Wild Abandon Page 4
“And now he needs me as a father needs a son,” Dancing Cloud said aloud.
“And, my son, you must go to him,” Chief James Talking Bear said suddenly from behind Dancing Cloud, drawing Dancing Cloud quickly to his feet.
He turned to his father, concern heavy in his midnight-dark eyes as he once again saw his condition. A blanket hanging loosely around his shoulders did not hide his frailty. His leathery face was gaunt. His dark eyes were buried deeply into his flesh.
“E-do-da, Father,” Dancing Cloud said thickly, placing a hand to his father’s elbow. “Let me help you back to your lodge. You should have not come this far. It weakens you too much.”
“My son, do you not know that your father is aware of the battle being fought within your heart and soul? Do you not know that your father is aware that since you received that message from Boyd Johnston you are torn with what to do?”
James Talking Bear leaned heavily on his tall staff as he walked slowly beside his son toward his cabin. The wind rustled the thin wisps of his gray hair that hung just past his shoulders.
He gazed over at Dancing Cloud, his only son. Always while looking at him it was like looking into a mirror image of himself those many years ago when James Talking Bear was his son’s age. Dancing Cloud’s coal black hair was thick and flowing past his waist. His jaw, chin, and nose were strong. His eyes spoke of his stolid dignity and his triumphant courage. His son was tall and lithe, a man of inscrutable self-poise.
But even with all of those attributes Dancing Cloud had not yet shared marriage vows with a woman. Dancing Cloud had said more than once why he had chosen to delay taking a wife into his lodge to warm his bed. Guilt had followed him along his path of life since the Civil War. Dancing Cloud still blamed himself for having left his people to fight a white soldiers’ war, leaving his Wolf Clan of Cherokee at the mercy of the Yankees, whom, in his absence, had swept down on them like the plague.
James Talking Bear had argued with his son often that Dancing Cloud was just one man. If he had even been there on the day of the massacre he could have done no more than what the others of his village had suffered through. He might have even joined those who had died.
Who then would be chief once James Talking Bear began his long walk in the hereafter?
It had been decided in council that James Talking Bear’s son would follow in his father’s footsteps.
The fringes of his buckskin breeches and shirt fluttering in the gentle breeze, Dancing Cloud stood at the door of his father’s cabin as he waited for his father to enter, then followed.
James Talking Bear leaned his staff against the wall, then sat down in a wooden rocker before his fireplace. As he slowly rocked back and forth his old eyes watched the flames caress the wood on the grate in orange, satinlike streamers.
Dancing Cloud sat down in an overstuffed chair opposite his father and silently watched him, his eyes following his father’s movements as he rocked in his favorite chair.
“E-do-da, Father,” Dancing Cloud then said, drawing his father’s eyes to him. “I feel that I must go to Boyd, yet you are also ill. I have many responsibilities here at our village. Yet I still feel a responsibility to Boyd. As you know, if not for him, you would not have a son to sit by the fire with you to talk. Boyd took the Yankee’s bullet that was meant for me.”
“And I will be forever grateful to Boyd for saving my son’s life. My son, you must go to him. Go with my blessing. Do you not know that I understand a man’s heart whose feelings are strong for a man who saved his life?”
“When we met in council after I received the message from Boyd, I discovered that some of our warriors resent me for even thinking about answering the need of my white friend, much less actually go to him,” Dancing Cloud said, his voice drawn. “They say that I have turned into a white man, whose heart is now white.”
“Those who judge you wrongly only do so because they wish to take your place as chief when this chief, your father, dies,” James Talking Bear said solemnly. “I have learned long ago to close my ears and my heart to such jealousy. So should you, my son. Just remember this—there are many more who respect, than resent you. Those will be the warriors who will take their places in council with you when you are chief. The others? The door will be closed to them. Some might even be banished should they go too far in their comments that are born from jealousy.”
“I wish to create no trouble among our people,” Dancing Cloud said, bending to shove another piece of wood into the fire.
