Reckless Desire (4 page)

Lydia Bannerman licked her lips nervously. “Good afternoon, Victoria,” she said, her words stilted. “May I come in?”

“Mama,” Victoria breathed. “What are you doing here?”

Lydia Bannerman smiled tentatively. “Couldn’t we discuss it inside?”

“Of course,” Victoria said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Victoria led the way to the small sofa that stood before the hearth and sat down heavily, unable to believe that her mother was actually sitting down beside her. She glanced nervously around the parlor, experiencing a moment of real distress. Her mother would not see the simple beauty in the room. All she would see was the crude furniture and a lack of fine paintings and art objects like those that had graced the Bannermans’ home years ago.

“How are you, Victoria?” Lydia asked, her voice strained but polite.

“Fine. And you?” They were talking to each other like strangers, Victoria thought, and in a way that’s what they were.

Lydia looked away, giving Victoria a chance to study her mother. Lydia’s auburn hair, once worn piled high atop her head like a crown, was pulled away from her face and gathered in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Victoria was surprised to see how gray her mother’s hair had become. There were dark shadows under Lydia’s violet eyes, deep lines of worry around her mouth. Her dress, while clean, had been mended several times near the hem. Victoria’s expression showed her astonishment. Her mother had never worn a dress that was less than perfect.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Victoria, I…this is very hard for me to say.”

Vickie frowned. “What is it, Mother?”

“Your father and I treated you abominably,” Lydia said in a rush. “I know I have no right to expect you to forgive me, but I…I need your forgiveness and your…” Lydia’s face turned a bright pink. “And your charity.”

“Charity?” Victoria repeated, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, Victoria, your father’s dead and I have no money and nowhere else to go.”

“Daddy’s dead?” Victoria said, her voice suddenly childlike. How could it be possible? Her father had always been so big and strong. She remembered watching him work in the forge back East when she was a child. His arms had bulged with muscle when he shaped iron into wagon wheels or horseshoes. Sometimes he had entered contests with other blacksmiths, and he had always won. Why, he had never been sick a day in his life.

“Yes,” Lydia said. “He made some very bad investments before he passed away, Vickie. I had to sell everything we owned. Even my wedding ring. I have nothing left. Nothing at all except a daughter who hates me.” The last part was said in a very small voice.

“I don’t hate you,” Victoria said. “Not anymore.”

“Oh, Victoria,” Lydia Bannerman murmured, and burst into tears.

Victoria gazed at her mother’s bowed head. This was the woman who had refused to give her blessing when Victoria decided to marry Hawk, the woman who had turned her back on her pregnant daughter and left town. Suddenly it all seemed long ago and unimportant. Horace Bannerman was dead and Lydia was alone.

After a moment, Victoria put her arms around her mother, and that was how Hawk found them some minutes later. He had been chopping wood for over an hour and he was tired and sweaty when he stepped into the parlor looking for Victoria.

Lydia Bannerman’s head jerked up when she saw Hawk, her eyes registering her disapproval as she took in his buckskin pants and sweat-sheened torso.

Hawk flushed beneath his mother-in-law’s scornful glance, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was covered with sweat and dirt and not wearing a shirt. He looked at Victoria, his expression vaguely accusing as he waited for an explanation as to why Lydia Bannerman was sitting in their parlor, weeping.

“Hawk,” Victoria said. “I’m sorry your lunch isn’t ready yet. My mother came to…” Victoria’s voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure why her mother was there. The news of her father’s death could have been sent in a letter. “Why have you come here, Mother?”

“I need a place to stay,” Lydia Bannerman answered, avoiding her son-in-law’s gaze. “I was hoping you could take me in.”

Disbelief washed across Hawk’s features. Where did Lydia Bannerman find the nerve to come here and ask Victoria for help when she and her husband had walked out and left her homeless and alone?

He began to shake his head, but Victoria quickly jumped to her feet and went to stand in front of him.

“Please, Hawk. She has nowhere else to go. My Daddy’s dead, and Mama hasn’t any money or anyone else to turn to.”

“I do not want her here,” Hawk said in a quiet voice. “She does not approve of me. She will never forgive you for marrying a half-breed, or accept her grandchildren for what they are.”

