Chapter 5 #2
Hawk nodded again, then went on into Henry’s office.
Painfully thin with wire-rimmed spectacles and a prematurely balding head, Henry Pierpont leaped to his feet.
He knocked over the coffee cup in front of him and started mopping up the coffee with his handkerchief.
“Hawk. Your father’s body is due at Riley’s by tonight.
It’s come as far as it could by train, but the railroad had a little bit of a problem getting a proper conveyance to bring it on up.
We’re still really in the wilds out here, you know.
But there’s a matter that’s come to my attention by the most recent post—” He broke off, shaking his head, miserable and very nervous.
Hawk threw the wedding license on Henry’s desk and sat in the chair in front of it.
“Could this matter have something to do with a woman claiming to be Lady Douglas?” he demanded.
Henry went dead still, then nodded. He sank back into his own chair. “You must understand, your father was my client.”
Hawk arched a brow.
Henry held a pencil. It cracked between his fingers. “I warned him that he shouldn’t be carrying around proxy papers, that it just wasn’t right.”
“You drew up proxy papers?”
“Yes, I drew them up.”
“Henry, damn you—”
“Hawk, I drew them up, but, well, you did sign them.”
“Because I’ve never been interested in taking control of my father’s estates! He managed his own properties! He was sound of mind. He was in good health—”
“He was aging,” Henry interrupted quietly. “I wanted to contact you and let you know that he was quite determined that you should marry, but again, your father was my client, until his death. Of course, now you’re Lord Douglas, my client.”
Hawk felt completely at a loss. He lifted his hands. “Did my father know this woman before he left here?”
Henry shook his head. “No. I don’t know where he found the young woman—” He broke off, puzzled. “How do you know about this? I just received your father’s last letters to me with copies of the documents. The young lady hasn’t arrived yet—”
“Oh, but she has!” Hawk murmured. He leaned forward, staring at Henry. “Just tell me—is this marriage legal?”
“Well, of course, you could apply for an annulment, if both parties were willing—”
“Is the marriage legal?” he demanded.
“It—er—yes,” Henry said.
Hawk expelled a long breath. “I can’t believe my father did this!”
Henry cleared his throat. “It—gets a little worse.”
Hawk arched a brow at him.
“A little worse?”
Henry’s Adam’s apple moved up and down beneath the collar of his formal white shirt.
He cleared his throat again. “If she chooses to force the issue of attempting to negate the marriage, she will be disinherited except for a small stipend she is to receive, even if she returns home. If she remains here as your wife, naturally, the house becomes half hers.” Henry loosened his collar.
“Go on.”
“If you choose to attempt to negate it—”
Hawk stood, incredulous. “My father disinherited me?”
“No, not completely. Only the Mayfair estate lands.”
Thousands of Black Hills acres. Land David owned through land grants and claims, but Sioux land. Land he never developed because it had belonged to his wife’s people, his son’s people. Land he had to keep.
He’d been raised Sioux. Raised to believe that a man of honor shared everything, did not need riches. But he needed those lands. Especially with the confrontations that promised to come.
He sank back into the chair, shaking his head. His father had known him, known how to manipulate him. Known he didn’t give a damn about Scottish estates or eastern property. He would have gladly rid himself of an unwanted wife by giving up those properties. But the Sioux lands…
The hot fire of pain spread throughout his chest. “I loved him,” he said simply, lifting his hands, at a loss.
“He—he loved you, too. I truly believe that he did what he did for your benefit. Of course, he must also have been quite charmed by this young woman when he met her to have stipulated that she must be in his will as well.”
“Yes, he must have been charmed.”
“Well, you’ve met your, er, wife, is that right?”
“Yes. I met her stagecoach. Rather by accident. I’d gone to Riley’s to see if my father’s body had arrived.”
“Well, then, is she—satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory?”
Henry was becoming increasingly more nervous and ill at ease. “I mean…is she, er…well, dammit all, Hawk, is she attractive? Is she—oh, lord—is she unattractive? Is there something wrong with her?”
Hawk smiled without amusement. “She’s just—charming. Tell me—you’re absolutely sure the marriage is legal. It’s a proxy marriage—”
“Half the marriages in half the mining towns throughout the West are legal by proxy,” Henry said wearily. “How do you think these fellows get wives out here? What proper young woman is going to come this distance without being a man’s lawful wedded wife?”
