Jenny Cussler's Last Stand (33 page)

“That would be something,” she said. She didn’t recall a headdress of eagle feathers on her fantasy Indian. “Do you have a horse?” she asked randomly.

“A horse?” Clint’s eyebrows shot up. He chuckled. “A horse,” he repeated as if bemused. “Well, now that you mention it, I do. My dad keeps him over at his place.”

Jenny nodded. “Well, of course you do,” she said with a smile. “Of course, you do,” she repeated in the same bemused tone.

The sporadic sound of an occasional drumbeat caught their attention, and Clint turned his head in the direction of the drummers.

“I’ve got to go for now, Jenny,” he said. “They’re expecting me. Will you be all right with Kate? I hate to leave you alone.” He squeezed her hand again, and looked as if he might kiss her. Jenny froze, but Clint pulled his head back. “I just hate to leave you. I’ll come get you for a dance,” he said, and turned away before Jenny could demur.

Women of all ages—young, old, adolescent, and pre-teen—moved into the center of the enclosure, with large colorful shawls draped around their shoulders. As the drumming began, they began to move with varying degrees of energy in their dancing steps as they held their shawls wide like wings.

“It’s called a shawl dance,” Kate said. “I heard Auntie Martha talking about it earlier. All the aunties are dancing.”

“Wow, Auntie Sara is certainly a powerhouse of energy,” Brad said. Jenny glanced over to see Auntie Sara high-stepping with vigor. However, Jenny could not focus on the women because the haunting sound of a man’s voice raised in song over the drumming caught her attention. She turned toward the drummers.

Clint, having removed his headdress to reveal two long braids hanging over his shoulders down to his chest, was drumming and singing. He sang some refrains solo before his fellow drummers joined in. His voice was rich, resonant, bursting with a wonderful timbre that was impossible to ignore.

Their voices bonded, growing louder in unity. The drumming echoed the loud pounding of her heart in her ears.

Jenny did not understand the words and wondered if Clint did. In fact, she didn’t even know if he spoke the Yakama language. The strength of his voice carried her to new heights, and she tapped her feet along with the drums.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Auntie Sara beckoning her to join the women dancing in the circle. She swung a look at Kate who was already on her feet. Jenny knew she could not refuse Auntie Sara. It just wasn’t done.

She stepped into the circle with Kate. Auntie Sara draped her own turquoise shawl around Jenny’s shoulders, and another middle-aged woman offered up her pink shawl to Kate, who accepted with alacrity.

Jenny threw a sheepish look over her shoulder toward Clint, but his head was lowered as he concentrated on drumming.

Auntie Sara signaled to Jenny to follow her lead as she danced lightly on the balls of her feet and moved in small concentric circles. She raised her hands as if she held a shawl wide. Jenny began to move in unison with the others, tapping her feet on the ground to the rhythm of the drums as Auntie Sara did. She could tell Auntie Sara had slowed her pace a bit, no doubt in consideration of Jenny and Kate, who couldn’t possibly be expected to keep up with the dancing Jenny had seen earlier.

The additional sound of bells came from the traditional costumes of some of the other women dancers...costumes much more elaborate than anything the aunties were wearing. While most of the elder women wore plain colorful shawls, some of the younger women sported intricately embroidered shawls edged with fringe and metal adornment that tinkled as they vigorously danced around the circle.

Jenny would have liked nothing better than to wrap the shawl around her and huddle within its soft confines, but she did her best to shuffle about as she focused on Auntie Sara’s generosity in loaning her the shawl.

A glance at Kate revealed she appeared to be trying to lift her feet as high as some of the younger women, and she looked a bit winded for her efforts.

Thankfully, the music stopped, and Jenny was able to return the shawl to Auntie Sara and make her way back to her log. She kept her eyes forward, hardly daring to look at Clint for fear he might have seen her dancing.

“You guys were really tripping the light fantastic out there, Jenny,” Brad laughed. “Kate more than you, though. You looked distinctly uncomfortable. I know the feeling. I never knew I had two left feet.” He chuckled.

