Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
“Good show,” said a smiling John Burke, the Wild West Show’s manager and press agent. “Good show.” With a drink teetering precariously in each hand, he mingled in between and amongst the assembled guests in the after-the-show party, passing by Suzette and her grandmother.
He acknowledged Irena, extended a glass of champagne to her and offered the other to Suzette. Suzette declined, but Irena accepted gracefully.
“Thank you.” Irena smiled at Burke.
Burke nodded, then turned and retraced his steps, presumably to find more champagne.
Irena looked at Suzette over her glass. “You are wearing a beautiful gown. White is a good color on you. The material is very soft. Is it silk?”
“Yes.”
“And the cut is quite flattering, as well, the neckline not too low, not too high.”
“Thank you.”
Still eyeing her granddaughter over the glass of champagne, Irena commented, “Oh, and by the way, I saw him kiss you.”
“Did you?” asked Suzette, not bothering to ask who he was. “Let us hope no one else did.”
“Suzie, I fear it could not have been missed.”
It was true. “Do you know if he is in trouble?”
“I must admit I have no idea.”
“But why did he do it?”
Irena smiled at her as though she knew exactly what was the reason, but she wasn’t going to tell Suzette about it.
“Perhaps you could spend some time with him. You must be aware it is well over a few weeks since you first wed. Perhaps, if you were more attentive to him, he might not look upon a public demonstration as a way to become closer to you.”
“We are not supposed to become closer.”
“Need I remind you that you are wed.”
“Irena, do stop this. You know the particulars of it.”
Irena shrugged. “He is a man, and you went into this arrangement willingly.”
“Has he talked to you about it, then?”
“No, he has not. But I think he would like to get to know you better.”
Suzette didn’t respond.
Completely unnecessarily, Irena stated, “He is your husband, after all.”
“No, he is not,” Suzette denied. “Well, maybe,” she said more honestly. “But not really. I bear his name and only his name.”
“And so it is your plan to take his name and ignore the man?”
Annoyed, yet keeping a smile affixed to her countenance, Suzette turned on her grandmother. “What do you expect from me, Irena? The man knew what he was doing, as well as I. I did not lie to him about what I needed or what our relationship would be after the deed was done. He agreed.”
Irena raised a single eyebrow, but otherwise remained silent.
Suzette abruptly changed the subject. “When do you perform?”
“As soon as dinner is finished.”
“What are you singing?”
“The Barcarolle, ‘Belle Nuit,’ ‘Oh Lovely Night’ from The Tales of Hoffmann, by Jacques Offenbach.”
Suzette nodded. “Good choice.”
“Yes. I think the Denver officials might enjoy the performance.”
“I am sure they will.”
Irena eyed her granddaughter. “Would you like to sing after I do? It would be easy to arrange.”
“Oh, no,” said Suzette at once. “I am unprepared for it, and I think I am attached to the idea that no one here knows I am a prima donna in my real life.”
“In your real life…” Irena’s expression took on a dreamlike appeal. “How strange those words sound. We have not been here in Colorado very long, and yet England seems so far away.”
“But it is far away.”
“I was not speaking about the distance in miles.”
“I knew you weren’t. It is different here, I will admit. Do you miss England, then?”
“No. Do you?”
Suzette thought for a moment. “No,” she said carefully.
“When I first set out to join you, I believed I would miss my home, but oddly, I do not. There is an enchantment about this place. Here, one is allowed to…breathe, and one is not expected to rush through life with little attention given to anything but the need for wealth, power and position. One is simply let to…well, to live. I think the people here call it freedom. And I, too, seem to favor it. Very much, I should say.”
“Yes.” Irena nodded. “Quite. Ah, look there, dear. Mr. Cody approaches, and I do have a need to speak to him alone. Would you mind?”
“Of course not.”
“Hello, Mr. Cody,” cooed Irena, as soon as the man came within hearing distance. She smiled and offered him her gloved hand.
“Lady Irena,” he responded in his deep voice, as he took hold of her hand. Bowing low over it, he pressed a kiss to it. He turned to Suzette. “And here’s the pretty little miss who decorated the Deadwood stagecoach so beautifully today.”
