Cheyenne Captive (40 page)

As the days passed, she thought of nothing else as she made excuses to avoid Austin.
But what of Austin? If she were pregnant with a savage’s child, would he still want her? Would he gather the nerve to stand up to his domineering mother? Could she make up her mind to marry him when her heart belonged to a dead man?
She would think of all that later; right now, she could only hope for a child.

But her hopes were dashed in a few days as her monthly period began and she had to face the fact that there was no child, would never be a child. She had nothing to remember Iron Knife by.

No, that wasn’t true,
she thought as she curled up in her bedroom wing chair before the fire.
She had wonderful memories and she could live on those. She would hold onto each precious remembrance like old love letters and bring them out when she was low in spirits. He wasn’t dead at all; he lived on in her heart.

She noticed in her mirror that she was getting shadows under her eyes and thought she looked more every day like her mother. The thought frightened her and she promised herself she wouldn’t retreat from life like Priscilla had done. Sometimes as she went up the stairs, she paused before her mother’s closed door and listened to the tinkle of the old music box from within and wondered what maze of time Priscilla inhabited.

No, she was much stronger than her mother,
she thought grimly as Christmas approached. Mechanically, she went through the motions of living. She would face life and give as good as she got. But what was she to do? There were no jobs open to a respectable young woman of her social class and she had no funds of her own if her father should cut her off.

Her thoughts went to friends and relatives but she saw no permanent solutions there. The only aunt she really cared for was an impoverished governess in New York so she saw no help there. Her mother’s parents, the Blackledges, were reclusive, crabby people who only seemed to care for spaniels.
Could she work as a governess herself?
She winced, imagining her references being checked and the would-be employer finding the Boston arrest and the scandalous sojourn among the Indians.

She began to see herself, years in the future, trapped as a powerless, graying spinster in this horrible house. Unmarried, childless, she imagined herself playing with David and Angela’s children when they came to call. She had little of any value to sell and she thought because of the cavalry raid, she would not be welcomed back by the Cheyenne if she should go back West. As the holiday approached and she stared into the fire, only one answer came to her though she thought about every angle:
Austin.

She had been careful never to be alone with him the last several weeks so that he would not have a chance to ask the question she was not sure how to answer.
Austin adored her and always had.
Before that fierce Cheyenne warrior came into her life, she had thought she loved Austin, too.
Austin would take her out of this house, love her enough to soften her sorrow.
She would have everything: power, money, social position. He might even become a senator and she would be part of the Washington scene.
Would it be fair to him? Would he care that she did not love him as he loved her? Would he know that she had once made love to another man if she didn’t tell him?

Night after night, she stared into the flames and puzzled over the problem of her future. The
Harper’s Magazine, Godey’s Lady’s Book
, and old copies of the discontinued
Lily
all lay unopened on the chair-side table. She had never had much interest in fashion and the suffragette movement seemed to fade in the reality of her own problem. Anyway, perhaps the answer for women was not to be so militant, but to exert gradual, constant pressure. Even water can finally wear down stone if it drips long enough.

At last it was Christmas and the gloomy mansion gleamed with unaccustomed lights and gaiety. The Shaw family, Maude Peabody, and her elderly father joined the Van Schuylers for the festivities of Christmas Eve. The Blackledges were invited but declined, preferring the company of their spaniels.

Summer helped Mrs. O’Malley dress Mother in soft pink before selecting a blue velvet gown for herself. Much laughing and joking prevailed as the party gathered in around the tree. A Christmas tree was still a novelty to most Americans except for the German immigrants who had brought the custom with them. But when Albert, Queen Victoria’s German husband, took the custom to England, it quickly spread throughout the richer class and crossed the ocean.

The huge fir dominated the center of the music room with its scent and greenery. Summer played carols on the harp while they all sang. The portly, florid Mr. Shaw read
The Night Before Christmas
with gusto. Everyone else strung cranberries and hung the delicate German decorations. Finally the tree was finished and lit with dozens of small candles that cast a yellow glow out the windows and flickered on the snow drifts.

