream. My mother smiled at me, her arms outstretched, and I knew that if I went to her, all the pain I was feeling would go away.”

Shadow stared at me, his eyes filled with wonder. “But then I heard you calling my name, begging me not to go. I looked back, and I could see you kneeling beside my bed. You were crying, and I could hear you begging me not to die. You said you would leave Bear Valley and live anywhere I wanted.”

My mouth went dry as Shadow finished speaking. Perhaps he
had
gone to that place between life and death. The thought filled me with a nameless fear.

“I told my mother that you were weeping for me,” Shadow went on, “and she said I must go back, that my unborn son would need a father when he was born.”

I gasped, my hand going to my stomach. I had suspected for some time that I might be pregnant, but I had shrugged it off. Then, when Shadow had been hurt, I had forgotten all about it.

“Are you pregnant, Hannah?”

“I think so.”

Shadow smiled from ear to ear. “Another son!” he exclaimed, and then he grew serious once more. “Would you leave Bear Valley for me, Hannah?”

“If you wish.”

Shadow grinned wryly. “I do not want to leave. I do not know what I went looking for out there on the plains. Perhaps I am growing old and feeble-minded. Out there, alone, I realized that everything I had ever desired was waiting for me here. I was about to start for home when
mato
attacked me.” Shadow shook his head ruefully. “I knew I was looking death in the face and that if I panicked I would never see you again.”

Shadow laughed softly. “It was hard not to run, but I knew that running was the wrong thing to do, so I played dead instead.”

I let out a long sigh, glad the nightmare was over.

Shadow told his story many times in the days ahead as our friends and neighbors came to visit and to wish him well. Fred Brown, Porter Sprague, and Clancy Turner came to call one afternoon, and they exchanged stories, real and doubtful, about grizzlies and the men they had attacked. The grizzly was indeed a fearsome beast, with no enemy but man. A charging grizzly was a terrible sight to behold. Ears flat, hair flat, they could cover fifty yards in three seconds, a remarkable speed for such a large animal. Grizzly bears possessed a keen sense of smell, feared nothing, and considered almost everything to be food. Weighing only sixteen ounces at birth, a full-grown bear could easily weigh over a thousand pounds. Little wonder that both animals and man stayed out of their way.

I listened in horror as Fred Brown related the story of mountain man Hugh Glass. It was said that Hugh Glass had run afoul of an enraged grizzly while traveling with a small party of trappers. He managed to kill the bear in the struggle, but when it was over, Hugh was more dead than alive. The leader of the expedition left two men to stay with the wounded man until he recovered or died, but the two men left with Glass were certain he would never recover from the awful wounds he had received, and they abandoned him, taking his rifle and ammunition and supplies. But Hugh Glass had survived. Alone in the wilderness, he lived on wild berries and roots. Unable to walk, he crawled toward Fort Kiowa, over a hundred miles away, determined to seek vengeance on the men who had left him for dead. Eventually he was found by a band of Indians, who tended his wounds until he recovered. The most amazing part of the story was that, when Glass found the two men who had deserted him, he forgave them. Few men were lucky enough to survive such a violent encounter with a grizzly. How thankful I was that Shadow had been one of the lucky ones.

With Shadow’s life out of danger, my thoughts turned to Mary and Cloud Walker. Shadow urged me to go to Steel’s Crossing to keep Mary company and get acquainted with our newest grandchild. It was tempting, but I could not leave Shadow. He was still bedridden and unable to care for himself, though he wouldn’t admit it. Hawk thought about going to stay with Mary, but he had his hands full here just looking after his place and ours.

I wrote Mary daily, hoping she would understand why we couldn’t be there, hoping she had the inner strength to meet whatever the future held.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mary wept tears of joy as she read her mother’s letter. Thank God, her father was out of danger and on the mend, though he was still weak and bedridden. He was a terrible patient, her mother said, and complained about everything except the pain as his wounds healed.

Laying the letter aside, Mary gazed out the window of her room at Mrs. Spencer’s boardinghouse So much had happened in such a short time. Cloud Walker had been questioned repeatedly about Frank’s disappearance, but he had refused to say anything. With no evidence of foul play and no corpse, it had looked as though he might be released from jail, and then Harvey Castrell had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly in Lincoln County. The sheriff who arrested Castrell recognized him from an old “wanted” poster, and Castrell had been extradited to Steel’s Crossing to stand trial for the murder of a local shopkeeper five years before.

Mattie and Leland Smythe had arrived at Steel’s Crossing about the same time. The detective they had hired had gotten wind of Castrell’s arrest and notified them that Castrell was in jail awaiting trial. Mattie and Leland had rushed to town to see if Castrell knew of Frank’s whereabouts.

Mary had been visiting Cloud Walker when Mattie and Leland entered the cellblock. She could still recall the wolfish grin on Castrell’s face as he told Leland and Mattie that Cloud Walker had taken Frank and himself into the wilds and killed Frank in cold blood, and that he himself had barely escaped with his life. He even told them where it had happened. He told the same story to the prosecuting attorney.