Suzette smiled. “Mr. Cody,” she acknowledged, offering him her white-gloved hand as well, which he accepted at once. “How much I enjoyed being rescued.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. My pleasure. I hear you might have had trouble today when—”
“Mr. Cody,” interrupted Irena. “Do you have a moment?”
Cody grinned at her. “I have many of them which I should like to spend with you, if this is what you are suggesting.”
Irena’s smile deepened. “Ah, this would be very agreeable, indeed. Suzette, will you excuse us?”
“By all means.” Suzette beamed at them both. “And, Mr. Cody? There was no trouble. None at all.”
“Glad to hear it, ma’am. Glad to hear it.” With a parting smile at her, Cody guided Irena away.
Sighing, Suzette glanced around the room, taking in the assembled company.
There were few here she recognized, fewer yet she wished to speak to, though she supposed it would be to her advantage to mingle with the cowboys and cowgirls.
However, the brisk cold of the evening outside Cody’s welcome tent seemed inviting to her.
In England, one would not dare to venture into the night alone for fear of ruining one’s reputation.
But here in the American West, considerations were not so inflexible.
Besides, it wasn’t as though she would be alone.
It seemed to her that the people who populated the Wild West Show never slept; indeed, someone was always nearby regardless of the hour of the day.
She drifted toward the entryway as inconspicuously as possible.
She might have stepped outside as well, but directly across the short midway between the two areas was the Indian encampment, and now that the orchestra music was distant from her, the Indian drums from their camp rang out their distinctive beat.
What was it, which was drawing her irresistibly toward those tepees. She could not explain the attraction to the camp, for she had never been there. Unless the allure was because of him.
Was it? She supposed it could be.
Whatever the reason, Suzette determined to ignore the enticement and take a walk instead. The air was fresh, though cold in this place, and it invited a person to partake of it. Placing her cloak around her shoulders, she stepped out into the darkened black of the night.
As she strolled over the lush, snow-wet grass cushioning her feet, the familiar sound of gunshots rang out in the distance.
Perhaps Annie Oakley or some other sharpshooter was practicing.
A sprinkling of frosty moisture touched the night air, its humidity enveloping her like a mantle.
It felt good, and with pleasure, she inhaled.
The scent of smoke from the Indian encampment wafted to her on a gentle breeze, carrying with it the smell of roasting meat. Suzette’s stomach churned in response.
“Are you hungry?” she asked the little one she carried, and she patted her stomach.
“Are you?” came a baritone voice, one she recognized all too well.
She started, then turned to confront Black Lion. “I wish you would take more care when you approach me. You seem to creep up on me without my awareness and then… Well, have you been here all this time? Following me?”
“No. When I saw you step away from the tent, I decided to take a moment to talk to you. I do not mean to creep up on you. Perhaps you would benefit by being more aware of your environment.”
“I am aware of my environment,” she defended. “But you…you move with the stealth of a cat.”
“Perhaps I am named aptly, then.”
They both fell silent, and Suzette took a few steps forward on a path which would lead them into a treed grove, the same one they had visited on the night of their marriage.
She advanced a few more steps, for she had to move.
To stand still, with him watching her so closely, was somehow dangerous. Black Lion followed her.
She said, “Was there trouble for you because of today?”
“Hiya.”
“And again, that word means?”
“No.”
“Then no one saw you kiss me?”
“People saw. They believed it was part of the performance.”
“Oh.” Suzette nodded. “I am glad.” Again, she fell into an uncomfortable silence with him. After a time, she said, “Where was Red Shirt?”
“He is enjoying his new pony, I believe.”
“New pony?”
“It is what I traded with him to take his place today.”
Suzette stopped and turned to face Black Lion. “You traded a pony with Red Shirt so that you might take his place?”
“I did. My best pony too.”
“But why?”
Black Lion shrugged. “I would be with my wife.”
She shook her head. “You do recall that we are not really married.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did we not say our vows in front of your Black Robe? Did we not also say them in front of the Great Spirit?”
“Yes, but… But I thought you understood our marriage is…even still…in name only.”
“And so I do. It does not follow, however, that I do not desire to be close to the woman who bears my name, and my child.”
“He or she is not your child.”
“Not by blood. Yet he is mine, nonetheless, for I have given you my name, so he will be protected. This makes him mine.”
