Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) (5 page)

Mrs. Browning looked disappointed as she led
the way. "We hardly ever get any female
travelers out here. I'd be pleased to sit and talk a
spell with you."

"I beg you to forgive me, but I am tired, and I
have a headache. I want no more than to lie
down for a while."

Mrs. Browning's mouth tightened. "Well, if
that's the way you want it. I'll have my husband
bring in your grip."

"Thank you." After the tense hours with the
Indian on the stage, she didn't want to talk to
anyone; she just wanted to be left alone.

When Mrs. Browning departed, Makinna
looked about the small chamber off the back of
the main room. It was cramped, the only
furniture a narrow cot and a washstand with a
pitcher of water. She sat on the lumpy mattress
and leaned back against the adobe wall. The
bedding was surprisingly clean, smelling of lye
soap.

But the room was so hot that her hair was
plastered to her forehead. With a sigh,
Makinna stood to remove her veil. Stepping to
the open window, she hoped for a breath of
fresh air. But a dry wind parched her throat,
and suddenly tears blurred her vision.

Life as she'd known it was over. She was left
with only sorrow and an uncertain future. She
tried to push her troubled thoughts aside and
instead study the landscape. But this stark
country appeared to have no color-it looked
lifeless, empty. The adobe way station and its
outbuildings were the same dull tone as the
ground and the distant hills. The only growing
things seemed to be an occasional cactus and
scraggly stalks of straw-colored grass poking
through the hard, cracked ground.

In that moment, Makinna longed for the
lushness of New Orleans. Could any place this
side of hell be as hot and dry and miserable as
Adobe Springs? She thought of green Louisiana
fields, where horses frolicked, and the
Mississippi, where paddlewheel boats floated
lazily along the current.

A shadow fell across her view, and she
quickly pulled away from the window. It was the
Indian walking past. He was tall, and his stride
was long, but she caught a quick glimpse of his
face before he moved away. She gasped at the
singular impression of a man tortured in mind
and soul.

Did Indians have the same feelings as white
people? She had always thought of them as
completely alien, needing no one, raiding and
marauding, killing and scalping their enemies
just for the sport of it.

The Indian had removed his coat and unbut toned the collar of his white shirt, which opened
to reveal a smooth, bronze chest. Again, she
was struck by his handsomeness and the power
he exuded.

She watched as he released his hair from a
black cord, and it fell dark and heavy to his
shoulders. Makinna's heart began beating wildly.
Never had she seen such a man. There was
something thrilling about him that captured her
attention, yet at the same time something
dangerous and frightening. More than mere
handsomeness, there was a wild, savage beauty
about him, a strength of spirit that seemed to
reach out to her.

She closed her eyes to steady her heartbeat.
She wondered about his life. He was unlike
anything she imagined an Indian to be. His
diction was aristocratic, and he had a superior
manner about him. His expensively cut suit
would have been at home on the finest plantation
in Louisiana.

It seemed strange that he chose to dress like a
white man, and stranger still that he was
traveling on the Butterfield stage.

Feeling guilty for watching him, Makinna
moved away from the window and prepared to
wash the dust from her face. But her thoughts
kept returning to the Indian.

What, exactly, was his story?

Makinna recognized the voices of the station
manager and his wife just outside her window.
Mrs. Browning's voice was high-pitched with
indignation. "I don't care if he is a Butterfield
passenger. I told him, and I'm telling you, I ain't
gonna serve no Injun. It's too much for anyone
to expect. Land sakes, Jack, we could all be
scalped in our sleep!"

Her husband replied in an irritated tone.
"Nonetheless, he gets hungry like everyone
else, and he deserves to be fed. He seems
harmless enough, Edna. Almost civilized."

"He'll not eat at my table, and that's that! You
didn't see the way he looked at me when I told
him where we stood-I swear, Jack, he's think ing up something terrible to do to us during the
night."

"It does seem kinda strange to see a savage
pretendin' like he was a white man. What the
hell kind of Indian is he, anyway? I've never
seen one so tall, or with his sharp, clear features.
I wouldn't mind askin' him a few questions to
find out what he's about."

"Well, if you ask me, he's up to no good. You
tell him he's to sleep in the barn, and I want him
gone tomorrow."

Makinna approached her window in time to
watch Mr. and Mrs. Browning walk toward the
barn. Her gaze went to the Indian, who had
melted into the shadows, almost becoming a part
of them. She realized he'd heard every word the
Brownings had uttered, and she felt a rush of
pity for him.

Without pausing to think, she headed out of
her bedchamber. The main room was crudely
furnished with a long wooden table, a potbellied stove, and dirt floors. Mr. Rumford and
Mr. Carruthers were sitting at the table talking amiably, their empty plates in front of
them.

They both looked up when she approached.
Makinna realized she had forgotten to put on her
veil, but she was too angry to care about that at
the moment.

She went directly to the table, found an
empty tin plate, and begin spooning beans into it. She speared a chunk of meat and plopped it
onto the plate, then added a slice of cornbread to
the mound.

Mr. Carruthers nodded at the heaping plate.
"You must be hungry, Mrs. Hillyard."

"It's not for me," she answered sharply.

"Didn't think a young, pretty thing like you
could eat that much in one sitting," Mr. Rumford
observed in a jovial if patronizing way. "If you
don't mind an old man's compliments," he
added.

"I am in no mood for compliments, Mr.
Rumford. As a representative of the Butterfield
Stage Line, how could you allow that man and
woman to work for you? Aren't they supposed to
see that your passengers are fed and sheltered?"

