13 

Early the next morning, Sarah delivered of a son. Though the dark-haired infant was small and a few weeks earlier than expected, he was vigorous and strong. Cord and Sarah named him Caleb after her brother who had died before his time.

Shiloh couldn’t recall Cord ever looking quite so proud. She had also, she thought with an affectionate grin of remembrance, never seen him so frantic and scared as when Doc Saunders had pronounced his wife to be in true labor. Emma, always the one to take charge in an emergency, had soon shooed him from their bedroom where Sarah labored, assigning his brother Nick to keep Cord occupied and out from underfoot. Jordan had been given charge of young Danny and the infant Ceci. And Shiloh had been appointed to assist Emma and Doc Saunders with the delivery.

Actually, she mused as she set the bloodstained bedsheets to soak in a tub of cold water late that morning, she’d really mostly run errands from the upstairs bedroom down to the kitchen and back. It amazed Shiloh how many bed linens and nightgowns a person could go through in the process of birthing a child. It was her first chance to view a human birth, and she found it both messy and beautiful. And, though Sarah’s labor certainly didn’t last near as long as some, according to Doc Saunders, Shiloh was nonetheless relieved for Sarah—and Cord—when it was over and done with.

Emma soon hurried everyone from the room, so Cord and Sarah could spend a few moments enjoying their new son in private. But, after a time, the cleanup began. For the women, anyway. Nick, Danny, and baby Ceci were soon in bed, fast asleep, and even though Jordan offered to help with the chores, it soon became evident that she had also expended nearly all of her energy.

So, it was left to Shiloh and Emma to serve Doc Saunders breakfast and several cups of black coffee, then send him on his way, and to finally see to the laundry. Shiloh didn’t mind, though. She was still too keyed up from the excitement of the birthing and knew she’d only have lain awake for a long while if she’d gone to bed right away.

As she leaned over the washtub and tried to scrub out as much of the blood as she could from the sheets and nightgowns before they actually washed them, her thoughts turned to Cord’s and Sarah’s happy expressions as they gazed down at their firstborn. As she watched them, something had changed within her. She’d felt a yearning rise from deep within, a yearning to hold a child of her own in her arms. Her and Jesse’s child.

The revelation was surprising, to say the least. In all the years of her youth, unlike her sister, Shiloh had never been one to play much with dolls, dream of a fine wedding, or pretend at married life. She’d much preferred riding and roping, climbing trees, catching tadpoles down by the creek, and helping the menfolk with chores. Indeed, when there was opportunity for conversation after supper, Shiloh naturally gravitated toward the men rather than the women. Talk of babies, favorite recipes, dress patterns, and the like bored her to no end.

But the thought of the joyous pride on Jesse’s face as she handed him their first child, all wrinkled and red, filled her with happy anticipation. Working beside him as they built their first house, dug their first garden, and raised their first barn was the stuff of dreams. Together, they’d make a life for themselves and their children. And if that required her to cook, and wash, and sew, then she’d do it.

Because the necessary, if tedious, times would be far outweighed by the satisfying moments. Moments spent together after a long day, sitting on their porch watching a glorious sunset. Playing with their children. And lying in each other’s arms at night, after everyone was in bed. To spend a life with Jesse, to raise their children with him, and then to grow old alongside him was surely as close to heaven as she could get on earth.

“A penny for your thoughts, honey.”

Shiloh jerked up her head from her intent scrubbing of a nightgown. She rinsed it then held it up for examination. She’d about gotten out all the stains.

“Oh, I was just daydreaming, Emma,” she said as she twisted the nightgown free of excess water and laid it aside. “Seeing Sarah and Cord with little Caleb just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About having babies of your own someday?” Emma smiled. “Maybe with that handsome young man who brought you home?”

She could feel the heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks. “You mean Jesse?” She feigned a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, maybe. Or maybe not.”

“Well, I don’t know. The whole time he was here, you two near to couldn’t take your eyes off each other. And when one wasn’t looking, the other sure was. Land sakes, I don’t recall ever seeing such hungry looks in all my days!”

“Emma!” Shiloh covered her burning cheeks with her wet hands. “Now you’ve gone and done it. I’ll bet I’m as red as a beet.”

“Yes, you sure are, honey.” Emma wrung out the towel she was scrubbing and placed it with the other laundry awaiting the final washing. “But you needn’t be embarrassed. The good Lord created man to want woman, and vice versa. To love and cleave to. Are you sure, though, that your Jesse’s the marrying kind? Leastwise, when it comes to marrying a white woman?”