“What proper young woman…” Hawk murmured.
“You know that I’m willing to be of service to you in any way,” Henry said. “But your father was of sound mind when he made his arrangements. My hands are tied.”
Hawk leaned forward. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, “And what if she seduced, coerced, and killed the old man?” He didn’t say the words.
He could probably never prove that she’d had anything to do with his father’s death.
He might not even be able to convince Henry that Skylar Connor had thought herself married to his father—and a widow now.
A widow ready to take possession of his property.
“Whatever you decide to do…” Henry said.
“She won’t be getting my land. You can damned well bet on that!” Hawk said. Rising, he exited the office, so filled with fury once again that he could have knocked the door from its hinges.
He went straight for his horse, but before he could mount, he heard his name called.
Black Feather, an old Hunkpapa friend who traded furs in town despite all the government edicts, strode toward him.
He was a tall, well-built man with weather-leathered features and a slow, easy, thoughtful way about him.
Hawk cooled his temper, grasping arms with his old friend.
“How are you, Black Feather? Your hunting goes well?”
“Hunting goes badly. The whites have shot the buffalo herds, killing hundreds, perhaps thousands, from their train windows. They slaughter game.” He shrugged.
“I’m a good hunter. Trading furs for gunpowder.
” He lowered his voice. “Come to your grandfather’s village soon.
Many friends, who cannot or will not come this close to white settlements, will be moving north and would like to bid you farewell. ”
“Joining Sitting Bull?” Hawk asked.
Black Feather nodded gravely. “We have but two choices. Become fenced in like white cattle or fight for our ways. You cannot argue this.”
“I wouldn’t attempt to argue it. I will come very soon.”
“Your grandfather will be glad.” Black Feather hesitated. “We have heard of your father’s passing. My heart is heavy with yours. He was a great man.”
Hawk nodded. “Thank you.”
“He will be missed by us all.”
“Deeply.”
Hawk mounted his horse, lifting a hand in farewell.
As he rode hard from the fledgling settlement, he felt as if he had been buffeted by storms with wildly opposing winds.
He was angry with his father, in pain for his father, and he could never talk to him again to try to understand what he had done.
And he hurt for David, wondering what pain had racked him in the end that he should have become so dependent and enamored of Skylar Connor that she could have manipulated him so.
And now, in the midst of this personal tragedy and confusion, the country was continuing to trundle down a road of cruelty and injustice against his people.
The longer he rode toward the lodge on the far eastern border of his property, the more heated his temper grew.
He was ready to do battle.
Dreams of the distant past had haunted her most of her life. Not continually. Just upon occasion.
The dreams always began the same way. She saw the gray swirls rising before her eyes once again.
Just as they had before. Long ago.
The night air had been thick with a low-hanging fog. Footsteps could be heard falling upon the streets, but no forms could be seen. It was a perfect night for clandestine meetings. For secrets in the darkness.
Maryland had been full of secrets.
A border state, it had teemed with spies and conspiracy.
There were those who were openly Southern sympathizers and those who were vociferously pro-Union.
There were those who pretended to be Southern sympathizers but spied for the Union.
There were those who publicly supported the Union who were really Southern spies.
And there were those who were just caught in between.
Robert Connor had lived down in Williamsburg. Before the war, he’d taken a job as a young attorney there, and when the war had broken out, he’d wound up in the army.
And after Gettysburg, he’d wound up in a Union prison in DC. Only he’d managed to escape. And he’d managed to get a message to his brother, Richard, that he needed help.
Richard Connor lived with his wife, Jill, and their two daughters, Skylar and Sabrina, in a fine house in Baltimore.
He’d spent the war years in torment himself, having been wounded early in ‘62 and sent home with a limp that would never go away. He’d been glad to come home.
He’d believed in the sanctity of the Union, but he’d never believed in killing his Southern brethren.
And when his brother had called him for help, he’d immediately given it.
So, Robert had come. And he’d played with the girls while he lay hidden in their attic, and Skylar had come to love him nearly as much as her own father. But word finally came that he was to be met by plainclothes Southern spies and spirited back to the Confederacy, where he would be safe.
And the fog and the mist had come