“I don’t think I’m a natural fancy shawl dancer,” Jenny said with a sigh.

Kate breezed into the small group.

“I’m ready to go out there again,” she said as she plopped down onto her log.

“I could tell,” Jenny said wryly. “You looked like you were born to it.” The drumming began again, and Jenny turned to watch Clint for a moment.

“I loved it,” Kate crowed. “I must have some Indian in me.”

“Oh, yeah, here we go,” Brad said. “One dance and she’s gone ancestral.”

“It could happen,” Kate said. “I’m checking on my family history when I get back. Look at my dark hair. Come on!” She pretended to plead as she twisted a lock around her finger coyly. “Look at George Carswell! He’s blond and blue-eyed. At least I have dark hair.”

Brad and Tim grinned and shook their heads.

“Not me,” Jenny said as she brought her attention back to the group. “If my performance in the shawl dance is anything to go by, I don’t have one drop of Native American heritage.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m all Celtic. Totally Northern European...”

“Same here,” Tim stated. “Too bad, though,” he said as he turned a seemingly wistful eye on the dancers. “I can’t imagine feeling like I belong to a land as much as the Native Americans do.” He returned his gaze to the group. “We’re all just transplants here. I’ve always wished I could stand on the land of my forefathers like the Native Americans do.”

An unusually long speech for the quiet man, the group turned to look at him in surprise. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly.

“I know what you mean, Tim,” Kate said. She turned her attention to the drummers. “Will you look at Clint?” she exclaimed. “That guy is certainly talented. He’s so...so...” She hesitated and threw a quick glance in Jenny’s direction.

“Native American?” Jenny offered with a lift of her brow.

“He’s definitely that,” Brad responded. “Well, listen, I’m ready to go get something to eat. Anyone coming?”

“Good idea,” Kate said as she jumped up. “I’m starved.”

Jenny made no move to rise, and Kate turned back in surprise as Brad and Tim moved off toward the tables set up near the dining hall.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

Jenny shook her head.

“No, I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just hang out here for now.” She couldn’t keep her gaze from shifting to the drummers at the far end of the circle.

“I see,” Kate nodded. “Well, yes...” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and turned away to follow Brad and Tim.

Jenny smiled and shook her head at Kate’s expression. She returned her attention to the sight of Clint as he rhythmically beat the drums and sang with his fellow drummers. She wanted to watch him without distraction. To admire him without interruption. And to wrestle with the problem of “them,” of how they would see each other in the future, or whether they even had a future.

The approaching sound of bells should have alerted her.

“May I sit?” Clint’s father asked. He stood before her—tall and lean, like Clint—in his brightly colored and intricately embroidered garments, his every movement enhanced and accented by flowing white fringe, bells attached to many surfaces, and the myriad of large feathers in his headdress. He really did look like an exotic bird with glorious plumage.

Jenny made as if to rise, but Clint’s father put out a commanding staying hand and sat down in the space vacated by Kate. Such an imposing figure in traditional ceremonial regalia should have looked ridiculous perched on the small log, but he did not.

“Are you enjoying the powwow?” he asked.

“I am.” Jenny nodded with an affable smile. “It’s...wonderful. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

He nodded, and the feathers in his headdress swayed with the movement.

“I’m glad,” he responded, as he looked out on the dancers with a smile of pride.

Jenny hoped he would keep the conversation innocuous, but she soon discovered she would not be so fortunate.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“So, you and Clint, huh?”

Jenny’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. What should she say? Yes? No? What had Clint told him? Had Clint told him anything? Maybe someone else had said something. Maybe Clint didn’t want him to know.

“Ummm...” She turned a beseeching look toward Clint. Was he watching? Perhaps he would shake his head? Nod? But Clint continued to sing and drum, completely intent on the music, as were all the drummers.

Clint’s father regarded her steadily. This wasn’t going away, she thought.

“I don’t mean to stick my nose in your business,” he began. Then he gave her a wry grin. “Well, maybe I do. But you see, I don’t know if I’m going to have a chance to see you again, and...” He paused as if searching for words.