The housekeeper had hit the nail square on the head. She knew Jesse was the marrying kind. He’d married that Ute woman. But it seemed these days he was trying his hardest to see himself as a Ute, and only a Ute, all the while rejecting his white blood. That might well be part of the problem between them. He didn’t want to live as a white in any way. And perhaps every time he was with her, he feared being with her would inevitably compel him to do so.

She suspected, though, that it was more than just that. Even when she’d known him the first time, Shiloh had sensed that Jesse bore a terrible secret. A secret that had a lot to do with how he viewed himself and his place in the world.

And, as self-confident and capable as Jesse was, beneath that façade he didn’t think all that highly of himself. Shiloh wondered if that poor self-image, that sense of unworthiness, was part of the reason he’d so easily gravitated toward her when she was a child. Because she looked up to him, imagined him perfect in every way. Her hero worship likely stroked his ego.

Not that her opinion of him was the only source of their friendship. Even as young as she then was, she knew there was a special bond between them. They’d understood each other, shared similar views on things, and felt so comfortable in each other’s presence.

On the journey from the Agency to home, there’d been moments when Shiloh had experienced that same comfort and bonding again. It had been like old times, only better. Better because now the mutual attraction had been electrifying, setting her heart to pounding, her mind reeling, and an intense yearning to rise within her. And she’d seen, known with a woman’s instinct strong and sure, that Jesse had felt the same things.

But were their high emotions and desires for each other enough to overcome the obstacles that society and personal demons would place in their way? Shiloh didn’t know. Indeed, was Jesse the marrying kind when it came to a white woman?

She sighed. “Truly, Emma, I don’t know if Jesse would wish to marry me and live the white man’s life. Not after how he’s been treated all his life by whites, including his own father.”

“So, what is it about him then that makes you even think of him for a husband? Surely you’re not trying to save him out of pity?”

“Pity?” Shiloh laughed. “Oh, and wouldn’t Jesse just love that? There’s not much he detests more than pity.”

“Well, that may be,” the housekeeper said. “And I’m not looking to pry into your private matters. I just think a woman should give a lot of thought to why she’s attracted to one man and not another.” She paused. “Knowing that he was educated in a mission school for several years, do you think it’s possible he’s at least a Christian?”

Jesse’s obvious ability to read and his education at a mission school had become common knowledge around the ranch when he’d first come to them nine years ago. Only Shiloh, however, had ever been privy to the actual details about the mission school near where he and his parents lived. The first teacher, Brother Thomas, had been a gentle man filled with the love of the Lord and the children under his tutelage. He’d seen no difference in them, be they half-breed or full-blooded Indian. Jesse had come to love the burly, bearded man and had finally accepted instruction in the Christian faith and baptism.

In time, Brother Thomas had been called to another mission farther north in Wyoming. Brother Isaac had soon arrived to take his place. By then, Jesse was fourteen, and from the start, Jesse and Isaac had butted heads.

Some of the friction between them arose from the increasing difficulties at home, as Jesse’s father became more and more abusive to Jesse and his mother, keeping Jesse unsettled and constantly on edge. Some of it was the result of the normal heightened emotions and rebelliousness of a boy edging into manhood. But a large part of the conflict stemmed from the fact that Brother Isaac was not Brother Thomas.

Brother Isaac didn’t particularly cotton to wasting his valuable instruction time on what he considered unappreciative children, and he wasn’t above punishing any student he deemed disrespectful, unprepared for his daily lessons, or who dozed off in class. And, thanks to the turmoil at home, Jesse found it increasingly difficult to study, complete his homework assignments, or stay awake in the afternoons. He, however, though stoically accepting punishment for his own academic failings, found it increasingly difficult to tolerate the beatings some of the younger students received.

His schooling abruptly terminated one late spring afternoon when he intervened in the caning that a seven-year-old Indian boy was to receive. One thing led to another, angry words were exchanged, and when Jesse didn’t back down, Brother Isaac turned the full brunt of his outrage on Jesse. The teacher was only able to land one blow with his cane before finding himself flat on his back, looking up at Jesse.

As Shiloh recalled, the details were vague after that. Jesse was expelled from school. His father tried to punish him; his mother intervened, and somehow she was hit trying to protect her son. She fell to the floor, striking her head hard on the fireplace hearth. Nothing could be done for her, and she’d died the next morning.

Jesse had ridden out, never to return, just as soon as his mother had been properly buried. A few years later, he’d shown up at Castle Mountain Ranch, already an experienced ranch hand. And, though he’d finally come to trust her enough to tell her the story of his earlier years, he had also made it plain that he was through with the white man’s schooling and God. Shiloh had decided it best not to broach the subject of either.

But Emma hadn’t asked for a long-winded tale, Shiloh reminded herself. All she wanted was a simple answer.

