Chapter Twenty-one
Outside the fine Van Schuyler mansion, the gold and russet October leaves blew across the expansive lawns. Summer turned from the window, watched her father settle himself in his library chair with his morning coffee. Upstairs, the noise of the children playing reverberated through the big house. The twins were taking their mid-morning nap. “You wanted to talk to me, Father?”
“We’ve something to discuss.” He sipped his coffee and frowned.
She had a feeling this was not going to be a meeting she would enjoy. More and more as he aged, Silas, with his prominent hooked nose and piercing eyes, reminded her of a hawk. She felt abruptly like a field mouse or a rabbit under his withering gaze, so she returned to the window and looked out instead. The early morning sun was just melting the shimmering frost off the trees and rooftops. The last few days of October. In a few days, winter would begin with all its cold and snows. That made her think of those times she and her love had shared their cozy buffalo robes in a tipi on the windswept prairie. Tears came to her eyes. Her once in a lifetime love. She had written him of the twins’ birth and had heard nothing in reply. Yes, it must be true that he had found another love. Yet could she give him up without a struggle? A trip to Colorado in bad weather with five children would be difficult, even though she was fast regaining her strength.
Father cleared his throat behind her, and she whirled around. “Summer, I’ve been quite patient with you as I know the last few months and particularly the last few weeks have been very difficult; but the twins are flourishing now, and it’s time to get on with your life.”
“Hmm.” She thought of her mother’s room upstairs. Silas had not allowed one thing to be moved. It was exactly as it had been the night Priscilla died—like a shrine. Silas was not getting on with his life. She dared not say that, of course. She might as well face this unpleasantness head-on. “What is it you want to talk to me about, Father?”
“You know you are very welcome to stay here with me indefinitely,” he said.
Summer saw herself trapped like her mother in this eerie house, she and her children under the control of her grim, overbearing parent. She managed not to shudder visibly. “Thank you, Father, I—I haven’t really given it much thought.”
“Then it’s time you did.” He put his coffee cup down on the small table next to his chair and looked at her.
“I had some idea of returning to the West.”
“To what?” he snapped, and glared at her. “We’ve discussed this before and I thought you would come to your senses! There doesn’t seem to be anything there for you; and certainly no good prep schools for Lance.”
“I do have four other children besides Lance,” she reminded him pointedly.
He shrugged. “Quite. so, but the other boy looks too much like a savage, so he’ll have a hard time of it; and after all, what value does the world place on girls unless, of course, they make a good marriage?”
“Your attitude appalls me!”
“And your actions appall me!” he snapped back. “A girl reared with the best of everything and attending the best schools runs away with some savage and lives in sin with him, produces bastard offspring, and causes this family no end of embarrassment—”
“I doubt anyone was embarrassed but you,” Summer shot back.
“Be that as it may,” he said crisply, “I’m in control of the family holdings and fortune. Remember he who has the gold has the power.”
“I don’t need your money!” Summer was seething.
“Oh? You can say that, can you, when you have spent most of this past year living in luxury at my fine home, with maids at your beck and call?”
“I can be packed in five minutes,” she said. At least in the past few months, some things had changed; Father’s angry bluster no longer scared her.
“And pray tell, where would you go with your five little children?” He smiled coldly now, as if he held all the winning cards.
Where would she go? What could she do with no job skills and no money? She took a deep breath and swallowed back her anger. “I’m sure, knowing you, there is a point to all this.”
“You do know me pretty well, don’t you?” He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her as if he were assessing the value of a property. “I always thought you would marry Austin Shaw, thus merging my empire with theirs.”
“You know I visited with Austin when he was in town a few months ago.” Summer dismissed that suggestion with an impatient shrug. “He knows I love another.”
“Who doesn’t seem to love you,” Silas said. “What do you think of Beau St. Claire?”
“He’s . . . charming,” Summer hedged.
“He’s more than charming; he seems to be an astute businessman with good connections.”
“What is your point, Father?”
“The Shaws have moved their annual costume ball from New Year’s Eve this year to Halloween.”
“So? We all know that; that’s tomorrow night. Mrs. Shaw had said in her note that they hoped Austin would come in on the train for the ball, but he couldn’t get leave. Anyway, I’ve already written Mrs. Shaw a note, declining the invitation.”
“Robert Shaw has invited me personally to come and bring my two daughters just like always.”