It was so beautiful that everyone exclaimed in wonder and even Angela seemed in a friendly mood.

Evans came in just then. “Dinner is served!” he announced rather grandly.

Lights glimmered from the chandelier over the long dining table. The snowy damask cloth shone white under Mother’s best china, that with the pink and burgundy roses around the rim.

Each gentleman seated a lady and Summer muttered under her breath, struggling with the hoop under the full skirt.

Austin’s paunchy, red-faced father, Robert, sat to Mother’s right, across from Summer who sat to her left. Austin sat next to Summer. Tiny, birdlike Mrs. Shaw sat to Father’s right with Todd across from her. The others were scattered alternately up and down the table.

David gave Summer a quick wink and she winked back, both noting that Father had carefully arranged the seating so that Maude Peabody sat next to David.

“Isn’t this a great party?” Mother asked a little too loudly and almost knocked her wineglass over with an unsteady hand.

Summer caught it before it spilled and ignored the murderous look Father flashed from his end of the table. She could only hope Priscilla hadn’t seen it.

Priscilla reminded Summer of a gentle, lovely, slightly befuddled dove. In contrast, her distant cousin, Elizabeth Shaw, moved in quick motions like the vicious little shrike bird, the one that impales its victims on a thorn bush.

The big grandfather clock in the entry started its deep chiming. Father pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. “Half a minute out of time,” he snapped to no one in particular. “We always sit down at exactly six o’clock.” Then he picked up his goblet of white wine and stood. “I propose a toast!” he announced.

Everyone raised his glass and looked toward the hawklike man expectantly.

“Here’s to Christmas of 1858 and to the New Year ahead! Here’s to our children! May they prosper and add many generations to our table and more wealth to our families!”

“Hear! Hear!” Everyone lifted their glasses and drank.

The pointed hints were not lost on Summer as she rolled the dry, tart wine on her tongue and watched Evans enter with the silver tureen of rich turtle soup.

Robert Shaw smiled expansively across the table as he attacked the soup. “We’re all so glad you’re home, Summer.”

“I’m happy to be home,” she lied as she watched Maude gobble the soup. Her friend was a kind, generous person but she would never be able to buy the class she craved with all her father’s money.

“I’m so glad you invited Father and me to join you,” Maude gushed as she slurped the last drop.

Father smiled expansively at the girl. “The pleasure is ours, Miss Peabody. I’m sure we’d like your company more often, wouldn’t we, David?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course!” David blurted and Summer tried hard to keep a straight face as David said lamely, “Why, Miss Peabody, what an—interesting gown you’re wearing tonight.”

Summer glanced at it, thinking the poor girl did have the most unfortunate habit of choosing clothes that made her sallow complexion look worse. The scarlet taffeta gave her the overall appearance of a barn on fire.

“Thank you.” Maude smiled modestly.

Mr. Shaw looked down the table toward Maude. “It’s those new aniline dyes we have in the textile industry now. Ladies don’t have to wear pale colors anymore, they can all wear bright hues and look just like Miss Peabody!”

Maude reddened at the compliment as David began to cough into his napkin.

“Were you about to say something, son?” Father demanded as he glared.

“Well, no.” David coughed and Summer suppressed a grin. “I was about to say, sir, that it is a wonder what is being invented these days.”

“You can say that again, young man.” Mr. Peabody’s hand shook as he dipped the rich soup. “Why, who would have ever believed they would lay that transatlantic cable so the Queen of England could send a message to our President!”

“Humph!” Mr. Shaw snorted. “Dang thing broke down after three weeks! I don’t know if I can see any sense to this telegraph thing.”

“Now, Father,” Todd argued, “you’ve got to move with the times! They say in a few more years, they’ll have that wire all the way to California!”

“Exactly!” His father crowed. “Why would anybody in their right mind want to contact California? Except for the gold strike, the whole place is worthless! Know what they’re doing now? Importing camels to haul freight!”

“Now, Robert,” Mrs. Shaw said firmly with a quick, birdlike gesture, “if Todd thinks it’s a good idea, I want you to buy stock tomorrow.”

