Fireblossom Page 10

  So close! Each time, she came so close to giving way, to yielding to her woman's heart, but always at the brink she recovered. Boldly, Fox kept his fingers on her back, raising them slowly to her shoulder in a tantalizing caress. When he felt her quake, he gathered her near.

  "Perhaps," he offered, "we shouldn't speak at all."

  Maddie lifted her face to protest, but this time no words would come. She ached for something unknowable. The feeling of his strong arms around her and the sight of his tender blue eyes, gazing down into hers, made her soften against him. When he lifted her off her feet and stepped into the shadow of a pine tree, Maddie didn't struggle.

  "Ah." Fox smiled slightly, savoring the moment, before he kissed her. She smelled so lovely and her body was so delicate, yielding to his embrace, that pleasure broke over him in a powerful wave. He reached with one hand to pull off her gardening gloves, holding her fast against him with the other arm, and then he could feel her bare fingers sink into the hair that curled over his collar.

  The taste of his mouth intensified the fire that was building inside her. Her breasts tightened and tingled; there was a delicious yearning heat between her legs... and suddenly she heard herself panting as their kiss deepened.

  "Oh!" It took all her strength to disengage her lips from his. What in heaven's name had happened to her? "Please... stop!"

  Fox drew a heavy sigh. A bright ribbon of her hair had come loose and he raised tanned fingers to smooth it away from her brow. Then, with a rueful smile, he stepped backward.

  "It seems I can't be trusted, can I?"

  Maddie thought she couldn't stop trembling, but she had to. Straightening, she gave him an even look. "I believe that I can handle you, sir. And now, if you don't mind, I should return to my gardening."

  "Of course." He bent to retrieve her gloves from under the pine tree and held them out to her. "You'll need these."

  A blush warmed her cheeks. "Thank you." As she accepted the gloves, his fingertips burned her wrist.

  "Until we meet again, Miss Avery." Fox gave her an irrepressible smile, then sketched a bow before leaving her to her silent, cooperative seedlings.

  * * *

  It seemed that the sound of hammering was incessant these days, whether Fox was on his own hillside above Sherman Street or in the midst of Deadwood's badlands. There were still plenty of stores and saloons located in tents with calico inner walls, but more and more of them were being replaced by hastily constructed buildings. Main Street was still a filthy, stinking swamp, but at least it had a more permanent appearance. Dozens of new arrivals poured in each day, prompting Charles H. Wagner to raise his rates at the Grand Central Hotel.

  Fox checked Nuttall & Mann's Number 10 Saloon, the Betwix-Stops Saloon, the Senate, and the Green Front and finally found Wild Bill sitting at a card table in the Gem. He was flanked by Bessie and Victoria but appeared disinterested. There were two other men at the table, one of whom was Captain Jack Crawford, who styled himself a "poet-scout." Fox found the man annoying and conceited but decided to endure his company in exchange for Bill's.

  Fox took a seat and smiled. "I'm not interrupting a game, I hope?"

  Hickok shook his head. "No. I feel like hell today, Captain Jack's writing a new poem, and Charley here's about to go to the bathhouse." He shook Fox's hand and then slumped back in his chair. He was paler than the last time they had met. "Have you met my pard, Colorado Charley Utter? Charley, this is Fox. I knew him in the war. A good man."

  The third fellow, who wore buckskins and sported a long mustache and shoulder-length hair like Hickok, smiled at Fox. "It's good to know you. Me and Seymour are starting a Pony Express here in town. If you need a job, we need riders."

  Fox smiled back, liking Colorado Charley immediately. "I'll keep that in mind, and I appreciate the offer."

  "Where you been, darlin'?" Victoria whispered. When she leaned over his shoulder, the smell of her cheap perfume was overpowering.

  "Leave Fox alone, Victoria," Wild Bill said as he poured himself another drink with his left hand. Fox remembered that this was one of his cautious habits, leaving his right hand free. He also endeavored always to sit with his back to the wall and never to the door of a saloon when he played cards. Some laughed at Hickok's vigilance, but he contended that it had kept him alive when many of his contemporaries had been less fortunate. "Why don't you girls leave us for a few minutes. I'd like to speak to Fox without an audience."

