Witch Dance (19 page)

“I will. Get a good night’s rest, Kate.”

Kate knew she wouldn’t. Something terrible was stalking the Chickasaw children, and she wouldn’t rest easy until she’d found the answer.

 o0o

Cole lay rigid beside Anna, waiting for her breathing to become even. She tossed and turned, but he didn’t reach for her as he always had. Their children stood between them.

“Cole?” Anna whispered, but he pretended to be asleep.

Somewhere in the darkness his children lay in their hospital beds, their little faces pinched with pain and their little arms hooked to tubes. The indignity of their condition rushed through Cole like a storm-swollen river.

Anna rolled back to her side of the bed. The clock in the hallway tolled three times. Would she ever sleep?

He counted off the minutes, each one jarring his nerves. Finally, her breathing became even.

Cole had learned the art of stealth as a child. No one heard him dress; no one saw him leave the ranch; no one saw him arrive at the clinic. Not even the nurse, Deborah. She was bent over papers in the office, her cap askew and her brow puckered in concentration.

“Daddy?”

He could barely hear Bucky’s whisper as it rasped between the pitiful dry lips.

“Everything’s going to be all right, son. Daddy’s here now.”

He was careful unhooking the tubes, careful lifting his precious children from their beds.

“Hold on to Daddy, now. I’m going to make everything all right.”

They clung to him, his beloved Mary Doe and his stalwart little Bucky. Mary Doe whimpered and pressed her hot forehead into his chest.

“Daddy? Where are we going?” The wind caught Bucky’s question and carried it off toward the mountains.

“Feel that, son? Feel the wind? See the stars and the moon?”

Bucky’s nod was weak, and Mary Doe’s arms were so frail. Fear gripped Cole. Was he doing the right thing? For a moment he stood poised between the clinic and the mountains, between the new ways and the old.

He could go either way. It was not too late to turn back. His feet were on the clinic path when Bucky spoke.

“I see the wishing star, Daddy . . . I wish I could ride my pony.”

“We will ride and ride and ride, my son. We’ll ride all the way to the stars.”

Carrying his precious burdens, Cole mounted his horse and headed for the mountains.

 o0o

Deborah filled her tray with medicine and made the predawn check of her patients. The minute she stepped through the doorway to the ward, she knew something was wrong. Hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she swept her gaze across the beds. Little Josh Traymore and his brother, Bert, were sleeping soundly, and in the bed next to them, Graham Black Elk dozed fitfully.

A dark cloud that had been threatening rain moved across the sky, and the moon came into view. Its rays illuminated the wrinkled sheets and the empty pillows on the two beds in the corner.

Horror clawed at Deborah’s throat. She raced toward the beds, calling their names.

“Bucky. Mary Doe.”

Calling and calling, knowing they wouldn’t answer.

Her medicine tray fell to the floor with a crash, and she lurched against furniture on her race to the telephone. Who to call? Who to tell?

One person came vividly to mind, one man whose strength and wisdom she valued above all others.

He answered on the first ring with no traces of sleep in his voice.

“Eagle? This is Deborah Lightfoot. The Mingo children are missing.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What should I do?”

“Don’t alarm anyone. Don’t touch anything. Wait for me.”

The wait seemed to be an eternity rather than the fifteen minutes the clock registered. When he finally walked into the clinic, she fell to pieces.

“It’s all my fault.” She covered her face with her hands and wept. “Kate wanted to stay and I sent her home.”

“Stop it, Deborah.” He took her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “Do you hear me? Nobody is at fault. Cole took the children.”

“How do you know?”

“I read the signs outside.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time for questions now, Deborah. The important thing is to bring them back.”

“They’re so weak, Eagle. Hurry, please hurry before it’s too late.”

And Eagle, riding like the wind, tracking his brother toward a remote mountain cabin, had a vision of two tiny souls winging toward the stars.

Fear rode hard at his side.

 o0o

Mary Doe was calling her name. Anna stirred in her sleep then suddenly sat straight up in bed.

“I’m here, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”

She reached out, but no little girl with dark pigtails and dirt smudges on her face raced into her arms.

And then she remembered.