“I believe, in the depths of his heart, Jesse still believes in God,” she replied. “Maybe he doesn’t give much thought to Jesus Christ anymore, but I think he still believes in a good and loving Creator. And I believe he tries to live his life by those beliefs. That he is a kind, generous, loving man.”

“Well, sounds like you’re giving this a lot of thought,” Emma said, wringing out the last towel. She threw it into the basket, wiped her hands on her apron, then picked up the pot of steaming water on top of the cookstove. “In the meanwhile, I think we’ve got a load of laundry to wash.”

Shiloh grinned, grabbed hold of the basket, and followed the housekeeper outside to the big washtub.

Jesse was busy skinning a rabbit he’d caught earlier that morning, when Persune rode into camp. Jesse didn’t immediately jump up to greet his friend until he’d finished removing the rabbit’s pelt and draped it over a nearby bush to dry. Since he’d already gutted the rabbit, he then quickly wrapped the carcass in a piece of hide and put it into a lidded basket and back inside his tepee to keep the meat safe from any inquisitive camp dog.

By the time his friend tied up his pony and ambled over, Jesse had cleaned both his knife and his hands. “What brings you all the way out here?” he asked as he stood and clasped the other Ute’s forearm. “Your wives making more unreasonable demands of you?”

“No.” Persune shook his head. “This time, it’s Josie. She asked me to fetch you. Seems she has some important information to tell you about the red-haired woman.”

Jesse released his friend’s arm and stepped back. “If luck is with me, it’s that Shiloh has decided not to return.”

His friend shot him a curious look. “You don’t wish to see her again? And here I’d hoped that the journey with her back to her family had helped to strengthen the bond between you. That perhaps you’d even made her your woman.”

At the thought of Shiloh consenting to any untoward advances, much less her agreeing to bed him without being married, Jesse’s mouth quirked in amusement. But then, Persune’s view of how things should be between a man and a woman were colored by his Ute culture. It didn’t matter anyway. Shiloh could never be his.

“No, I didn’t make her my woman,” he said in reply. “Nor will I.”

“Well, I think you’re making a big mistake, but you can be certain there’ll be many braves who’ll be happy to take your place.”

“A lot of good it’ll do them,” Jesse muttered softly.

“So, when can I tell Josie you’ll be meeting with her?”

“Still trying to win her favor, are you? Even stooping to becoming her messenger now?”

Persune’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “You turn your nose up at a pretty white woman, then begrudge me my love for Josie? You’re not being fair, my friend.”

No, he wasn’t being fair, Jesse thought, remorse filling him. He was being unkind, peevish, and a bit jealous. And taking it all out on his best friend.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for my foul mood.” He gave Persune a playful punch on the arm. “If you can wait about an hour while I cook up this rabbit, we can eat it and then head out for the Agency. Assuming, of course, I can spend the night in your tepee?”

The Ute grinned. “Stay for a few days, if you wish. My wives always enjoy your company. And so will some of their friends.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. He’d managed to forget what inveterate matchmakers Persune’s wives were. Still, some of their friends were rather pretty. And their friendly company might help take his mind off of a certain redhead.

On the other hand, that possibility seemed rather unlikely, Jesse glumly amended. At least for a long while to come. But nothing was accomplished pining after what one couldn’t have. And if he was nothing else, he was a realistic man, he thought as he turned and headed back to his tepee.

“No,” Jesse said in disbelief the next morning as he stood outside the Agency office, listening as Josie finished reading Shiloh’s last letter. “I told her not to come back. Why is she coming back?”

Josie eyed him caustically. “Maybe because she’s a grown woman and can do what she wants? Whatever gives you the right to tell Shiloh what to do?”

Jesse sighed and shook his head. “Obviously, nothing. Nothing gives me the right.”

“She just wants to fulfill the contract she made with my father,” Josie said, softening her tone. “And I think, as well, Shiloh felt like she left things unfinished. Her work here, the friendships she was beginning to forge with some of the Ute people . . .”

“None of that will do her any good. She won’t succeed.”

“You don’t know that!” Once again, anger flared in Josie’s eyes. “Shiloh was becoming good friends with Susan and Johnson and some of their camp. And Jack liked her, even if he tried to hide it.”

He gave a disparaging snort. “She may have won Jack’s respect, but don’t ever imagine he would trust or befriend her. He’s long past trusting any white man.”

“Well, then that’s his loss,” she snapped, fisting her hands on her hips. “As it apparently will be yours too.”

Jesse clenched his jaw. “Is that all you wished to tell me then? That Shiloh’s on her way back and will be here around the 25th of September?”

“Pretty much. For what it’s worth.”