  Victoria and Bessie flounced away, curves jiggling. Something in Wild Bill's solemn gaze prompted Fox to accept the offer of a drink. "Is this serious?" he said, and as soon as the words were out, he sensed what the subject was. Oddly enough, Fox hadn't thought of Custer once in the past few hours.

  "It's about Custer and the Seventh," Hickok said in husky tones. "You asked about them the other night, and I thought you might know someone who was with Custer."

  "I did," Fox whispered. Instinct told him to gulp the drink.

  "There's been terrible news!" Captain Jack Crawford exclaimed, unable to restrain himself.

  "What do you mean?"

  Bill shot Crawford a warning look. "Well, we just got word that last month Custer's men went up against a whole mess of Sioux—up near the Little Bighorn in Montana. June twenty-fifth, I b'lieve it was."

  "And?" Fox heard his own voice from a distance.

  "Well, it seems Custer bit off more than he could chew. He was massacred, him and the couple hundred men who rode with him that day."

  "They're dead?" Fox was certain he must have misunderstood. "All of them?"

  Hickok nodded, stroking his mustache, then reached out with his left hand to refill Fox's glass. "Story is that they didn't have a chance; there must've been two thousand Indians. Either Custer was one of the greatest heroes who ever lived... or the biggest fool."

  As the truth sank in, Fox felt as if his heart would explode.

  Chapter 8

  July 20-24, 1876

  "I heard that the only survivor was a horse name of Comanche," Charley Utter remarked. "Too bad he can't talk."

  Fox's mind was whirling as he thought of Captain Myles Keogh, Comanche's rider, and then all the other men he had come to know in the days before the battle. Stabbing guilt brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He tried to concentrate. Surely the entire Seventh Cavalry hadn't been killed that day—it had numbered more than six hundred men! Besides, just before Fox had made his exit, Custer had divided the regiment into three battalions, to be commanded by Reno, Benteen, and himself. It sounded as if only Custer's battalion had been wiped out. Perhaps the others, circling the Indians from different directions, had managed to escape.

  His thoughts kept returning to one fact: If he and Custer hadn't quarreled so violently, and if Custer had accepted his offer to join the soldiers, Fox would have gone with them to their deaths. Right and wrong no longer mattered; the point was that he had ridden away and they'd all been killed. Good God, why hadn't he tried harder to change Custer's mind? Were his nightmares real? Was it George Armstrong Custer's ghost who taunted him at night?

  While Fox was lost in thought, it seemed that everyone in the Gem had begun to talk about "General" Custer and the tragedy at Little Bighorn. Colorado Charley Utter, sensing that the drama was about to get out of hand, departed for the bathhouse. A moment later Captain Jack Crawford stood up, brandishing the paper covered with his fanciful handwriting.

  "Who would care to hear the first verse of my newest poem, composed during this past hour since word came of General Custer's demise?" A murmuring hush spread over the crowd, which prompted Captain Jack to step up onto his chair and read:

  Did I hear the news from Custer?

  Well, I reckon I did, old pard.

  It came like a streak o' lightning,

  And you bet, it hit me hard.

  I ain't no hand to blubber,

  And the briny ain't run for years,

  But chalk me down for a lubber,

  If I didn't shed regula
r tears.

  People made sounds of solemn approval, while some of the upstairs girls began to weep. Captain Jack cautioned them that it was only the first verse, and he couldn't promise that the rest of the missive would be as profound.

  Wild Bill gave Fox a glance and a shrug in critique of Crawford's talent, but Fox was in no mood for irony. "I—I'm going to go upstairs for a little peace," he muttered. "Hope you feel better, Bill."

  "Can't say as I blame you, pard. Have one for me."

  Fox didn't know if his friend meant a drink or a girl, so he merely nodded and rose to find Victoria, stopping for a bottle on the way. Victoria threw a triumphant look back to her friends as Fox took her elbow and guided her toward the stairway.

  Climbing the slanting staircase, Fox found that he couldn't shut out the unwelcome thoughts. He'd never experienced such pain before. What did they call it—survivor's guilt? Images burned in his mind of two hundred soldiers lying dead under the Montana sun. He had handled Custer badly, letting his temper override reason. He shouldn't have said the things he had... he shouldn't have left, even if Custer had ordered him to... he should have tried something else...