Thunder roared in the hills and lightning flashed. Heavy with grief, Anna turned toward Cole’s side of the bed, only to find it empty.

“Cole?” she whispered. She stepped into her house slippers and padded softly to the bathroom. “Cole?” There was no answer.

The bathroom fixtures gleamed garishly in the harsh light. Anna leaned her head against the cool vanity mirror.

“Bucky,” she whispered. “Mary Doe.”

Nobody answered.

Chapter 20

Sacred fires burned away the wintery winds. Even so, Cole shivered.

Between the sacred fires stood a long pole capped with eagle feathers, and in the line marked by the pole, two smaller wands, their tips painted red. From the upper tips of the small wands fluttered red ribbons, and from the lower tips, black.

In the midst of the sacred circle lay two blankets the color of fire, and upon the blankets lay his children. Still and colorless as death.

The ancient shaman danced slowly around, singing his chants and shaking his gourd rattle. The moon glistened on his bear-claw necklace, and winds caught the eagle feather, flapping it against the pole. The
Pishofa
ceremony had begun.

Filled with fear and hope, Cole closed his eyes. Smoke from the fires circled his head and the rhythm of the chant invaded his body. As he swayed, he felt the wings of the eagle enfold him and the spirituality of that sacred bird protect him.

“Great Spirit,” he whispered. “I bring my children to You. I place them in Your loving arms and beg You to find them worthy.”

Suddenly the sound of the gourd rattle ceased and the stillness of death fell upon the land. Without opening his eyes, Cole saw the souls of his children ascend toward the stars. He opened his mouth to scream his agony to the heavens.

Lurching upright, he swayed and felt the arms of his brother close around him.

“Cole?” Braced in Eagle’s arms, Cole looked into his brother’s tragic eyes. “It’s over, Cole.”

Chapter 21

One figure stood apart on the windswept hill. The Mingo family gathered close, taking what comfort they could from one another; but Kate stood alone, her coat collar turned up against the chill and her hair whipping in the wind like the colored leaves that swirled around her feet.

Dark circles bruised the fair skin under her eyes and grief hollowed out her cheeks. Eagle ached for her; he ached for them all.

Anna swooned as the earth swallowed up the two tiny caskets. Cole, standing rigid at her side, would have let her fall if Eagle hadn’t caught her.

“Everything is going to be all right, Anna,” he said. Cole’s black, empty stare turned his heart to ice, and Eagle wondered if anything would ever be right in the Mingo family again.

Dovie and Winston came to bear Anna away to the car. Clint, flanked by Wolf and Star, followed. Cole stared down at the cold, raw earth.

“I killed them,” he whispered.

“No, you didn’t.” Eagle put a comforting hand on his brother’s arm. “You did what you thought was best.”

“Anna says I killed her children.”

“It’s her grief talking. She doesn’t mean that.”

“She hates me.”

“Anna loves you. Give her time, Cole. Give yourself time,”

“Time for what, Eagle? Do you think time is going to bring back my children?” Cole’s eyes were dry and hollow as he shook Eagle’s hand off.

A sudden gust of wind howled through the cemetery, whipping the leaves to a demonic frenzy and snatching Kate’s scarf. The bright blue silk landed at Cole’s feet like an exotic bird. Mesmerized, he stared at the scarf, then he jerked his head back and fixed his glittering gaze on Kate.

“It’s her.” His jaw tensed so hard, corded veins stood out on his neck. With quick, jerky movements he picked up the scarf and twisted it round and round in his hand, then he started toward Kate, holding it like a garrote.

Eagle sprang toward his brother, wrapping his arms around Cole’s chest.

“Let me go.”

“Cole . . .” Rage gave his brother the strength of a buffalo. Eagle could barely restrain him. “Cole . . . get hold of yourself.”

Watching them, Kate clutched her throat, white-faced.

Suddenly Cole slumped against Eagle, sobbing. “Help me, Eagle. Help me.”

Supporting his brother’s weight, Eagle half walked, half carried him to the car. Turning, he looked back at the lonely hill.

