Whitefeather's Woman (22 page)

1902, Sweetgrass, Montana

T
he little newcomer stared warily at the large house of undressed timber as she clung to the hand of her younger sister.

Jane Whitefeather eased herself down to perch on the lowest step. It wouldn't be easy for her to get up again, with her belly swollen like a ripe melon. But experience and intuition had taught her that frightened children relaxed more quickly when adults didn't tower over them.

“Welcome to Sweetgrass, little daughters,” she said in awkwardly accented Cheyenne as she held out her hands to them. “My parents died when I was only a little bit older than you. I was very sad and frightened. But this is a good place. Here, you don't need to be frightened, and you may be sad until happy feelings sing in your heart again.”

Two dark heads turned toward one another. The little
orphans exchanged a look, then gravely sat on either side of Jane. In front of the Olivia Endicott Memorial Home.

Jane still shook her head in disbelief, remembering how Mrs. Endicott had blown into Whitehorn five years ago, like a one-woman Yankee tornado. All her ailments forgotten, the formidable old lady had rapidly become as ardent a champion of Indian rights as she'd once been of the temperance movement. Though Jane hadn't welcomed her coming, they'd grown closer as the months passed. So close that John and Jane had named their first child after her.

As the two little orphan girls stared in fascination at the Sweetgrass settlement, a mixture of timber houses and traditional tepees, Jane's gaze strayed to the small graveyard atop a nearby hill. Both Mrs. Endicott and her little namesake rested there now, and not a day passed but Jane yearned for them with a sad sweet tug at her heart. Losing their baby had been at least as hard on John as it had on her, but their shared sorrow had drawn them closer than ever.

“Do I smell bread frying?” As if summoned by her thoughts, a familiar deep voice sounded behind her.

Jane turned to see her husband holding their son, Nathaniel. His nephew strode along at John's side.

“Barton.” Jane beckoned him. “I'd like you to meet Annie and Rose Bushyhead. They've come to join our family. Can you show them the way to Auntie's fire?”

“Sure!” Barton lavished a gap-toothed grin on the little girls, who looked at each other and giggled. “Come on. Walks on Ice makes the best berry pudding.”

As the children scampered off toward the village, John settled himself beside Jane.

Nathaniel squirmed in his father's arms. “Mama, Mama!”

John tried to hold him back. “Be careful now. With a baby brother or sister growing inside Mama, you're getting to be a heavy load for her to carry.”

“Oh, I don't mind.” Jane pulled the little fellow into an awkward but warm embrace, and rested her head against John's arm.

He bent over and planted a kiss on her hair. “I reckon those two little ones are going to be happy here.”

Jane nodded. She knew it healed his heart a little more each time they welcomed another child of Cheyenne or mixed parentage to Sweetgrass.

“I thought I saw Will Kincaid ride off awhile ago. Everything's all right with Lizzie and the children, I hope.”

“Couldn't be better, according to Will. I asked him to stay for a cup of tea, but he'd come on business. He tells me Mrs. Endicott's trust fund for the home is in good shape and the mortgage on Sweetgrass is almost paid off.”

“Oh, John, that's wonderful! Everyone has worked so hard for this. Let's have a feast to celebrate.” She glanced up into those extraordinary eyes, bluer than the sky above them. Eyes whose gaze never failed to set her heart soaring like the red-tailed hawk.

His long brown fingers closed over her delicate but capable hand, which bore a slender band of gold. “We've got something to celebrate that's even more important than burning the Sweetgrass mortgage. Or have you forgotten it's been five years since you made me the luckiest fellow under the Big Sky?”

The sun could have vanished from the heavens just then and John Whitefeather's smile would still have lit the valley.

“Only five years?” With a chuckle, Jane lifted her face for his kiss. “Sometimes it seems like you and I have been together as long as Bearspeaker and Walks on Ice.”

His lips closed over hers as eagerly as on their wedding night, but with a hundredfold the tenderness and devotion.

“We will, Snowbird. We will.”