  But what about the Indians? another voice in his head argued. Would it be better if Custer and the Seventh had butchered the Lakota people instead? Would that have been fair?

  Pausing on the top step, Fox stared at the bottle for a moment, then lifted it to his mouth and drank deeply. Please God, he prayed silently, make it stop....

  * * *

  Titus Pym nailed one of the last shingles in place on the cabin roof, then leaned over to look down at little Ben Avery. "Just about finished. Where d'you suppose that bloke Fox has got to?"

  He'd asked the same question of Benjamin and Wang Chee at least a dozen times over the past three days, and of course no answer was forthcoming. Now, Ben lifted his hands and shrugged. "Gee, Mr. Pym, I don't know. He'd of told somebody if he was gonna leave town, wouldn't he?" As Titus crept over to the ladder and descended, Ben's brown eyes lit up. "Maybe he's in the badlands! You want me to go down there and ask around?"

  "Certainly not, me young lad!" The older man feigned shock. "But I was thinkin' it might not hurt to inquire at your house. Perhaps he said something to your grandmother or your sister and didn't have a chance to speak to any of us."

  "Why would he tell Gramma Susan anything? Or Maddie? Gramma's an old lady and Maddie hates Fox!"

  "Does she? That's a strong word, lad. Let's go along and ask all the same, and if we're lucky, perhaps your lovely grandmother will offer me a piece of cake or pie or whatever's cooling inside the kitchen window today."

  Pym put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and they walked across the lot, through the pine trees, and up to the Averys' back door. Titus would have knocked, but Benjamin threw open the door and marched in. Susan O'Hara was drying dishes and putting them away on the shelves. Her face brightened at the sight of the Cornish miner.

  "Mr. Pym, how good it is to see you again! I can't tell you how impressed we all are with Fox's beautiful cabin, nor can I thank you enough for keeping an eye on my grandson. I do hope you'll send him home if he's a nuisance!"

  "Nay, Mrs. O'Hara, we all enjoy young Ben. Fox especially has taken a shine to the boy."

  "He's a good man." Susan put down her towel and gestured to Titus to take a chair. "I've just baked a rhubarb pie. You'll test it for me, won't you?"

  The wiry, gray-haired man blushed with pleasure. "It would be an honor, Mrs. O'Hara."

  As she cut the pie, prepared his plate, and set it before him, Susan inquired, "Where is Fox these days? It seems ages since we've seen him. I hope you won't be horrified if I confess that even at my age, I enjoy the sight of a man as good-looking as he is. Sometimes I steal a glance at him through the window just to reassure myself that I'm still alive!"

  Drawn by the sound of voices, Maddie put down her copy of the movingly romantic Jane Eyre and wandered over to the doorway that separated the parlor from the kitchen. "Hello, Mr. Pym. It's nice to see you."

  Titus grinned in her direction, then sobered. "Likewise, Miss Avery, but I hope you won't think me rude if I say that you're looking pale. I hope you aren't ill?"

  "No, I'm fine," she replied, with a wan smile. In truth she was feeling abysmal, but there was nothing physically wrong with her. Secretly Maddie feared she might be heartsick.

  "I was just about to ask your grandmother if she had any notion of Fox's whereabouts, but she asked me first," Titus said, attacking his pie with gusto. "We haven't seen him for three full days, Miss Avery, and I've never known him to just run off without a word. Odder still, he didn't take Watson. I've no doubt that he's fine, wherever he is, but I will admit to a measure of concern...."

  "Maybe the Injins got him, just like they got General Custer," Benjamin piped up ominously. "Johnny Gordon says that the Black Hills belong to the Injins and they're gonna attack Deadwood and kill us all for trespassing! Johnny says that they cut your scallop off before they kill you, and they shoot arrows all over your body, and—"

  "Benjamin Franklin Avery, be silent!" Susan commanded. "You know better than to speak of such things, particularly in the presence of ladies."

  "I don't think the Indians've got our Fox," Titus Pym reassured the little boy. "He's been around them before and knows their ways. He told me so himself. They'd invite him for supper, not kill him, lad."