“I know,” Summer said, “but I’m sure it was just a gesture of politeness; the Shaws know we are still in mourning and that it wouldn’t be proper—”
“Don’t you dare use the word ‘proper’ around me, young lady!” His chair’s four legs came down hard on the floor with a resounding bang. “You and I and Angela are going.”
“But Father—”
“We won’t wear costumes or dance, of course, and will be very subdued and discreet since the whole town knows we’re in mourning, but it will give any man there a reminder that you’re available.”
“I’m not.”
“You prefer to live at home the rest of your life?” Shaking her head, she thought of spending forever as her mother had in this grim house. “I—I’m just not quite sure what I’m going to do yet.”
“Then let me offer suggestions,” Silas said, rubbing his hands together in his best “take charge” gesture. “Since Austin seems to have withdrawn from the courting, consider Beau St. Claire. You know he hasn’t been coming to visit or to dinner just because he’s doing business with me.”
“Beau?”
“Don’t act so shocked,” Silas snapped. “You must have known he was serious about you. He’s asked me what my reaction would be if he asked you to marry him.”
“He could have mentioned it to me first.” She was a little angry with Beau that Silas’ opinion obviously had priority over hers.
“In proper society”—and he emphasized the word “proper”—“a gentleman makes sure he is acceptable with the lady’s family. Besides, you should feel relieved that Beau is willing to take all your children and raise them.”
“Not withstanding that he would expect to come into the Van Schuyler money someday for being generous enough to do so.”
“I see no point in discussing this further.” Silas stood up abruptly. “I merely wanted to tell you our plans for tomorrow night and that Beau will possibly ask you. I thought I’d give you time to think it over. Now I have business to take care of.” He strode from the room before she could object to anything.
Summer sank down on a chair before the fire and sighed. What were her alternatives? Not many. While Austin might be willing to marry her, he was too decent, knowing she was in love with Iron Knife. The only choices she could see were two: stay in this gloomy house under her father’s control the rest of her life as her mother had done, or marry Beau St. Claire. Obviously the dashing blade of Southern society would be expecting a favorable answer. What other course was open to her? The answer seemed to mock her: none.
The early afternoon sun slanted through the window of the hotel room. Beau St. Claire smiled as he looked into the mirror. He had just awakened after a night of drinking and carousing in a fancy bordello, but the dissipation didn’t show. He needed to look good tonight.
Tonight was the big Shaw costume ball. He had already gotten himself a costume; he would go as a dashing pirate, complete with sword and cloak. “How appropriate, suh.” He winked at himself while brushing his light-streaked hair back. “I reckon all the ladies will notice you.”
He must stop thinking of conquests, Beau thought as he dressed. Probably if he married Summer, her father would expect him to be the proper Boston husband; at least be very discreet about his love affairs. Summer was a choice morsel indeed, although it annoyed Beau that some savage had had her first.
“Be patient,” he admonished the handsome rake in the mirror, “old Silas can’t live forever, and once you’ve got his empire, you can do as you damn well please.”
Yes, he could do that. Beau combed his hair, smiling with approval at his reflection. Yes, he would enjoy that Summer all right. Besides the fact that she was pretty, with five children, she ought to be experienced enough to make it exciting. He smiled, thinking of the other elegant lady he knew; that Southern matron could give most whores some lessons. No, he didn’t intend to give up his married mistress just because he wed the damn Yankee girl. He would have plenty of time to be in Tennessee on business, and if he was careful, he could arrange those trips when her stupid husband wasn’t around.
He must go get a shave. Beau put on some cologne, slipped into a fine, handmade shirt, and tied his cravat while he considered his future wife’s little sister. That Angela was a pretty morsel, and probably fifteen or sixteen, plenty old enough for what he had in mind. Certainly with black slave wenches, he’d used them starting at about twelve. Angela had smiled at him a time or two. Would she be willing? and if she wasn’t, once he’d caught her in the house alone and took her anyway, she’d be afraid to tell anyone. Besides, who would believe her?
His costume lay spread over a chair, and Beau inspected it critically. Yes, he would look suave and dashing in this tonight; all the ladies would be flirting with him. Later in the evening, he would take Summer into the conservatory and propose to her. It didn’t appear to him with that whole pack of brats that she had many alternatives. Children. What was he going to do with them? He didn’t like children much; they were noisy nuisances. He wouldn’t even consider a woman with five brats if she weren’t pretty, rich, and if Shawn weren’t threatening to kick him off the plantation.
