Legacies (6 page)

 

The Blade found Temple in the parlor, pacing back and forth, pushed by the rawness of her anger and pain. She wheeled around and glared at him.

"Men." She snatched a pillow from the sofa and crushed it in both hands, her fingers curling into its plumpness. "None of you care anything about the distress you cause others."

"You know better than that."

Abruptly, she turned and crossed to the ornately carved walnut-framed fireplace. She stood before it, her gaze fixed on the intricate design of its brass fire screen.

"Of all the choices he had, why did Lije have to pick this one?"

"Because he believes it's the best one for him." The Blade walked over to her.

"It isn't fair," she said stiffly.

"I know." He smoothed his hands over her rigid shoulders and onto her arms. She tensed at his touch, then relaxed, muscles sagging as a lost and lonely sigh rushed from her.

"Every time I think back to those days in our homeland when you first advocated a treaty of removal, I remember the menace I felt when those men surrounded our house—the times your life was threatened, the times you were ambushed, wounded." Her voice was tight, on the edge of breaking. "And later, when we settled here—when Shawano and the others were assassinated and you went into hiding, I remember what it was like." Pausing, Temple turned to face him. Her eyes were dry, but it made the starkness of their pain all the more tearing. "The fear I felt every time a rider approached, certain he was bringing word you were wounded or dead. For so many, many years, I was afraid every time you left the house. Even now, my heart freezes a little when you are away and a rider comes. Moments ago, our son announced he wanted to join the Light Horse and apprehend criminals, people who may be desperate, violent men."

"I know, Temple." Reaching up, he stroked his fingers over her cheek in a tender caress.

"Do you?" She captured his hand and pressed her cheek against it. "The only thing worse than losing you would be losing our son. I don't think I could stand it"

"There would be no greater pain than that," The Blade agreed, "but I know how strong you are, Temple. You would endure it because you must. As we all must."

She drew back, her look determined once more. "But you could speak to him, persuade him—"

"I won't even try to change his mind. Lije must follow his own path. How can you expect him to choose the safe and easy way when he is our son?"

"I don't want Lije to have the life we had. I want something better for him."

"That isn't ours to choose."

"Why must you always be so reasonable?" She spun away and folded her arms tightly in front of her. He chuckled, and Temple grew testy again. "I'm glad you find me so amusing."

"I was remembering the way Lije stood up to the fire of your temper, never once flinching. I think he will have no difficulty confronting a desperate and violent criminal."

"I see no humor in that."

The Blade grew sober once more. "I expect Lije will be riding to Oak Hill shortly to ask for your father's assistance in getting appointed to the Light Horse. He knows you're upset, and he knows why you are, but he will go just the same. You may not be able to give him your approval, but don't let him leave with only the memory of harsh words between you. You will regret it, and so will he."

Wisely, The Blade didn't press the issue and turned to leave. Lije stood in the doorway. The Blade glanced briefly at Temple, then walked away, nodding to Lije as he passed him. Thinking she was alone, Temple turned and saw him.

"I sent word to the stables for Ike to saddle my horse," Lije said.

Her head came up, her chin pushed forward at a combative angle. Then she lowered it, resignation flickering over her expression. "I wish I could change your mind about this, but you are too much like your father."

"Good." Lije smiled. "That means I am forgiven."

"You sound very confident," she said, softening a little in spite of herself.

"I am."

"I have no choice." She studied him from across the room. "A long time ago I learned that Stuart men will not be controlled."

"You wouldn't want us any other way."

"Perhaps not. But you are my son, Lije. You can't expect me to be in favor of your choice."

"I understand that." There was a hint of regret in his eyes. "I'll give Grandfather your regards." He turned and walked from the room.

The sound of his retreating footsteps seemed loud in the silence. Temple heard the front door open, then close. She wanted to call him back, but her son wasn't a little boy anymore who would do what his mother said. He was a man.

As hard as it had been to remain neutral in the feud that had once so severely divided her family, she wondered where she would find the strength to accept this new development that affected her so personally.

