Chapter 10
Connie waited until she was certain everyone was asleep before sneaking out of the house to head down to the river. There was a full moon out, which would hamper her plans for secrecy, but she remembered numerous secluded spots along the way, places she had used as a child during games of hide-and-seek.
She knew the reservation like the back of her hand, and years of playing with the Native children had taught her various tricks for sneaking unnoticed through the brush. Connie was quite good at disappearing and staying silent.
Cloud cover was moving in from the west, and with any luck at all, it might eventually hide the full moon. She contemplated waiting a little longer but knew the men had talked about coming together at midnight. Believing it was best to move on, Connie kept to the darkest shadows and heavy brush.
As she drew near the river, the brush grew heavier and the ground less even. There was a steep bank to navigate in this particular spot, and Connie contemplated moving farther downriver to where it was lower. If the men were receiving a delivery, however, they wouldn’t be near this steeper bank, and it might give her high ground from which to observe them. She stopped and listened for voices but heard nothing but the river. If the men were there, they were working in silence. She slipped farther down the bank as it narrowed and lowered to meet the water. Hearing voices, she waited in the brush—barely daring to draw breath.
“Keep low,” she heard someone say from below.
There were murmurs, and then someone said, “There’s the boat. Signal with the lantern.”
For just a moment there was light filtering through the bushes. Connie flattened herself against the ground until the light was hidden again.
“They see us now.”
There were several hushed replies and the sound of a boat nudging up against the bank. She heard several men exchange greetings and decided to see if she could get closer. She hadn’t gone far, however, when someone grabbed her from behind. A hand closed over her mouth as she tried to scream. She fought, but her captor was too strong.
“Shh. Be still, Connie. It’s me, Clint.”
She stopped fighting. Her heart was racing so hard that she thought it might burst from her chest. She’d been so afraid that she’d been caught by whoever was smuggling whiskey onto the reservation, and she’d had no idea what they would do to her.
Clint dragged her backward, deeper into the brush and farther away from the river. Connie wasn’t sure why he was here, but she went without protest. When they were far enough away, he stopped and turned her to face him. The clouds had moved in to diminish the light, but Connie could just make out his features.
“What are you doing down here? Did you follow me?” she demanded.
Clint didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was low and husky. “I did. I was out checking on things, and I saw you leave your folks’ place.”
“Must have been God’s timing,” she murmured.
“I agree. Now, what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t feel comfortable confiding in Clint. “I was planning a midnight swim. I used to sneak off and do that with some of the other girls when I was younger.”
“It’s not safe to do that anymore.”
“Because of those men at the river? When I saw them, I hid. What were they doing?” She tried to sound as innocent as possible.
“I’m not entirely sure, but there’s been a lot of alcohol showing up on the reservation lately, and I was hoping to catch the men red-handed.”
“Alcohol?” Connie paused, trying to figure out how best to move forward. She decided to feign ignorance. “Grand Ronde Indians have never been drinkers.”
“You’ve been gone seven years, Connie. That’s a long time for things to change.”
“I suppose so. How sad. Have they been drinking a lot?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Someone is smuggling it in.”
“I want to help. I know my father would never allow such things.”
The sound of someone approaching caused Clint to pull Connie deeper into the undergrowth. He held her close with his finger to her lips until the sound faded. It was an intimate moment, but Connie didn’t find it at all stirring. She contemplated the past, when she had dreamed about being held by Clint Singleton, but even that didn’t stir her heart. Perhaps the danger of the moment made such feelings impossible.
“It’s not safe for you to be out here, Connie. You could get yourself killed.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea it was dangerous.”
“I couldn’t forgive myself if I let something happen to you.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say, but I’m hardly a child who needs to be watched after.” She quickly changed the subject. “Do you know who those men are?”
“No. Some are obviously Natives.”
His breath was warm against her ear, and again Connie tried to conjure up some fond feeling. But there was nothing except frustration that she’d been found out—and worry for her parents. Maybe that was blocking her ability to feel love for Clint. Then again, there was always the possibility that she’d been more successful at putting aside her feelings for him than she’d ever thought possible. It would make complete sense to have lost her affection for him over the years. Especially if, as he had once said, her love was nothing more than a childish infatuation.
The men were talking again, and Connie strained to hear. They were speaking one of the Rogue River dialects. It sounded like the dialect used by the Latgawa people. The man referenced someone named Smith. They were asking where he was. Then someone began to speak in Chinook Jargon again.
“Come on,” Clint said, moving away from the men.
“Do you understand what they’re saying?” Connie asked. When she was young, Clint hadn’t cared to learn the languages of the people. He hadn’t even wanted to learn the common language—Chinook Jargon, or Wawa, as it was often called. She knew he understood more of the common language now but didn’t believe he was all that good at it, because her father had said Clint often asked for him to translate at official meetings.
“No,” he replied. “I never learned that dialect and very little Jargon. Do you know it?”
Connie wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to admit she did. “I heard the name Smith, but while the language sounds familiar, I can’t tell you exactly what it is.” She hadn’t really lied. She wasn’t sure which dialect it was. “I’m guessing some Rogue River language.” Which could be any number of a dozen languages.
“I’m certain it’s regarding the whiskey.”
“And someone named Smith. Do you know a man named Smith?”
“There are many people with the name Smith. Shh.” He pulled her into a crouch and waited several long seconds. “I thought I heard the sound of glass bottles.”
When her legs started to cramp, Connie tried to stand, but Clint refused to let her go.
“Stay down, or they might see us.”
Connie did as he commanded, fearful that if she did otherwise, it might completely backfire on her desire to clear her parents’ names. She wondered how much Clint knew. There must surely be some way to get him to confide in her.