That Irish dirt-grubber didn’t even appreciate what Beau and Savannah had gone through to protect Shannon Place from the Yankees. Shawn had called him a traitor and a collaborator. Yes, Beau had better find a rich wife fast, even if she did come with five Injun brats. Maybe old Van Schuyler could be persuaded to keep Summer’s children, or if the old man died, Beau could dump them all in good boarding schools far, far away.
That wasn’t today’s worry. Everything was going good for Beau, and even his mistress understood that he needed to marry to keep up pretenses so her husband wouldn’t get suspicious. Although she wouldn’t like it, he would tell the Southern lady that it was a marriage in name only. He laughed to himself. Not likely. Beau intended to have that pretty Summer three or four times a day until he tired of her; then he would think about her younger sister. Oh, he’d been lucky, all right; he’d never been caught by his mistress’s husband in all these years. Humming with satisfaction, Beau walked jauntily down the hall. First a shave, then to the hotel dining room for a leisurely drink.
Iron Knife took a deep breath for courage as the conductor yelled again, “Boston! Coming into Boston!”
He put his face against the window and looked out at the late afternoon scene. He hadn’t realized there were this many people, buildings and carriages in the whole world. How could people live so crowded up? The city looked like an anthill to him. Not realizing it would be such a huge place, he hadn’t thought it would be difficult to find Summer. Now he wasn’t even sure how he would go about finding the Van Schuylers. Vaguely, he remembered Todd writing down instructions for him, but those were lost along with almost everything else except his dog soldier outfit he carried in the small carpetbag.
The train whistled and began to slow. Around him, travelers were stirring, gathering up their things. He clutched his luggage and stared out the window at the big station looming ahead. Somehow, he would find Summer. This town couldn’t be that big.
The train gradually pulled to a stop with creaks and groans of the rails, cindery smoke raining down across the cars. People began pushing to get off. Iron Knife held on to his bag and stepped out into the crisp late afternoon. Crowds of people milled and shoved past him like bleating, mindless sheep. He didn’t have the least idea what to do next, and he was wary of approaching strangers. Among white people, how did one know whom to trust?
He stood looking around a long moment, trying to decide where to go and what to do next. The noisy crowd seemed to shove and buffet him along until he stood out near the street, watching people get in carriages and leave. While he stood there uncertainly, he heard a voice behind him: “Iron Knife? Iron Knife? Is it really you?”
He whirled around, ready to defend himself, but the man smiled incredulously and took the pipe from his mouth. “I’m Austin Shaw, remember me?”
For a long moment, Iron Knife stared into the familiar face, remembering the last time he had seen this man—the day Summer had given the big diamond and sapphire engagement ring back to her rich fiance and ridden away with Iron Knife into the Colorado Rockies. “Austin?” He held out his hand uncertainly, and the other shook it warmly.
“Good to see you! Here, let’s get out of this crush.” He caught Iron Knife’s arm and steered him through the crowds. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here in Boston.”
“Your brother helped me get here,” Iron Knife explained. “I came to see Summer.”
“We’ll get a carriage,” Austin said, leading him out to the street. “You say Todd helped you? I’ve been away with the army, don’t exchange as many letters with Todd as I’d like, but we’re both so busy.”
“I came to see Summer,” Iron Knife said again, “get some things straightened out.”
Austin sucked his pipe, looking troubled. “Hmm. She know you’re coming?”
Iron Knife shook his head. “I—I don’t know. She was notified, but there was no reply. So now I’m going to surprise her.”
“Oh, she’ll be surprised, all right.” Austin signaled a carriage. He looked as if he knew things he wasn’t sure how to share. “You were planning on going there now?”
Iron Knife shrugged. “I did not know what else to do; I wasn’t even certain how to find the house.”
Austin tapped his pipe against his teeth as the driver climbed down and opened the carriage door for them. “No one’s expecting me, either. I’d told my folks I couldn’t get leave, then it came through. I thought I’d surprise my folks in time for this big party they’re throwing tonight.”
They got into the carriage, and the driver stared at Iron Knife curiously, then looked at Austin. “Where to, mister?”
Austin glanced at Iron Knife. “You have any place to stay?”
Iron Knife hesitated. The only thing on his mind had been making his way to Summer Sky. Ordinary things like food and shelter had been the last items on his mind.
“I thought not,” Austin said. “You can share a room with me.” He ordered the cabbie, “Take us to the Winslow Arms.”
“You were going home,” Iron Knife protested, but Austin waved the cabbie to proceed.
“So I’ll change my plans and get us a room,” Austin said.