“Very well. You are right. But you do remember you promised me you would not try to take him from me.”
“I do. And perhaps you should know I would sooner die than break any one of my promises to you.”
She nodded.
“Are you?” He smoothed a lock of her hair back from her face.
“Am I what?” Suzette turned her face in toward his touch and resisted the temptation to lean in farther. Why was she so affected by this man?
His hand slipped down to her neck, and Suzette caught her breath. His fingers upon her were light, barely more than a simple caress.
“Are you aware of your promises to me?”
“I made none.”
He smiled slightly as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. “And yet I remember the white man’s minister asking you to obey me and to give yourself to no one but me. What of those promises?”
“I… I…”
“And what of the vows we took together, here in this glen? Do you think the Creator is so easily fooled?”
“I am unaware I made any vows here. I thanked you for your help. That is all.”
“I choose thee, Black Lion,” he repeated, reminding her. “Do you think the Great Spirit would agree with you? Do you think He would think what is between us is not real?”
She jerked up her head. “Are you insinuating you want this marriage to be real?” It was strange, very strange. Because with this thought, a rush of sensation exploded within her.
“No, not completely. At the time, I agreed you would have only my name, so long as it is only this you wish. I only make the point that we did seek His will, and we did make vows between us, before Him. With my body, I thee worship,” he uttered. “And how easy it would be, I think, to worship thee.”
Suzette frowned up at him. He barely touched her, for his fingers lay gently atop her shoulder. But she might as well have been branded, for his touch invoked excitement all through her. “Please understand and remember that I…I am not ready to be romantically involved with anyone.”
“Are you not?” He leaned forward, and she stared up at him as though mesmerized.
“No. I already told you nothing like this would happen unless…”
“…you agree to it,” he added. “I remember.”
“And I…I…” She jerked away from his touch, which seemed to be the cause of her problem, and took a few steps back, putting more distance between them.
With a slight grimace, as well as a smile, he said, “A man can always hope.”
She ignored his words and turned her back on him, pacing farther into the forest. She stopped beneath the same large pine where they had said their vows to the Great Spirit.
He did not follow her, but remained a few yards away.
“You have been gone for several days, have you not?” she said.
“I have.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went to the mountains, there to seek guidance from my spirit protector.”
“Spirit protector? What is a spirit protector?”
“It is an animal, or a plant, or a spirit who has heard your plea for assistance, and has expressed its desire to help you. Taking pity on you, a spirit protector gives you its power.”
“Oh,” she said as though she understood him perfectly. “Help you to do what?”
“To ease a situation that plagues me.”
“You are plagued?”
“I am troubled,” he admitted.
“I am sorry to hear about it. And this spirit protector…does what?”
He frowned at her. “It is not an easy matter to explain, and a man should not talk about such things. But I see you do not truly understand. Therefore, I will try to help. In the past, before the white man came to this country, a man would seek out a spiritual helper to aid him in war or because of some other matter of importance.”
“Ah, does this mean you worship this animal or spirit?”
“Hiya, no. It is well known that in a war, the Creator will not choose sides, for He is neutral, and loves all His creatures. Besides, one’s enemies could very well speak to the Creator, as well as you.
And so, to compensate for this, a man will endeavor to find a helper from the animal or spirit world.
Someone or some spirit who will give a man the secret of its power, thus giving this man the protector’s medicine. ”
“Medicine?”
“Medicine to the Indian heart means the great mystery of all things. It is a mystical strength.”
“Oh, I think I understand. Mystical. Is your need to seek out this medicine because of me? Have I upset you so greatly?”
“Hiya, it is not because of you, and you have not upset me.”
“Are you going to war, then?”
He moved forward an inch. “I am already at war.”
“But you are with the show, and so you surely are not still fighting the white man, are you?”
“I do not fight the white man.” He sighed. “It is a long story.”
“Well…” She shrugged. “I seem to have time at present to listen.”
“And yet,” he responded, hesitating, “even if I bare my soul to you, you will not believe me, I think.”
“And it is necessary for you to consider I will believe before you tell me?”
“Hiya, no.”
“Then come.” She sank gracefully onto the ground, which was made soft by pine needles and only a little snow, and she patted the earth beside her. “Sit beside me. Tell me what it is you fight.”