Summer saw Austin scowl slightly and felt sorry for him. No matter how hard he tried, he could never replace his younger brother as his mother’s favorite. It seemed sad since Austin so obviously craved her favor.

She glanced at Todd as he ate. He was everything his brother was not: popular, dashing, more handsome, gregarious. Women were always drawn to him and, in truth, at one time he had made Summer’s heart flutter a little. But he never hung around with the other three because they were perhaps too dull and serious for him. Besides, she had soon realized that he lacked Austin’s sincerity and depth.

Her attention came back to Father as he peered down the table. “Well, I think you’re right, Robert. Everything west of the Mississippi is just a desolate wasteland.”

“Oh, but it’s not!” Summer protested before she thought. “There’s lots of hills, sparkling water, and green trees. It’s so big, you can’t imagine how uncluttered and beautiful it is!” She realized suddenly that all eyes were turned toward her and her wistful description. Until now, she hadn’t fully realized how much she loved the wild wilderness that she would never see again.

Evans entered at that moment with a large, roast goose and a great tenderloin of beef and started to serve, diverting everyone’s attention.

“Well,” said Todd, “I’m glad to hear a firsthand opinion that the West isn’t such a terrible place! I’ve made a decision to join up with the Massachusetts Immigration Society’s next group headed for Kansas right after Christmas!”

For a moment, in the shocked silence, Summer thought Elizabeth Shaw might really faint. She gasped and fanned herself with her napkin. Immediately Austin was up out of his chair, rushing to her side.

“Really, Todd!” he scolded as he pulled her smelling salts from her chatelaine that was pinned to her dress and waved them under her nose. “You should be ashamed to upset Mother so!”

“I’m not upset!” the woman declared grimly, taking another whiff of the smelling salts. “After all, I have been a leader in the fight to get antislavery people to move there so we can outvote the other side! The Shaws have donated a great deal of money to help the Reverend Beecher send both bibles and rifles to Kansas. Sending a son is an even bigger commitment to this holy cause!”

Maude sighed and rolled her eyes. “I think it’s an utterly romantic and idealistic thing to do! Perhaps I should consider being a pioneer. But do I have to miss the New Year’s ball to do it?”

David was right,
Summer thought as she took a mouthful of the savory roast beef.
The girl really did have the brains of Grandmother’s spaniel.

“I’ve had the idea for a long time, actually,” Todd explained as he helped himself to the roast goose and vegetables. “Ever since last year when that wool buyer from Ohio was here in Boston for the big, antislavery rally.”

Angela had been sitting quietly all this time slipping bits of food off her plate to the cat under her chair. “You mean the man with the eyes like coals and the beard like Moses?”

“Oh, I remember him now that you describe him.” Maude paused in shoveling in food. “He had a common name like Smith.” She thought a moment. “Brown, that was it. John Brown.”

“Yes, that’s him!” Todd’s hazel eyes sparkled. “He really set everyone on fire with his zeal, didn’t he? I think if the South doesn’t yield on this, we’ll have war!”

“The furor over that Kansas-Nebraska Bill combined with the Fugitive Slave Act is certainly pushing our side that direction.” Mrs. Shaw waved Austin away and he returned to his chair.

“Well, just in case,” Robert Shaw said, his florid jaws chomping like a bulldog, “I’ve already started stockpiling cotton for my mills from the big plantations. The St. Clairs and some of their cousins down in Georgia and Tennessee are working closely with me on this. If we do go to war, I won’t be able to get cotton up the river and my mills will be in trouble.”

“I’ve been thinking about expanding my own investments.” Father pushed back his empty plate. “The whales can’t last forever and I understand some fellow named Drake has been over in Pennsylvania looking for something called petroleum. I may contact him.”

Mr. Peabody cackled as he finished his beef. “The market’s been a little slow because of the panic last year, but it looks to me gunpowder and munitions factories might be a wise thing to put money in right now.”

“With the shape this country’s in,” Mr. Shaw wiped his expansive jaws, “what we need is another Whig president.”