Wind Song (16 page)

She said something to the Indians, made some exaggerated gestures with her hands, and left amid a roar of laughter.

His eyes widened. Since when had she learned sign language? He'd been gone for little more than eight hours. How in the world had she managed all this in such a short time?

He waited for her to join him, then took her by the arm and led her behind the barn, where they could speak in relative privacy. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You mean the Indians?" she asked. "They're attending school."

She spoke so matter-of-factly, one would think that teaching Indians was a normal, everyday occurrence. "You're teaching school? To all these Indians? Here? On my property?"

A look of concern crossed her face. "Is that a problem?"

He glanced over her shoulder to the gathering of Indians, who were obviously waiting for their teacher to return. "Of course it's a problem. Whenever a hundred people move onto one's doorstep, it's a problem."

"If you like, I'll explain that they can't camp here."

"That's downright thoughtful of you."

"I'll insist that they come during the daylight hours only. I'll make certain they're gone by the time you return from the fields."

"Yes, well, make certain that you do." He turned and, motioning for Matthew to follow him, zigzagged his way around several tipis in search of his soddy. He finally found it, but was obliged to walk around a young eagle attached to a rope before he could enter.

Inside the house, he dipped the ladle into the bucket of water and drank. He was thirsty and his head ached. What, he wondered, would be next?

Matthew walked in, carrying a bucket of buffalo chips he'd gathered earlier in the fields.

"Thanks, son." Luke stoked up the fire in the woodstove and put a kettle of water on to heat.

No sooner had the water come to a boil than a knock sounded at the door, and Maddie's voice filtered into the room. "They're gone."

He opened the door and glanced outside. It was astonishing how quickly the Indians had disappeared, taking their tipis, ponies--everything--with them. "So they are."

"I planned to cook dinner," she said.

"That won't be necessary."

"We agreed that I would cook and do light housekeeping to pay my way."

In no mood to argue with her, he nodded in assent and she followed him inside.

Watching her at the cookstove, he had to admit that the woman, with all her eccentricities, could cook--though she had a terrible time keeping the fire going.

"You have to keep adding fuel," he explained. He grabbed several dried buffalo chips from a wooden barrel and tossed them into the fire well.

Maddie lifted a chip from the barrel. "I've never seen firewood like this. What kind of tree is it?"

"A bison tree," he said.

"A bison…" She looked at him suspiciously. "You mean…"

"We don't waste anything out here, do we, Matthew?"

He ruffled his son's hair and in so doing accidentally brushed against her arm. She quickly turned her head to look up at him. The heat from the stove brought a faint flush to her cheeks.

His eyes flickered involuntarily to her soft pink lips before he stepped back. "The chips burn quicker than wood," he explained.

She turned her attention to the steaming black pot on the stove. "So I noticed. They also burn hot and make a lot of ashes."

She overcooked the rolls, but the boiled buffalo meat smelled delicious, and somehow she managed to make the table, chipped dishes and all, look inviting.

"I have another petticoat in my trunk," she said as she stirred the stew. "If you like, we can hang it on the wall over the bed."

He almost knocked over the lantern.

"It'll keep the dirt from falling onto your pillow," she added.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Perhaps it would be better to hang it on the wall by the stove. To keep the dirt out of the food."

"That's a good idea," she agreed.

Her gaze traveled involuntarily toward the bed. She wondered which of the two feather pillows was his. Not that it was any business of hers, she thought, quickly pulling her eyes away.

"Next time I go into town, I'll pick up some muslin. We could cover the walls like you did the ceiling." He glanced around the room, seeing it perhaps for the first time in years. "You must think this house…ugly."

"Ugly?" Her luminous eyes grew round. "I don't think it's ugly. Actually, it's rather interesting and it makes me think of home."

"Home?" He'd never been to the nation's Capitol, but even so, the idea struck him as ludicrous. "Home as in Washington?"

"Come here and I'll show you what I mean." She ran a finger along the sod wall next to the stove. "Do you see those white veins running through the sod?"

He leaned forward. "Those are the roots from buffalo grass. That's what make this sod so tough."

"It might look like roots to you, but to me it looks like marble. Prairie marble."

He laughed. "Prairie marble, eh?"

Their eyes met, and it suddenly occurred to him he was blocking her way. He cleared his throat and took a step backward.

She picked up a platter of meat and set it on the table next to the bowl of greens. "Matthew, did you wash up?"

Matthew nodded and slipped into his seat.

Luke held her chair out for her before taking his own place.

"I never realized that Indians were so interested in learning!" she said. "But I have never in my life seen so many obese people. Do you know how thoroughly unhealthy it is to be so misshapen?" She forked a small piece of meat onto Matthew's plate before passing the platter to Luke. "Do you suppose it's the buffalo meat that makes them so ponderously overweight?"

Luke heaped his plate high with meat. "Even if it is, you aren't going to change their diet." He studied the bowl she handed him, and tried to put a name to the stringy vegetable.

"Dandelion greens," she explained.

He made no comment as he took a heaping spoonful. "I've heard many people complain about the Indians, but you're the first I've heard show concern for their health."