Jenny wondered foolishly if he was about to ask her what her intentions toward his son were. She kept her mouth shut and eyed him warily.

“Well, frankly, I was wondering what your plans were?”

“Pardon me?” Jenny asked. She bit her tongue...literally. “My plans?” She couldn’t keep the squeak from her voice.

“Are you going back to Boise? Will we see you again here?” He tried to appear casually interested, but Jenny saw an intentness in his gaze that belied his voice.

“I-I don’t know,” Jenny shrugged helplessly. “I hope so,” she said quietly. She resisted turning toward Clint.

“Well, if Clint has anything to say about it, you will,” he said. He rested his hands on his knees and looked upon the dancers.

“You know, I’ve lived on the reservation all my life,” he said. “My wife grew up on the reservation. And...except for his time in the Army and at college, Clint has lived here all of his life, as well.” He paused to look at her.

“Yes,” she said, knowing he wanted some sort of response from her.

He looked away toward the dancers again.

“Would you want Clint to leave the reservation? To go with you to Boise?”

Jennie caught her breath at the bold question. Clint’s father continued to watch the dancers, appearing calm and relaxed, but she saw a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Mr. Hastings, I really don’t... I-I...” Jenny stuttered. “I wouldn’t...” She stopped. She was being disingenuous. She took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes, I would. If Clint came with me, I think I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

The drumming stopped. Clint’s father nodded slightly and turned to look at her.

“Would Clint?”

Jenny blinked.

“Be happy?”

Jenny swallowed hard against the pain in her throat. “I’d do anything in my power to make him happy.”

The drumming began again, and she glanced at Clint before returning her attention to his father.

“I could help him get a job. He could work anywhere. I mean, they need social workers in Boise as well.” Half-formed thoughts spilled chaotically from her mouth. “Maybe he could get a job at the VA. I don’t see why not. He certainly has the experience, working with veterans.” She heard herself pleading her case with a certain amount of distaste.

Luckily, Mr. Hastings’ face did not reflect her own repugnance.

He nodded thoughtfully. She thought his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, I’m certain he can find work there.” His words seemed to leave something unsaid.

“But?”

He turned to regard her steadily. “I would hate to see him go,” he said heavily. “I have to be honest with you. I don’t know if he would be happy in the long run.” He crossed his arms in front of his breastplate. “I’d hate to see you both hurt. Did he tell you he tried living in Boise before? He hated it.”

Jenny pressed her lips together to stop their trembling. She nodded but did not trust herself to speak. Hot tears burned the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back. She would not break down in front of his father.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, and you’re probably wondering what business it is of mine.”

Jenny did, but kept silent.

“It isn’t,” he conceded. He lowered his arms and leaned forward, elbows on knees. He turned to watch Clint. “It isn’t any of my business, but here I am, hoping I can explain why I don’t think you should take Clint away from here.”

“Wait a minute,” Jenny began. “I haven’t asked him to leave. I’m not taking him anywhere—”

He held up a placating hand.

“I know. I know you haven’t asked him to go with you. I asked him what his plans were, and he said he didn’t know.” He smiled briefly. “But I think he is very serious about you, and I’m afraid he will move to Boise just to be with you.”

“I can’t believe that would be such a bad thing, Mr. Hastings.” She bit her lip and said the words aloud that had tantalized her dreams. “I love him. I know that sounds silly, since I’ve only known him for a week, but I love him. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

The drumming stopped again, leaving the sound of voices and laughter in its wake. Over Richard’s shoulder Jenny saw Kate, Tim, and Brad returning with plates of food.

“Yes, I believe it does,” he replied. “Love is very important, but I don’t know if it will be enough. Clint is needed here. The reservation needs him. The people here need him.”

The sound of Kate’s laughter made him look over his shoulder. He rose.

“Please think about it. You can always move here if it works out between you two,” he said as Kate arrived.

Jenny stood up as well, although her knees shook uncontrollably.

“What a stunning outfit,” Kate said after introducing herself. She balanced her plate in one hand while shaking his hand with the other.

“Kate, that’s not an ‘outfit,’ ” Tim hissed.