“You are not guilty of such a crime,” James Talking Bear said, allowing the blanket to ease from his shoulders, to rest against the back of the chair. “You must go, my son. This is a good time for you to return the favor for your life having been spared. Go to Boyd Johnston. See what he requires of you. Do it. Then the debt will be paid once and for all. You then can return to your people and set things right in your life.”
Dancing Cloud cocked an eyebrow as he looked over at his father. “What have I left undone that you are speaking of?” he asked softly.
“Would you not say it is time to take a wife?” his father said in an even and exact tone. “Would you not say that you have waited long enough to find a woman who could fill your lodge with sweet laughter? I have missed such laughter since your mother’s death. I have thought often of taking another wife, yet none would ever compare with your mother.”
“Then how do you think I can find someone that pleases me?” Dancing Cloud asked. “I also remember how special my mother was. I have yet to find someone as special.”
“There will be that perfect woman for you if you will just start looking for her among the many that you have to choose from,” James Talking Bear said, smiling. “But for now, my son, go and do your duty to Boyd Johnston. When you return, then you can start concentrating on choosing a wife.”
“Ii, yes, perhaps it is time.” Dancing Cloud nodded. “I have learned what is required to be chief. Through the years I have worked hard to better our people and have helped rebuild not only our village, but our people’s hopes for the future. I no longer see fear and hesitation in their eyes. I see sunshine.”
“And that is why you will be a great leader,” James Talking Bear said, reaching over to pat Dancing Cloud on the shoulder. “Now go, my son. Ready yourself for the journey ahead. Ride with peace in your heart and do not burden your travels with worries of your father. I am in the twilight of my years. Soon I will cross over to the other world. That will be a time of joy for your father, not regret. I will again see your mother. We will walk hand in hand. Is not that a beautiful thought?”
Dancing Cloud went and knelt down on the floor before James Talking Bear. He hugged his father. Momentarily feeling as though he were a child again, Dancing Cloud lay his head on his father’s lap.
“I shall miss you so, e-do-da, Father,” he said thickly. “How I wish you were well enough to travel with me. I miss our times together while riding free on horseback. It has been so long, e-do-da. So very long.”
James Talking Bear stroked his thin, long fingers through Dancing Cloud’s hair. “I ride often with you, my son,” he said, his voice breaking. “Did you not know that my dreams are filled with our joint adventures? While awake, my remembrances vividly recall our times together while on the hunt. Dreams and remembrances pacify this old father enough now, my son.” He chuckled low. “And it is way less strenuous.”
Dancing Cloud rose slowly to his feet. He placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I will go now,” he said, forcing his voice not to break with emotion.
“Wah-kon-tah, the Great Spirit will travel with you and keep you safe,” James Talking Bear said as he gazed up at Dancing Cloud. “When you reach Saint Louis tell Boyd that my thoughts and prayers are with him.”
Dancing Cloud nodded, then turned on a heel and left. His travel bags were already packed and secured at the back of his saddle. Without looking back, he rode from his village.
As he traveled down the steep
mountain path, past gnarled cedars that clung to the sheer cliffs, he concentrated once again on the note that Boyd had sent to him. It had said that Boyd needed him.
“I wonder what he needs me for?” Dancing Cloud whispered to himself.
Vireos warbled and wrens chattered in trees overhead.
A heron eyed Dancing Cloud from a distant limb.
Water snakes and turtles sunned on rocks as he rode past a spring gurgling from the mountainside.
“What can I do that someone of his own skin coloring could not do?” Dancing Cloud whispered.
His curiosity aroused even more, he sent his horse into a hard gallop now that a straight stretch of meadow was reached.
* * *
The shades drawn closed at the hospital windows, Lauralee sat vigil at her father’s bedside. His raspy breathing and his ashen color made her well aware of his worsening condition.
But she had seen this for several days now. Even weeks. And still he clung to life as though a lifeline were there, keeping him from sinking into the dark void of death.