"Maybe it's high time someone did show a bit of concern." She lifted her chin determinedly. "I think I'll conduct a class in nutrition and health for the Cheyenne."

Luke put a forkful of the dandelions in his mouth and grimaced. If this was her idea of nutrition, the Indians had best play hooky.

After the supper dishes were washed and stacked on the shelves, Luke went outside to work on the barn wall.

Maddie considered withdrawing to her tipi, but she felt reluctant to leave the boy alone. Obviously, Matthew was able to put himself to bed, but she remembered the bedtime rituals of her youth, especially when her dear father was home, and it saddened her to think of Matthew's lonely existence.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?"

Matthew nodded, and she tried to think of a suitable bedtime story to tell. It suddenly occurred to her that the stories her father had told her when she was Matthew's age inevitably involved his narrow escapes from cannibals and other savage tribes in Africa.

She had never questioned the appropriateness of such stories, and indeed had begged for more. The more gruesome, the better. She was hard-pressed to think of a story that didn't involve danger or death-defying escapes.

"Have you ever seen an elephant?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Here, I'll draw one." She picked up her notepad and pencil and sketched a picture of the animal.

Matthew was totally absorbed in the picture that was taking shape on the paper. "My father captured one of these for the Smithsonian," she explained. "I bet you never saw a kangaroo either, did you?" She drew the animal. "Strange animals. They have a pouch to carry their young ones."

She pushed the notepad in front of him. "Why don't you draw something?" When he appeared reluctant, she nodded encouragement. "You can do it."

Matthew took the pencil from her, but had trouble holding it properly.

"Like this," she said, moving his fingers into the proper grip. "Now try it."

He drew a simple but excellent picture of a buffalo. "That's very good," she said. "What else can you draw?"

He thought for a moment before drawing a windmill, identical to the one outside. He impressed her with his attention to detail. "Are you able to write your name? Can you write Matthew?"

He shook his head.

"Let me show you." She took the pencil and wrote his name out in bold letters. "M-A-T-T-H-E-W. Now you do it."

Matthew took the pencil and tried to copy the letters she'd written for him. When it was obvious he was having trouble, she took his hand and helped him to make the various shapes in the air. "Now try it on paper."

This time he managed to write the letter "M" without difficulty. She felt a surge of excitement. "That's wonderful, Matthew. Now try an ‘A.'" She held her breath as he worked.

When he was finished, he glanced up at Maddie, seeking her approval. "Oh, Matthew." She squeezed him tight and planted an exuberant kiss on his forehead.

He looked so startled by her spontaneous display of affection, she couldn't help but laugh. "Don't tell me you're getting to that age when you don't want to be kissed and hugged," she said. "Well, never mind. You'll get over it soon enough. What do you say you try the letter ‘T'?"

Matthew did as she asked him. Much to her delight, he insisted that she give him another hug before he proceeded to repeat his efforts and write the second "T."

While Matthew labored over his name, Maddie's mind raced with all sorts of wonderful possibilities. If he could write his name, then perhaps he could learn to write other words. If he could write, he could tell them what he was thinking. Perhaps offer a key as to why he couldn't talk. It would truly be a miracle!

"Oh, Matthew!" She flung her arms around him and hugged him tight. He greeted this latest show of spontaneous affection with a startled look before hugging her back.

Luke had planned to spend the evening troweling clay into the crevices between sod blocks. He had never intended to work on bookshelves. But it seemed a shame to waste the stack of maple left over from the table and chairs.

He'd almost forgotten the satisfaction that came from working with wood. Any imperfections could be overcome by jack-planing a board, rough edges smoothed away by sanding. Why couldn't life be that simple? Have a moral weakness? Whack! An ill temper? Gone!

He recalled that during the years of his youth spent learning his trade, he used to pretend that if he made a scrape of wood perfect, it would reflect upon him in some favorable way. He never could achieve perfection, of course, but he never gave up trying. That was the challenge of working with wood.

He'd been at work for almost two hours when the barn door behind him squeaked open. His hands stilled on the wood plane and he glanced over his shoulder. Thinking it was Matthew come to say good night, it surprised him to find Maddie standing in the doorway. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Matthew's asleep."

"So soon?" He felt a surge of guilt that he had not gone inside to tuck his son in bed.

"He was tired." Her eyes took in the piece of wood he was working on. "I was just curious as to what you were doing."

"Working on bookshelves."

She ran her hand across the smooth, unfinished wood. Her hand was large for a woman's hand, but as gentle as it was capable. "They'll be beautiful."

"Not too practical, I'm afraid. Matthew and me…we have only two books."

"I brought some with me," she replied. "Books I use for teaching." After a moment or two of silence, she added, "It seems a shame that you don't utilize your woodworking skills more. I mean it, Luke. You really are talented."

"I used to own a woodworking shop."

"What made you give it up to come here?"

"I had my reasons."

She sensed the change in him immediately, like clouds that suddenly blotted out a sunny sky. She forced a light tone. "Now I remember. You're trying to live down a bad reputation. Same as I am."