 

By the middle of July Lije was appointed to the Light Horse patrol in his local district and given the rank of lieutenant and the command of four men. He spent most of his first month learning procedures, refamiliarizing himself with the area, and handling petty offenses.

Three days before his grandparents and Susannah were scheduled to leave on their trip back East, a full-blooded Cherokee on the extreme corner of Lije's district caught a man stealing his horses. Shots were exchanged. The owner fell, mortally wounded, and the thief got away.

Lije arrived on the scene, accompanied by one of his men, Sam Blackburn, shortly before the owner died. After doing what he could for the victim, he got a description of the three stolen horses from the man's wife. One was a brown-and-white paint with one glass eye; the second was their good buggy mare, brown with a white snip on its nose; and the third was a flashy bay gelding with four white stockings and a full blaze on its face. None carried a brand, but one horse had a chipped shoe on its right hind hoof that left a print plain enough for a blind man to read. They set off after the thief, following the trail he left.

They tracked him for two days. On the evening of the second day, Lije spotted the three horses, ground-tied in the middle of an open meadow. It had the smell of a trap.

Cautiously, Lije circled one side of the meadow while his partner circled the other side. Halfway around, Lije found the tracks of the man's horse where he had exited the meadow. He followed the trail until he was satisfied the thief hadn't doubled back, then returned to the meadow for the stolen horses.

A note was tucked under the paint's halter. It read:
 

"Hear's them horses I stoled. I never ment to shoot nobody. It were self-defence. When he blasted at me with that shotgun and peppered my hat full a holes, it got me riled up. Never shot a man in anger afore. Never figure to do it agin. Hope he din't die."

"Look at this." Lije shook his head in amazement and handed the note to Sam. "The fool signed his name at the bottom. 'D. Russell.'"

Sam shook his head and grinned, giving the note back. "I guess he figured if he returned the horses and promised not to shoot anybody else, we'd quit his trail."

"He figured wrong." Lije scanned the hills ahead of them. "He can't be more than an hour or two ahead of us. Let's push the pace. After two nights of cold camps, I have the feeling he'll build a fire tonight. If we can get close enough before darkness falls, we might see the glow of it."

Two hours later they spotted a pinpoint of light in a patch of trees. They left the horses tied and approached the camp on foot. They found the man's horse hobbled in a grassy area alongside a creek. Its sides were still damp with sweat.

The campfire was a small one, tucked well back among the trees. Moving with silent care, they crept closer and halted when they reached the deep shadows of the hidden campsite. A man sat close to a small fire, his body hunched forward, his head resting in his hands in a pose of weariness and defeat.

Lije motioned for Sam to cover him, then stepped soundlessly into the circle of light, gun drawn. "Are you Mr. Russell?"

The man's head came up with a jerk. "I am." He scowled at Lije, half-bidden in the shadows. "Who are you?"

"My name is Stuart—with the Cherokee light Horse."

"God damn you." The man lunged for his rifle.

There was no time to think, only react. Lije fired. The bullet struck the man in the right shoulder, spinning him around. Even as he fell, the thief stretched toward the rifle. But Lije was already moving. Reaching it first, he kicked it beyond the man's reach. The man sagged back to the ground with a grunt of pain. Sam Blackburn came out of the shadows and retrieved the rifle.

Lije kept his revolver pointed at the thief, hammer back. "I thought you weren't going to shoot a man in anger again."

"Hell, it weren't anger." The thief pressed a hand to his bleeding shoulder wound, breathing in deep, panting breaths. "It were pure fear. I knowed you were figuring to take me back and hang me. I ain't never favored the idea of meeting my Maker at the end of no rope."

"You shouldn't have shot a man and stole his horses then." With Sam Blackburn on hand to keep the thief covered, Lije bolstered his revolver and went to tend the man's wound.

"Hell, there's a lot a things I shouldn't a done," he declared, then sucked in a sharp breath, grimacing with pain when Lije probed around the wound. "Shoulder's busted, ain't it?" he said through his teeth.