  Madeleine joined them at the table. "Did Fox come back to the cabin after that Calamity Jane person left here three days ago?" she asked. "You saw her, didn't you, Mr. Pym? She said she'd been directed to my garden by you."

  Titus scratched his sunburned pate and muttered, "Now you mention it, miss, I do remember her. I thought she was a him, but Wang Chee set me straight. And, thinking back, I believe that that was the last time I saw Fox. I saw him walking off shortly after that."

  "Well," Maddie said softly, "I may have a clue. Miss Cannary told Fox that Mr. Hickok wanted to speak to him. I believe that he went to find him."

  " 'Twould seem, then, that I ought to seek out this Hickok fellow and discover what he knows of Fox's whereabouts," Pym declared, swallowing the last bite of pie and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  "Wild Bill Hickok?" Benjamin cried. "I don't think he'll talk to you, Mr. Pym. No offense, but Wild Bill is famous! He's performed feats of daring with his Colt pistol. I read a story about him in Philadelphia that said he'd killed more than one hundred criminals! Strangers must try to talk to him every day, so I don't think you could even get close."

  Titus patted the boy on the head and stood up. "This is Deadwood, lad. I don't doubt that Mr. Hickok is treated with respect, but he's hardly the president of the United States. I'm sure he'll have a word with me... if I can find him."

  "He plays cards in the badlands most of the time, but he's not staying at a hotel. He and Colorado Charley Utter are camping in their wagon alongside Whitewood Creek. Want me to show you where?"

  "Benjamin, how do you know these things? Haven't we told you to stay away from that part of town?" Gramma Susan shook her head. "And you most certainly will not go with Mr. Pym. Honestly, you're incorrigible!"

  "Lad, I have a task for you," Titus said as he held the door for the sulking boy. "Fox would want us to take the best care possible of Watson. Agreed? I am quite certain he needs to be fed and brushed. Are you up to that?"

  Benjamin nodded, brightening slightly. Smiling, Titus turned back to thank Susan again for the pie, assured her and Maddie that he would keep them informed of any news, and bade them good day.

  When they were alone, Susan O'Hara turned to study her granddaughter. Maddie tried looking out the window, but she knew that there was no escaping her grandmother's searching regard. "You look terrible, darling girl. Let's have a tiny spot of sherry to put color back in your cheeks, and then we'll talk."

  Maddie quaked at the sound of that last word. When Gramma Susan set a small red-and-gold Bohemian glass goblet before her, she sipped from it gratefully.


  "Now then," said the diminutive old woman, "you have been wandering around here looking more like a ghost with each passing day. I've been waiting patiently, hoping that you might come to me and discuss your feelings, but I suppose I should have known better. Instead, by the look of you, you've been trying to pretend you have no feelings!"

  "I—I don't know what they are," Maddie said miserably.

  "Aha!" She cried. "So you admit that you're feeling something. That's a start. Tell me all about it, and I'll help you make sense of your heart."

  "My heart?" The words made almost no sound at all. "I don't know that I'm not simply ill. Who knows what's in the water here? Perhaps I'm being poisoned." Seeing that her grandmother was in no mood to waste time, Maddie shook her head in despair. "Oh, Gramma, what is wrong with me? I ache, here"—she moved one hand to her breast—"and I can't eat, and I wake up all night long in the midst of unspeakable dreams..."

  Susan fixed her with an unwavering blue stare. "The answer, I think, is clear if you have the courage to own it." When Madeleine looked down, she prompted, "Be honest. Is there not one person who inhabits your thoughts and the dreams you describe as 'unspeakable'?" Susan reached across the makeshift table and took Maddie's hand. "Those dreams are merely nature's way of prodding you into womanhood."

  "But, Gramma... I can't bear it! How could this have happened? Of all the men in the world, why has my heart chosen"—Maddie swallowed audibly, then wailed—"Fox?"

  Susan clapped. "Oh, happy day! What a relief! You do have some Hampshire and O'Hara blood flowing in your veins after all! Maddie, darting, I can only applaud the instincts of your heart. Fox is just the sort of man I would have chosen for you, but feared you would reject. He would have been too much for your dear mother, but not for me or your great-grandmother! This is one of the happiest moments of my life!" She came around the table, drew a crate up next to Maddie, and embraced her.