“Oh, Father, is it because of the man you sent for?” Lauralee whispered, more to herself than to her father. He had not responded now for several days. “Is it sheer will that keeps you alive? Is it that important to you that your friend arrives to escort me safely to Mattoon? Lord, Father, I’m glad something is keeping you alive. We missed so many years of being together. Oh, but if only a miracle could be performed that could make you well again. We would share such wonderful times.”
“Lauralee?” Boyd’s voice was so faint she could scarcely hear. His eyes opened weakly as he turned to her. “Has he arrived yet, Lauralee? Has Joe arrived?”
So happy that he was awake and talking to her, Lauralee gently hugged him. “Father,” she cried. “Oh, Father, I’m so glad you’ve awakened. It’s been so long.”
Boyd’s frail hand patted her on the back. “Honey, I’m sorry I worried you,” he said between raspy breaths. “I’m sorry for being such a bother.”
Lauralee leaned away from him and took his hand and held it to her bosom as she sat down on the edge of the bed with him. “Father, how could you think you are a bother?” she scolded. “I’ll be here for you, always.”
“I wish I could have been there for you, Lauralee, while you were growing up,” Boyd said, tears streaming from his eyes. “If only I would’ve looked harder for you.”
Lauralee placed a gentle finger to his lips, silencing his regrets. “Shh,” she said. “Don’t waste your energy on regrets. Father, let’s concentrate on now. We’re together. We’ve found each other.”
“Only to soon lose each other again,” Boyd said. He turned his head to one side and coughed hard, then looked at her again. “Joe. You’ve got to promise me that you’ll let Joe get you to the Petersons in Mattoon. They’ll give you what I was robbed of. They’ll give you all the loving you’d ever want.”
“Father, I’ve told you time and again that I will go to the Petersons,” Lauralee said, caressing his pale brow with her fingertips. “But now I just want to relish being with you.”
Boyd turned his eyes toward the window. “Raise the shades,” he pleaded. “Please let me see the sunshine.”
“Father, it’s midnight,” Lauralee gently explained.
Boyd turned back to her. “Midnight?” he said, his eyes searching hers. “Sweetheart, you should be in bed. You need your rest for the journey to Mattoon.”
“I’m not a fragile daisy.” Lauralee laughed softly. “I won’t wilt. And, anyhow, I’m not going to Mattoon for a long time. Just perhaps you will get up from that bed soon as good as new and we can move into our own little house. We can be family, Father. Not me and the Petersons.”
“That’s what dreams are made of,” Boyd said, patting her hand. His eyes drifted closed. “I’m so tired. I’m so sleepy. Please awaken me, Lauralee, when Joe comes?”
“Yes, Father, I’ll awaken you when your friend Joe arrives,” she said and held his hand until he was asleep again.
Then she went to a window and raised the shade. Starlight, pale and cold, speckled the heavens. She shivered and hugged herself.
“Joe?” she whispered. “Who on earth is this Joe? Why is Father so insistent on his arrival?”
She had tried to get her father to tell her more about this stranger who would soon enter her life. He seemed content enough to just know the man, himself. He had just told her time and time again to trust him, that he knew a dependable man when he saw him. And Joe was the best.
“What is his last name?” she wondered again. She had often asked her father Joe’s last name but he had ignored the question, as though knowing one’s last name did not matter.
“I shall surely soon know the answers about this man of mystery,” she said, sighing.
She returned to her father’s bedside, her head bobbing as she fought off sleep.
Chapter 4
This maiden, she lived with no other thought,
Than to love and be loved by me.
—EDGAR ALLAN POE
Two Weeks Later.
A soft knock on the closed door drew Lauralee from her chair in the hospital room. She stopped and glanced at her father over her shoulder, then went to the door and quietly opened it.
She took a quick step backward and gasped when she found a tall Indian standing there gazing down at her.