“Then I thank you for the message. I don’t intend, though, to be part of the welcoming party on her return.” He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Oh, really?” Josie cried after him. “And where exactly do you intend to go to avoid her?”

He didn’t look back but just kept on walking. “Who knows? It’s hunting season. Maybe I’ll just take a long trip into the mountains and stay there for a while.”

Autumn was glorious this year, Shiloh thought from the front bench of the freight wagon as they headed south from Rawlins to the White River Agency. The aspens were already beginning to turn golden and, combined with the deep, dark green of the pines and firs higher on the mountainsides and the rich blue skies, she didn’t know when she’d seen anything more beautiful. But then, she’d always loved these mountains and their verdant valleys slashed with rushing, ice-cold rivers and streams.

“Quite a difference from when you first came this way,” Joe Collum said from beside her. “March was pretty bleak around here, if I recall.”

“Bleak and cold.” Shiloh shot him a quick smile. “I’m thinking I like this time of year a whole lot better.”

He nodded, then slapped the reins over the mule team’s backs to urge them to pick up the pace. “Me too. The summer was pretty hot, though, and miserable. Not a lot of rain, so it got pretty dry. And lots of wildfires, which set folks on edge. The Utes got blamed, and the settlers put pressure on Meeker to keep them on the reservation. And, of course, that didn’t sit well with the Utes, who needed to travel farther into the mountains to get their summer hunting in.”

In her letters, Josie had intimated that things had gotten pretty tense between her father and the Utes this summer. Josie, however, hadn’t provided a lot of details. Shiloh hoped, with the coming of cooler weather in the next month or so, that the high emotions on both sides would also begin to cool. The summer heat always seemed to bring out the worst in everyone’s tempers.

“So, how did all that end up?” she asked. “Was Mr. Meeker able to keep the Utes at home?”

Joe gave a disdainful snort. “Fat chance of that ever happening. Every time I bring in supplies, I get an earful of Meeker’s complaining about the Utes. Things aren’t going well for that man. Not well at all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Word got around that Meeker went so far as to ask help from Governor Pitkin, requesting soldiers to assist in keeping the Utes on the reservation. Pitkin then went to the Indian Bureau, demanding that troops be sent to move the Utes to the Indian Territory. And, somehow, Chief Douglas and Captain Jack found out about that.”

Shiloh’s heart sank. Governor Pitkin was well known to hate the Utes and want them all gone. And now, if Douglas and Jack knew what was in the works for them . . .

In spite of the day’s warmth, she shivered. What exactly was she heading into?

“I don’t mean to alarm you, ma’am,” the freight driver said, apparently noting her reaction. “But you need to know what’s been going on in your absence, and I’m sorry to say, it’s only gotten worse.”

“Worse?” How much worse? Shiloh wondered. “Well, best you tell me all you know. I can’t be of much help unless I know what the problems are.”

“Well, that’s kind of my thought too, ma’am.” He shot her a considering look. “Were you aware that Meeker’s had his eye on plowing up a big plot of that rich pastureland in Powell Valley, to plant winter wheat in?”

“But that’s the Utes’ grazing area for all their ponies.”

“Yep, and when Meeker sent Shadrach Price to start plowing, the Utes took it pretty bad. Meeker apparently ignored their protests, and the plowing resumed. Then some of the Utes hid in the surrounding sagebrush and fired some warning shots at Price. He hightailed it out of Powell Valley and refused to come back until the matter was settled between Meeker and the Utes.”

“When did all that happen?”

“Just a couple of weeks ago, in early September.”

Though she dreaded the answer, she had to ask. “And have things been settled?”

Joe sighed and shook his head. “Not for long. Chief Johnson and Meeker had a big falling-out about a week after the Powell Valley incident. Johnson accused him of plowing up his land and writing lies to Washington. One thing led to another, and Johnson ended up grabbing Meeker, pushing him outside, and slamming him into a hitching rail.”

Meeker had always considered Johnson a good friend and ally. What would happen now that Johnson had seemed to turn against him?

“Anything else happen since then?” she asked.

“Couldn’t say. I headed back to Rawlins for another supply load the next day on the 9th, and this is the first chance I’ve had to return to the Agency.”

Shiloh did some quick calculations. Johnson and Meeker’s falling-out had happened on September 8th then, and today was September 24th. They should arrive at the White River Indian Agency tomorrow. Seventeen days would’ve passed by then, since the last incident Joe Collum knew about. She could only wonder what had transpired in the interim.

“Well, let’s just hope, by the time we arrive tomorrow,” she said, “that things have begun to calm down.”

“I sure hope so, ma’am,” the freighter said, though his somber tone didn’t bode well. “Because if it hasn’t, we’re in for a heap of trouble. A very big heap of trouble.”