Iron Knife sighed and looked out at the passing buggies and bustling crowds as the carriage started away. “I don’t know what to do next; will you help me, my friend?”
Austin puffed his pipe, and the sweet scent drifted on the air. “If it hadn’t been for you that day in Colorado, my men and I would have been killed. I haven’t forgotten that. Yes, I’ll help you.”
“Thank you, Austin.” Iron Knife smiled. “I know you loved her yourself.”
“And still do,” Austin said with a resigned shake of his head, “but I never had a chance with her after she met you; that once in a lifetime love.”
Iron Knife closed his eyes and winced. If she had loved him, why had he not heard from her? “I’m not sure what to expect if I show up on their doorstep.”
“Knowing old Van Schuyler like I do, he’ll try to keep you from ever seeing her; call the police and have you hustled away.”
That made him think of St. Louis. Iron Knife knew Silas was a man of wealth and power. He was also ruthless. Out on the plains, Iron Knife would have an equal footing with any man, but here in the city, he was helpless; they would be playing by white civilization’s rules and on Van Schuyler’s home ground. There was no telling what he could do to a penniless half-breed, once he found out the law was looking for him on a charge of murder. “What can I do, Austin?”
Austin considered. “As I said before, my folks are having a big Halloween ball tonight, and lots of people in disguise will be coming and going.”
He didn’t understand. “Halloween? I’m not sure I understand—”
“I’ll explain later.” Austin smiled. “Old Silas is not going to let you get close to Summer if he can help it. Maybe, just maybe, Summer and her father will attend my parents’ party, if only briefly. Suppose we both show up?”
Iron Knife shook his head. “I have no invitation; your parents will call the police.”
“Not if you’re in disguise and I bring you,” Austin said, and from the expression on his handsome face, he was already caught up in the excitement and the drama of the thing. “You might get a chance to talk to Summer without anyone realizing who you are.”
Iron Knife hardly dared hope. “Suppose she doesn’t come to the party?”
“Then we’ll have to make new plans.”
The carriage stopped before the hotel, and the driver climbed down and opened the door. “Here you be, sir.”
They got out, and Austin paid the driver. “Come on, old friend, we’ll get a room, rest and wash up.”
Iron Knife followed him inside the lobby, looking around, almost in awe, at the ornate trappings. How could he compete for Summer’s affections when there were white men who lived like this every day and he had nothing to offer but a buffalo robe in a tipi? He followed Austin to the desk where Austin got a room, paid for it, and took the key.
“Come on, friend.”
They went to the room. Iron Knife was eager to see Summer, but he knew Austin was right; if he tried to go to her house, her father would try to stop him. “Did you say a costume ball? I have no costume.”
Austin pursed his lips and considered a moment. “I can go to a shop and rent them for both of us, I suppose.” His gaze went to the small bag Iron Knife carried. “What’s in that?”
In answer, Iron Knife put it on the bed and opened it for display. “Just my dog soldier things. I felt uneasy not taking them with me.”
“By George, I’ve got it!” Austin snapped his fingers, threw back his head and laughed. “We’ll have a bite to eat, then I’ll go rent a costume. You already have one!”
“What?”
“Do you have war paint, too?”
Iron Knife nodded. “You aren’t thinking—?”
“But of course I am!” Austin paced up and down with excitement. “What a joke on everyone concerned! I’ll introduce you as an old friend from the West, which of course you are, and with war paint, you won’t need a mask. Yes, Iron Knife, I’ll take you to my parents’ costume ball, and maybe you’ll even win the prize. After all, it isn’t often a man shows up dressed like an authentic Indian dog soldier!”
“Now I know you are loco, my friend.” Iron Knife shook his head. “I’ll never get in the door. Your parents will call the police.”
“Not if I bring you to the party. Don’t you see? The one place old Silas would never expect you to turn up would be my parents’ costume ball. Before he can do anything, you will have had a chance to draw her to one side—maybe the conservatory—and talk to her.”
“Then what?”
Austin clapped him on the arm. “Then it’s up to you. If she doesn’t want you anymore, I can’t help you.”
Did she? “Have you seen Summer since she returned to Boston?”
“Briefly. I’ve been away fighting a war, you know, but I hear Beau St. Claire. . . .”
“Yes?”
A look crossed Austin’s face, and he sighed as he filled his pipe. “Nothing. He’s just a fellow who’s been visiting the Van Schuylers a lot. I’m sure everything else is just gossip from people with nothing else to do.”