“I wouldn’t turn your mother away,” Victoria said evenly.

Hawk let out a long sigh. “You are right, Victoria. She can stay as long as she wishes. But I think it will only cause trouble for us.”

In the days that followed, Lydia stayed out of Hawk’s way as much as possible. She knew her son-in-law did not approve of her, but he was unfailingly polite in her presence.

The one thing Hawk was wrong about was how Lydia felt about her grandsons. One look at them and she was completely captivated. She might not approve of Indians, might not approve of Hawk as a son-in-law, but she found no fault in the twins.

It was in the nursery that Hawk and Lydia found themselves alone together for the first time. Usually Victoria was present, acting as a buffer between them, keeping Lydia and Hawk on their best behavior. For a moment, Hawk and Lydia made small talk about the twins, and then, out of the blue, Hawk asked what had been uppermost in his mind ever since Lydia came to stay.

“How could you do it?” he asked in a hard voice. “How could you leave her like that?”

“I…I didn’t want to,” Lydia said, wringing her hands together. “Horace sold the house, and I had no choice but to go with him. He was my husband.”

“You never wrote her. Not once.”

“I wanted to, but Horace wouldn’t let me. He was so angry, so ashamed because Victoria had married a…” Lydia bit down on her lower lip, afraid to say the word in the face of Hawk’s anger.

“Half-breed,” Hawk said harshly. “Go ahead, say it. It’s what I am.”

“Hawk, please—”

“I’ve seen she-wolves that are better mothers than you,” Hawk said derisively.

“You must let me explain. I wanted to write to Victoria, honestly I did, but Horace got furious whenever I mentioned it. I thought of writing to Victoria secretly, but I knew she would answer my letters and then her father would know I had gone against his wishes. Later, when Horace got over his anger, he wanted to come back to Bear Valley, but he couldn’t swallow his pride. He just couldn’t admit he’d been wrong. His guilt over the way he had treated Victoria ate him up. I’m certain that’s what killed him.”

“He deserved exactly what he got,” Hawk said coldly, and left the room, wondering how much longer he could stand to have Lydia Bannerman as a guest in his house.

Chapter Four

I was stunned when Hawk told me Lydia Bannerman was staying with them. How did the woman have the nerve to show her face in Bear Valley after the despicable way she had treated her daughter?

Hawk was obviously upset about the situation at home. Lydia was trying hard to be nice, he said, but he could tell just by looking at her that her opinion of him had not changed over the years. She was crazy about her grandsons, though, apparently willing to forgive them for having a half-breed for a father. The atmosphere in their home was strained and uncomfortable, Hawk said, and he began spending more and more time at our place.

I ran into Lydia Bannerman at the mercantile about a week after she arrived. She had aged dreadfully since I had seen her last. Her auburn hair was turning gray, her face was lined.

We stared at each other for a full minute without speaking. Finally, with as much good grace as I could muster, I said, “Good afternoon, Lydia.”

I could see by her expression that she had expected me to cut her dead. “Good afternoon, Hannah,” she replied. “It’s nice to see you again. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you. I’m…I’m sorry about Horace.”

Lydia nodded, suddenly close to tears. “Life is so uncertain,” she lamented. “One day I had a home and a husband, and the next I was penniless and all alone.”

“I’m sure things will get better, with time.”

Lydia Bannerman shook her head. “I don’t see how they can,” she said with a woebegone expression. “I know Hawk and Victoria don’t like having me in their home, but I had nowhere else to go.”

I felt an unwanted surge of compassion for the woman standing before me. Lydia had treated her daughter shamefully, but I could not help feeling sorry for her. Her husband was dead, she was apparently without money or friends, and Victoria had obviously not welcomed Lydia back into her life with open arms. But then, who could blame her?

At dinner that evening, I told Shadow of my meeting with Lydia Bannerman. He had no sympathy for her at all.

“She made her bed,” he said coldly. “Let her lie in it.” He flashed me a sardonic smile. “Wasn’t that what Horace told Victoria when she asked for help?”

“Yes. But you should see Lydia. She looks so unhappy, so forlorn. I feel sorry for her.”

Shadow shook his head, his eyes wary. “You are not thinking of inviting her to stay here, are you?”