Kate had vanished.

 o0o

She sat huddled in her clinic, still wearing her coat. Clumps of red earth clung to her shoes, and her cheeks felt chapped from the wind. Beyond her, in the room where three small patients still fought for their lives, Deborah moved softly, dispensing medicine and soothing words with equal skill.

“Kate?”

Eagle stood in the open doorway, and cold wind filled the room. In his hand was her silk scarf.

“I brought this back to you.”

He laid it on her desk, watching her. She made no move to touch the scarf. Her strength was gone. She thought she might never move again.

“Are you all right, Kate?”

“I should ask that of you.”

“The Mingos will survive.”

And what of you?
Will you survive?
she wanted to ask, but what good would it do? She’d given up all claims to him five years earlier.

She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the fatigue. Thinking was so hard.

“You did what you could, Kate. The Mingo family is grateful.”

“Cole?”

“He’s distraught with grief. He’ll come to his senses.”

Kate touched her scarf, touched it and felt the warmth from Eagle’s hand lingering among the silk folds. Clenching it tightly in her fist, she leaned forward, her eyes alight with a crusader’s zeal.

“I’m going to find out what killed them, Eagle. If it’s the last thing I ever do.”

A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw, and the look in his eyes set her skin aflame. Time stopped as they stared at each other, shattered by grief and hopeless passion.

“I hope your God is more generous than mine.”

He left quickly without saying good-bye, and the agony of watching him go was as fresh as it had been the first time.

Kate dropped her weary head to her desktop, wondering where she’d ever find the strength and the courage to survive.

Chapter 22

Mark Grant loved mysteries of all kinds. Murder mysteries were strewn around his office, and at least three of them sported bookmarks so he wouldn’t lose his place.

“How can you read three books at a time?” Grayson Tyler had asked him the day before.

“The same way you can date three nurses at one time. It takes skill.”

The mystery of the Bermuda triangle fascinated him, as well as the “big bang” and the various theories of creation. It was his love of puzzlement that led him to specialize in infectious diseases. Nothing in the field of medicine was more elusive and baffling than infectious diseases.

“Dr. Grant.” His secretary’s voice came over the intercom. “Dr. Malone is here.”

“Give me two minutes then send her in.”

Dr. Kate Malone. He’d met her at a medical convention in San Diego four years earlier. Remembered her vividly, as a matter of tact. Gorgeous red hair. A figure to drive sane men crazy.

He’d swallowed the olive in his drink and nearly choked to death when she walked into the room. Grayson had banged him on the back and saved his life.

It took Mark all evening to finagle his way close enough to meet her. His face still turned red at the memory of the encounter.

“Did you wear that dress to drive all the men crazy, or is it just me you’re after?” He slid onto the barstool beside her, feeling confident. He knew he wasn’t much to look at, but plenty of girls had called his cowlick endearing and his prominent nose noble. Besides, he had personality. No sense in being modest about it.

“Neither, Doctor. I wore the dress because clothes are required at these functions.”

“A pity.”

“Hardly.”

Nobody had ever called him an Adonis, but he did lift weights at the gym and was nobody’s slouch. The way she looked at him, though, he might as well have been leftover dog meat.

They weren’t off to a good start, but, hey, nothing was ever perfect. He pressed on.

“Everybody gets a mite touchy at these conventions. What do you say we leave these medical types behind and stroll out onto the patio? I hear the night air is very fresh in San Diego.”

“That’s not all that’s fresh in San Diego.”

She’d picked up her drink and left him sitting at the bar with the ice melting in his glass and his neck turning red.

And now she was in Ada, looking for his help.

Somebody up there liked him.

Mark scraped the potato chips and leftover ham sandwich into a napkin and dropped them into his desk drawer. No sense wasting good food. Then he smoothed down his cowlick. When he dropped his arm, he noticed his frayed cuff.

After he’d finished rolling up his sleeve, he started to the door. Then he noticed he had one sleeve up and one sleeve down. Matching sleeves. That was the ticket.

He rolled up the other sleeve and struck out for the door once more. Then he changed his mind and scurried behind his desk.

Let Dr. Kate Malone find her own way through the door. She wouldn’t find Dr. Mark Grant making a fool of himself over her this time.