“You know where it goes,” one of the men said in English.
They waited a few more minutes as the sounds of the men faded, and then Clint finally released Connie and helped her stand. Once they were on their feet again, she turned to face him.
“We should follow them and see where they take the crates. We might—”
But before she could say more, Clint pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard. His arms tightened around her. Connie had never experienced anything like this kiss, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Why was he doing this? Then her reasoning returned, and she pushed at his well-muscled chest and stopped just short of slapping him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She could only stare at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve wanted to do that since you came back.”
“Is that your only excuse?” She was angry and startled, not to mention confused. Her feelings were such a mix of emotions that she wasn’t sure what to say or do. A part of her wanted to slap him. An equal part wanted to better explore what the kiss implied.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I know. But I keep thinking of all the things you used to say to me—about how much you cared for me, how you loved me. I was selfish and foolish then, and my heart didn’t know what it wanted. Not only that, but you were still very young and . . .”
“Too young to tame my own heart.”
He grinned. “Well, if you had to tame it so much, it must still have feelings for me. Truth then must surely be truth now. You wanted me to kiss you, didn’t you?”
His words only made the situation more confusing, and Connie didn’t dare let him continue.
“Who is responsible for bringing the whiskey in?” she asked, changing the subject.
He chuckled. “I don’t know. I have my suspicions.”
“Who?”
“Well, a lot of folks think it’s your mother and father.”
“What?” She barely remembered to be surprised. “How can you possibly say that? You know they would never do something like that.”
“I didn’t say I thought they were doing it,” Clint replied.
“But you said you had your suspicions.”
“I don’t suspect your parents. I was only saying what others think. What I’ve overheard.”
“My parents love these people. You know that. You worked with them long before becoming an agent. You know they could never do anything to harm the Indians.” Connie was louder than she’d meant to be and lowered her voice. “You know they’re innocent.”
“I do believe that.” Clint took her by the arm and started back through the brush to the main road. “But a lot of folks think they’re guilty. They believe your parents are unhappy that they were replaced by the Catholic Church.”
“My parents . . . were unhappy . . . to have their ministry . . . taken away.” She was panting hard as Clint pulled her back up the bank to the road in quick strides. “But they’d never do . . . anything to . . . hurt the Indians.”
He continued to move along at a quick clip until the reservation buildings were in sight. Only then did he stop. “I’ll figure this out, Connie, but you need to stay out of it.”
“Does my father know about these crates being snuck in?” She continued to play dumb, hoping Clint might give her information she didn’t already have.
“Yes. We were together on a night just like this when they brought in another supply. We saw the crates stacked on the banks. Your father wanted to confront them, but I suggested we wait and see if we couldn’t learn who was behind it.”
“I’m going to talk to my father about this. Together we must learn the truth.”
He took hold of her arms. “No. You mustn’t say anything about it. Your father doesn’t want you or your mother knowing about it. He made me swear to say nothing.”
“No!” His tone was harsh. “Look, it’s bad enough that you were out there. He’ll be livid if he finds out. Just don’t say anything. In return for you keeping this between us, I’ll tell you whatever I learn. Promise me you’ll stay quiet about it.”
“Well . . . all right. I promise . . . for now.” She wasn’t sure what exactly had him so upset. Was he worried that she would cause problems for his own investigation?
Before she could ask, he slipped into the shadows and was gone. He’d left her within ten yards of her house. Connie didn’t know what to think or do. She was touched that he was working to see her father cleared, but at the same time she was confused by the kiss. It hadn’t filled her with the elation and love she had thought it would. Not that she’d thought it would now, but in the past she had figured it would send her soaring, fill her stomach with the fluttering of butterfly wings, and fill the air with fireworks. It had done none of those things.
“What are you doing out here? It’s well past one in the morning.”
Connie started at the sound of Tom’s voice. “You gave me a fright. I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me.”
“I was worried about you. I heard you slip out of the house earlier.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. When we were at the store earlier today, I heard a group of men talking about something happening at the river tonight. I went to see what was going on, and it turned out they were smuggling whiskey onto the reservation.”
“What? That could have been dangerous! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you.”
The moon slid out from behind the clouds, and she could see Tom’s worried expression. “I wasn’t sure if what I’d overheard meant anything. I certainly didn’t expect to see them smuggling whiskey.”
“Was that Clint with you? Did you tell him?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” She sighed. “Yes, it was Clint, but no, I didn’t tell him what I’d heard nor anything else. When I was creeping along the riverbank, Clint caught me and dragged me into the brush to hide. He did tell me he’s trying to figure out who’s smuggling whiskey onto the reservation. Then I heard one of the men wondering where Smith was.”
“Who is Smith?”
“I don’t know. I asked Clint, but he didn’t seem to know either, and all he wanted to talk about was the kiss.”
She hadn’t meant to mention that, but since it was Tom and she usually told him everything, Connie wasn’t overly concerned.
Tom, however, seemed to see it differently. “Kiss? What kiss?”
“Oh, it was nothing, really. Clint kissed me. I think he’s trying to get me to refocus my attention on the past and how I felt for him, but honestly, I don’t know what I feel anymore. That kiss didn’t make me feel anything but confused. I thought there would be fireworks and butterflies in my stomach, but there was nothing.” She started for the house. “We need to figure out who Smith is. Something tells me he’s an important part of this. I think we’re on to something big.”
Tom said nothing, and he didn’t follow her toward the house. No doubt he was still upset with her.
“I promise I won’t go out again without you,” she called over her shoulder. Hopefully that would settle him down.