She nervously cleared her throat and composed herself enough to speak. “Who are you?” she asked, speaking softly so that she wouldn’t awaken her father. He was resting peacefully. So often now when he was awake she could see in the depths of his eyes the suffering that he was feeling. Everyone had been amazed at how he had clung to life these past weeks.
She had been torn with how she felt about him still being alive. She knew that his suffering would be finally over when he took his last breath.
Yet she also knew that she would desperately miss him and hated to give him up.
The good Lord willing, He would do what was right for her father soon and ignore a daughter whose heart was being selfish in wanting to have him with her for as long as possible.
“I was told that Boyd Johnston was in this room,” Dancing Cloud said in perfect English, surprising Lauralee that an Indian could speak so succinctly.
Dancing Cloud looked past Lauralee, into the gray gloom of the room where only a candle beside the bed gave off a dim, wavering light.
“Yes, this is Mr. Johnston’s room,” Lauralee said, relaxing more in the Indian’s presence. “Who can I say is asking about him?”
Her eyes raked over him. She saw him nothing less than absolutely, strikingly handsome. His long, coal-black hair curled down over his shoulders and flowed to his waist. He was tall and strongly built. His shoulders were wide, his muscles straining against the inside of his fringed buckskin shirt. His skin had a touch of red to it, and his eyes were dark and mesmerizing.
Her heart took on a strange sort of thudding as he once again looked down at her. His smile gave away the secret that there was nothing to fear about him. He appeared to be a man of genuine kindness and gentleness.
“Tell Boyd that Joe Dancing Cloud has arrived.” Once again he tried to see past her, only seeing dark-shadowed images in the room beyond.
He gazed down at Lauralee again, his eyes filled with concern. “Tell me how Boyd is feeling,” he asked thickly. “Why is he in the hospital ? When he sent the message for me to come to him he did not go into the details of why.”
Lauralee’s hand went to her throat. “You are Joe?” she said, her eyes widening. “You are the man my father summoned . . . the man he is counting on to . . .”
Dancing Cloud interrupted her. “You are his daughter?” he said, in awe of his discovery. “You are Lauralee?”
“Yes, I’m Lauralee,” she said, still stunned over her discovery. Joe. Joe Dancing Cloud. Now she understood why her father had never told her Joe’s last name. He would have then been forced to explain that he was an Indian.
And she knew why.
The mere mention of an Indian stirred up all sorts of dreads and fears within so many people’s minds.
But only these few moments with this man told her how wrong her misconception of Indians were. Her father had known that she would feel this way after having made his acquaintance.
“Boyd has finally found you?” Dancing Cloud said, in his mind’s eye having always envisioned a young girl of five years whenever he thought about her.
He had never thought of her as grown up, and . . . ravishingly beautiful! Her lovely face, where dimples deepened when she smiled, was framed by long and flowing hair the color of a coppery sunset.
Her skin was flawlessly pale, and her eyes, the color of violets in the spring along the mountainsides, were large and veiled with thick, dark eyelashes.
She wore a high-necked, yellow-flowered silk dress that clung to her bosom, revealing well-formed breasts pressing against the inside of the soft fabric, and a tiny waist, where the dress flared out in deep gathers.
She was petite in height.
To kiss her he would either have to place his hands at her waist and lift her to his lips, or she could stand on tiptoe.
Realizing where his thoughts had taken him, Dancing Cloud shook himself out of his innocently induced reverie.
“Father and I have finally found each other,” Lauralee said, turning to gaze at the still form on the bed. Her father had taken to sleeping much too soundly, which frightened her. This past day or so she could scarcely tell when he was breathing. She was afraid that she would not even be aware of when he took his last, desperate breath of life.
“He looked i-go-hi-dv, forever for you,” Dancing Cloud said thickly, drawing her eyes back to him when he slipped momentarily into mixing his Cherokee language with his English. “I traveled with him often to search for you. It saddened me to see his disappointment each time we parted after having not found you again.”