Beau. He tried to imagine what this man who might have stolen Summer from him would look like. He didn’t know whether he was feeling jealousy, rage, sorrow, or perhaps all three.
Austin acted as if he’d like to escape this questioning. “I’ll go get myself a costume and you wash up. Then I’ll have some food sent up, okay?”
Iron Knife nodded. The sun was getting low on the horizon. Tonight he would finally see Summer Sky again after all these months. His once in a lifetime love; could she possibly be untrue to him? In his mind, he saw her small, heart-shaped face looking up at him as he kissed her. “Go on,” he said, “I’ll wait.”
When Austin returned, it was dusk outside. “I got myself a cavalier’s outfit”—Austin smiled—“and a mask. My parents always give a prize for the best costume.”
Prizes held no interest for Iron Knife. “Suppose she doesn’t come?”
“We’ll worry about that when we get to it. Now, let’s have a bite to eat and get ready.”
Austin had the hotel send up excellent food, but Iron Knife could hardly eat for thinking about what was yet to come later this evening. However, Austin finished off the succulent roast beef with gusto and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. Then he leaned back with a good glass of wine and his pipe. “Excellent food! I’ve been at the front with Custer too long; then down in Louisiana and Texas. The locals didn’t offer any of their best to the conquering Yankees.”
Iron Knife was not used to sitting with nothing to do. He paced the thick carpet like a cougar, thinking about Summer and the future confrontation. In his mind, he imagined the police coming, attempting to drag him away in chains; the thought of being hanged. “Austin, there’s—there’s something I haven’t told you; I’m wanted for murder.”
“Hmm.” Austin puffed his pipe thoughtfully. “You do it?”
Iron Knife shook his head. “I didn’t mean to. He was trying to kill me. There’s a lot more; but who’d believe an Indian? I don’t think I’d get a fair trial.”
“Then you’re taking a big chance staying in civilization. She really means that much to you, doesn’t she?”
Iron Knife paused in his pacing, then faced Austin. “I would do anything—risk anything—to see her, hold her once more.”
“If the authorities are looking for you, you need to get out of town as fast as possible.”
“Not until I at least get to see her, find out if she still loves me. When do we go?”
Austin stood up and knocked the ashes from his pipe. “I thought we’d wait until the party was in full swing before we arrive. That way, it’ll be easier for me to get you past my parents without a lot of questions as to your identity. Also, if there’s a big crowd, all wearing costumes and disguises, it’ll be easier for you to move about unnoticed.”
“I hope it works,” Iron Knife said, “otherwise. . . .” He let his voice trail off. No, he wouldn’t even think of that. One moment in Summer’s arms was worth the risk he was taking.
They began to dress. Iron Knife mixed his war paint, then painted his features with black lightning bolts, scarlet streaks, and a dragonfly symbol.
Austin stepped back and surveyed Iron Knife. “How do I look?”
“I don’t know,” Iron Knife said seriously. “I never saw a cavalier before.”
Austin laughed. “Well, you certainly look fierce in your getup; raven feathers, war paint and all. The bead work on that buckskin is beautiful; I wouldn’t be surprised if you win a prize for best costume!”
“I don’t care about that; I only want a chance to see her—talk to her.”
Austin nodded. “We’ll get a carriage now.”
Iron Knife paused, his excitement mounting. Soon he would see his Summer Sky. Did she still care about him? Had she forgiven him for Gray Dove? He could only hope so. If not, could he stop himself from just throwing her across his shoulder and carrying her off? Yet her happiness meant everything to him.
“How can I repay you for all this?” Iron Knife asked.
“Once you saved my life from a man named Jake Dallinger; I’d call that payment enough. Wonder whatever happened to him?”
“He’s dead. It’s a long story,” Iron Knife said. “Shall we go?”
Austin nodded as he filled his pipe, choosing his words carefully. “Just don’t do anything rash tonight, all right?”
“I’m not armed; Todd was afraid I’d get in trouble if I wore my knife or carried a lance.”
“With strength like yours, you don’t need weapons to be dangerous; take it easy.”
He wasn’t sure he understood what Austin meant, but he nodded. The two of them started down the hall in their costumes. Iron Knife didn’t intend to count coup and scalp anyone in Boston; he had enough troubles already with the police in Missouri searching for him. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure what he would do to anyone who tried to keep him from seeing Summer Sky and his children. If he was wanted for murder, it couldn’t be any worse if he had to kill someone else, fight his way out of town. What ever the sacrifice, it would be worth it to hold his beloved once more!