He looked taken aback. "Are you speaking of
Jack and Edna Browning?"

"I am."

He assumed an official-sounding tone.
"Obviously, they have done something to offend
you. Tell me what it is, and I'll speak to them
about it immediately."

"I'll tell you what they did, if you don't
already know. They refused to feed the Indian,"
she said angrily. "What is he to do, starve to
death?"

Mr. Rumford looked uncomfortable. "Well, he
should have known what might happen when he
boarded our stage. My only obligation is to my
legal passengers."

"That's right," Mr. Carruthers spoke up. "If
you let one Indian ride the stage, they'll all want
the privilege."

Mr. Rumford nodded. "No need to worry about
that possibility. I've already informed him that he
won't be leaving with the stage in the morning.
Can't think how he got aboard in the first place.
In spite of his fine attire, he's still a savage."

Makinna glared from one man to the other. "I
wonder who among us are the uncivilized ones. I
am ashamed to be in a room when he is
consigned to a barn. Even if he is an Indian, he's
a human being, and he gets hungry and needs
rest just like we do. You treat your mules better
than you do him. At least you see that they are
fed and watered."

She turned away, heading for the front door.
Seldom had she been so angry. No person, not
even that Indian, was going to go hungry if she
could help it. She brushed past Mr. and Mrs.
Browning at the door and kept going without
acknowledging them.

Edna Browning stared after her. "Humph.
What bee's stirring in her bonnet? That highand-mighty passenger of yours, Mr. Rumford,
seems to think she's too good for the likes of
us." She huffed toward the kitchen, her husband
tagging behind.

Makinna didn't see the Indian at first. Then he
silently emerged from the shadows and stood directly before her. She flinched and instantly
stepped back, wondering if she should have
asked one of the gentlemen inside to accompany
her. A cloud was covering the moon, and she
couldn't see the Indian's face clearly, but she
knew he would be frowning.

"I am sorry if I startled you, Mrs. Hillyard,"
he said, moving away from her and turning his
head up as if contemplating the heavens.

She stepped hesitantly closer to him. "I...
brought you... I thought you might like
something to eat," Makinna said, daring to hold
the tin plate out to him.

He didn't look at her. "You could have saved
yourself the trouble. I am not hungry."

She took a step closer. "You should eat
anyway."

He swung his head in her direction and said in
a biting tone, "Why should you concern yourself
with my dining habits?"

She was silent for a moment, trying to think of
the right words to say. "I am sorry about the
others."

His tone was cynical as he asked, "Are you?"

"Yes, I am. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here now."

"Yet you are just as frightened of me as they
are, Mrs. Hillyard. Do you think of me as a
savage ready to pounce on you?"

She didn't bother to deny her nervousness
about being around him. "I doubt you would be
that desperate."

She was amazed when she heard him laugh.
"You are right. I have no desire to pounce on a
married woman, one who is in mourning. And a
white woman at that."

"Please," she urged, holding the food out to
him again. "Take this. You haven't eaten all
day. 11

"I think not." He turned his face back to the
quarter moon now emerging from the clouds.
Again she sensed in him a sadness, a wound of
the spirit, and it troubled her.

She placed the food on a nearby wooden
bench. "I'll just leave it here, should you change
your mind. It may not be very good, but it will
be nourishing."

He said nothing.

Makinna noticed that he had suddenly tensed,
as if he were listening to something in the
distance. All she heard was the howl of some
nocturnal animal. Although she was unfamiliar
with them, she suspected it must be a coyote or
even a wolf. As she listened, she heard an
answering howl, and then another
and another until the creatures seemed to be
all around them.

"You had better go inside now, Mrs.
Hillyard," the Indian said, turning his head in the
direction of the barn and staring into the
darkness.

Makinna was only too happy to get away
from him. She had offered him food. If he didn't want to eat, it was no concern of hers. At
least now she could sleep with a slightly clearer
conscience. "Good night... sir."

He didn't reply but simply moved silently and
quickly toward the barn. Something was
bothering him, and Makinna didn't think it was
the Brownings' rudeness.

She went back inside, passing through the
main room without speaking to the people
gathered there. She was still too angry. Entering
her chamber, she closed the door, noting it had
no lock. Neither did the window. She felt
uneasy. If the Indian did take it into his head to
enter her room, she had no way to stop him.

After removing her cumbersome bustle, she
lay down on the bed fully clothed, too weary
even to undo her stays or remove her shoes. She
would just rest a bit and later undress and put on
her nightgown.

She could still hear the animals howling. They
seemed to be getting closer. Or was that only her
imagination?

Soon her eyes drifted shut, and she fell into a
deep, dreamless sleep.

Makinna awoke in a suffocating darkness,
gasping for breath. She lay still, listening, her
heart pounding as some unknown fear coursed
through her veins. It was quiet-too quiet. The
never-ceasing wind had died down, the howl ling animals that had frightened her earlier in the
evening were now silent, and she couldn't even
hear any crickets chirping. She pressed a hand
against her thundering heart. She wanted a
sound-anything but this ominous silence, like
the inside of a tomb.

Abruptly, fearfully, Makinna sensed that she
was not alone. It wasn't a sound or a movement
that alerted her, but a feeling. She sat up and
swung her feet to the floor, peering into the
darkness, but discerned no shape or movement or
sound.

She started violently when a hand clamped
over her mouth, and a strong arm wrapped
around her, pulling her to her feet.

A harsh whisper came to her out of the
darkness. "Be still, and listen to me. Your life
depends on it."