"Could be." Lije nodded. "Looks like the bullet might have ricocheted off the bone and come out the top of your shoulder. There's an exit wound anyway." Lije set about bandaging the man's shoulder.

First light the next morning found the trio on the trail, the thief tied to his saddle and the stolen horses in tow. Lije chose a route that took them past the new settlement of Kee-too-wah, formerly Fort Gibson. If luck rode with him, Lije thought he might get there before the riverboat departed, taking his grandparents and Susannah on their journey to Massachusetts.

By midday the buildings of the old fort were in sight. As Lije lifted his horse into a canter, the hoarse blast of a steam whistle came from the landing. It was the "all ashore" signal that announced the riverboat was beginning its preparations to get under way. Lije called to Sam to stay with the prisoner and spurred his horse into a gallop. The big bay leapt forward with a fresh burst of speed.

When he topped the rise where the ground sloped to the ledge rock, Lije saw that the gangway was still in place. A short distance to his left, his mother and Sorrel stood by the family carriage. Lije pushed the bay horse down the slope, winding his way through the clusters of onlookers.

Deckhands moved to haul in the gangway. He was about to curse his luck when he caught a glimpse of a woman in a dark gray traveling suit talking earnestly to one of them.

He reined in short of the gangway, and there was Susannah running to meet him. "You made it." She grabbed the bay's bridle, holding the horse while Lije swung out of the saddle.

"You didn't think I would miss the chance to wish my favorite auntie Godspeed on her journey, did you?" he teased, catching up the reins to his restless horse, excited from its run.

"I am too young to be your aunt." Even as she made her standard rejoinder, her expression softened. "But I think I would have regretted it if you hadn't called me that."

"I know." He smiled, then tipped his head to scan the upper decks. "Where are Grandfather and Eliza?"

"On the second deck." She pointed to them. "You should see the way they've been acting," Susannah declared. "They are like a couple going off on a belated honeymoon. It's really been quite touching."

"They've been looking forward to this trip."

"They have," she agreed, then paused, her hazel eyes softening on him again with pleasure. "No one else thought you would make it today. Temple said you were off tracking down some murderer. But I knew you would be here."

"I almost didn't make it."

"True."

A captain's mate stepped up, claiming Susannah's attention, a look of poorly disguised impatience on his face. "Begging your pardon, miss, but we're ready to shove off now. If you're going with us, I suggest you come on board."

"Of course. Right away." She turned back to Lije with regret. "I have to go now. You better write to me, Lije Stuart."

"I will," he promised.

She hesitated a split second, then asked, "Is there any message you would like me to take to Diane?"

His expression instantly hardened. "Give it up, Susannah. It's over."

But she caught the flicker of pain in his eyes that he wasn't quick enough to conceal. "For your sake, I hope not." In a rare display of affection, Susannah pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and whispered, "Be careful, Lije." Then she gathered up the front of her skirts and hurried up the gangway onto the boat.

Lije watched for a moment, then swung onto the saddle and backed his horse away from the loading ramp. With a last wave to Susannah and his grandparents, he reined the bay around and rode back up the slope to the family carriage.

"You were late," Sorrel declared with a haughty little lift of her chin. "You almost didn't get to see them before they left."

"It was close." Lije dismounted, his spurs making a small clinking sound when he stepped to the ground.

"Are you all right?" Temple ran her gaze over him, a mother's concern in her eyes. Behind her stood his uncle Kipp and his cousin Alex, but there was no sign of his father.

"Yes."

With that worry disposed of, her attention turned critical of the dust and sweat that caked him. "Lije Stuart, you are as ripe as one of our workers after a day in the fields." She raised a scented hankie to her nose to combat the rank odors coming from him.

"Make that nearly three days and you'll be closer to the truth." Belatedly, Lije slapped at the legs of his trousers, raising little puffs of dust. "It's nothing that a bath and clean change of clothes won't cure, which will be the first thing on my agenda when I get home tonight." He glanced beyond them in an idle search. "Didn't Father come with you?"

"He had business in Fort Smith. He plans to meet the boat when it docks there."