“Well, I was. Just for a little while.”

“I would rather you did not.”

I let the matter drop, for the moment. I knew how Shadow felt about Lydia Bannerman, but I also knew he had a soft heart. Sooner or later, he would relent.

As it turned out, we didn’t have to feel sorry for Lydia very long. Two months after she returned to Bear Valley, she surprised the whole town by marrying the Reverend Thomas Brighton.

“I may go to church one day after all,” Shadow remarked, grinning, when he heard the news, “just to see Lydia Bannerman playing the parson’s wife!”

Hawk and Victoria were overjoyed with Lydia’s marriage, not only because she seemed so happy with the reverend, but because it got her out of their house and into a home of her own.

I had supposed, now that Victoria and Lydia had been reconciled, that I would see less of my daughter-in-law and my grandsons, but it wasn’t so. Victoria called on her mother once a week, taking the children to visit, and she occasionally invited Lydia and the Reverend Brighton over to her house for dinner, but Hawk and Victoria continued to spend a good deal of time at our place, and I was always the first one she called on to look after the twins. Hawk and his family came over for dinner at least once a week, and I marveled at how fast Jason and Jacob were growing. At nine months they were already trying to walk and talk, and their sweet smiles warmed me through and through. How precious they were.

I smiled happily as I served dinner to my family one evening. Hawk and Shadow were talking about the big July 4th picnic. Pa was kidding Shadow about being too old to race against young men like Hawk and the Smythe boys, and Shadow was boasting that he wasn’t getting older, only better. Rebecca and Victoria, each holding a twin, shook their heads as they listened to the men banter back and forth. Blackie was trying to feed a baby bird he had found in the woods earlier in the day.

I was a woman content as I sat down at the table beside Shadow.

“Pa, would you please bless the food?” I asked, having to practically shout to be heard.

“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Bowing his head, Pa blessed the food, and then asked the Lord to bless all those gathered at the table, amen.

As soon as the prayer was over, the men began talking about the race again. I remembered the harvest festival years ago when Shadow and Hawk had first raced against each other and Shadow had let Hawk win so our son would look good in Victoria’s eyes. How long ago that seemed.

“What horse are you going to ride?” I asked my husband. “Smoke is getting too old to race.”

Shadow winked at me. “Heyoka is not too old.”

Heyoka had been sired by Smoke out of one of Shadow’s favorite mares. Shadow had been training the three-year-old colt for the last year, breaking the animal to the feel of a hackamore, the pressure of the reins, the weight of a man on its back. Shadow rarely used a bit on his horses, never used spurs. Heyoka was a beautiful horse, all black except for the spotted white blanket on his rump. He was quick and responsive, and Shadow was very proud of him.

I glanced at Hawk. “And will you ride the blue roan?”

Hawk nodded. The blue roan had also been sired by Smoke. He was eight years old now, and in excellent condition.

“When can I race?” Blackie asked, putting the baby bird back in its box.

“Perhaps next year,” Shadow said. “Tomorrow we will go out to the pasture and you may pick a horse that will be yours alone.”

Blackie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He had a horse already, of course, but it was an older mare, not a horse fit for racing.

“I already know the one I want,” Blackie said excitedly. “She’s in the south pasture, the brown mare with the blaze face.”

Shadow nodded. “A wise choice,
naha
. We will start breaking her to ride tomorrow.”

Dinner was soon over and the men retired to the parlor while Rebecca and I cleared the table and did the dishes. Victoria took the twins into the bedroom to clean them up and get them ready for bed.

“I don’t know anyone who appreciates a good horse race as much as your father,” Rebecca said. “Every year he gets worse. I’m surprised he doesn’t want to ride in the race himself.”

“Pa was never much for riding,” I said. “Who do you think he’ll bet on, Shadow or Hawk?”

“Both,” Rebecca said. “He never can decide between them, so he just bets on them both. And since either Hawk or Shadow has won every year, your father never really loses.”

I laughed at that, and we began to talk about other things. Rebecca mentioned that her daughter Beth was expecting her first baby. Beth had married a wealthy young man in June of 1896. Her husband, Jason Chatsworth, was from Pennsylvania, and that was where they made their home. Beth and Jason had met at a church social and it had been love at first sight.