Chapter Seven

There are plenty of different paths to a deep understanding of the universe.

Blackfoot Proverb

Sunlight spilled through the muslin curtains in Anya's bedchamber. Still seated in the chair by Willie-boy, her head came up from the coverlet when her son stirred. Soot had returned at some time during the night and took up the same position on the bed as before.

Washed-out gray eyes stared into hers. "Good morning, son. Are you feeling better?"

The boy nodded and Anya wanted to rejoice, scream her relief to the heavens. "In that case, I'll be right back with your breakfast."

She scurried from the room, entered the kitchen and lit the cook stove. Soon she had a fresh pot of coffee going and then cracked several eggs into a skillet for Willie-boy. She grabbed yesterday's biscuits, one for her and one for her son.

Using the same chair in the bedchamber, she set the plate of eggs and biscuit down on the seat, helped her son into a sitting position and then placed the plate and a fork in his lap. "I'll grab my coffee and biscuit and we'll have breakfast together, all right?"

How she prayed he'd speak the word 'yes' but he nodded with a tremulous smile instead.

Silly of her to think that after what he'd been through, he'd be ready to talk the hind leg off a donkey. Patience, Anya. When he gains his strength, he'll be chattering away again. Throughout the worry and chaos of his illness, she hadn't thought about his muteness. Or had she secretly hoped that Sutter would have cured both mind and body?

Sutter. Had he left without saying goodbye or had he stayed in the bunkhouse with Cobb last night? Surely, he wouldn't take off without seeing about the boy he tried to heal.

Too exhausted after her restless night with Willie-boy, she pushed the questions aside, entered the kitchen again and retrieved her coffee and biscuit. Disappointment greeted her when she returned to the bedchamber and noticed her son hadn't touched the eggs and had only taken one small bite of the biscuit.

She willed her concern away and smiled down on him. "I was hoping you were feeling well enough to eat."

He shrugged and then glanced at the paper and pencil on the nightstand.

"You want to write?"

Another nod.

She rose, skirted the bed and handed him the paper and pencil. With shaky hands, he wrote something down and handed it to her.

"You heard the ghost speak last night?"

A confused expression crossed his features when he nodded.

"No, I don't think that's who you heard."

He took the paper and pencil from her and wrote, A man's voice.

She looked over at the paper. "Yes, you heard a man's voice, but it was not the ghost. I was here all night and I did not hear the spirit."

His brows met in the middle.

"A friend from my childhood came to…you were sick, and he came to help you."

I heard chanting. And saw red hands and a red face.

"Yes, he prayed over you. He is a healer from the Blackfoot tribe. The red paint is part of the…the, let's see, part of the clothing he must wear to make you well."

He scratched out another note. I liked the way he talked.

"I like the way he talks too." She ran her hand through his hair. "Maybe you'll get to meet him soon, but for now, young man, you need to rest. You've been very sick, and Cobb and I want you to get better. We can't run this ranch without you, you know."

Willie-boy smiled before his eyes drooped. Anya grabbed the tray before he lay down, put his head on this pillow and lapsed into a light snore again. Anya finished her coffee while her son slept and then she slipped from the room with the notes he had written.

Morning sunlight enveloped her when she stepped onto the front porch, cupped a hand over her brow and searched the property for Sutter.

Near the barn, she spied a set of broad shoulders, a bare tanned back and buckskin breeches that clung to his well-muscled legs like second skin. He seemed to be constructing some type of shelter.

As always, the blood sang in her veins just looking at Sutter, but the euphoria was instantly quashed by the image of the hardened scowl he had tossed her way last night after looking at Willie-boy for the first time.

Hell's Fire, in all the commotion, she had forgotten about that.

Until now.

With her heart in her throat, Anya walked toward him. "Good morning." She extended her arm and handed him a steaming cup of coffee.

Sutter took the cup and put it to his lips. After a gulp, he said, "Thank you," and then turned his attention to the crude structure he'd apparently been building.

A memory from long ago worked its way to the forefront of her brain. A medicine man would enter a sweat lodge praying a supernatural power would appear and instruct them in the healing process. Or, they would pray the supernatural being would reveal to them the culprit causing the illness.

Like the lodges she'd seen in the village, this one was built in the shape of a rough hemisphere, three or four feet high and eight to ten feet in diameter. The frame was made from willow branches and covered with cow skins and robes.

In the center of the floor, a small hole was dug out, in which the healer would place red hot stones. The cow skins and robes were then pulled down to the ground to keep the night air out. The medicine man would begin to pray to the Sun, and at the same time, sprinkle water on the hot rocks until a dense steam would rise.

Anya stepped into the question lightly. "If you built a sweat lodge, then you must believe the cure didn't work."

"Has he spoken yet?"

Anya put her head down, shook it, and pushed the notes toward him.

Sutter grabbed the paper, read it and spoke. "I prayed the ceremony would free his tongue or heal the part of his mind that forbids him from speaking."

Anya looked up, but Sutter avoided direct eye contact with her.

"That doesn't mean the evil spirit didn't flee, Anya."

"Do you think he did?"

"I think he left his body or your son would not have awakened."

"For that, I thank you with all my heart." Silence fell between them. "Sutter, there's so much I want to say."

He looked directly at her then, his eyes as hard as steel. "Aren't you ten years too late?"

She chewed on her lower lip to keep from crying. "I was only seventeen, had no one to turn to, and my father—the most stern and righteous man I've ever known—insisted I marry Lewis."

She jumped when he shouted. "You could have turned to me!"

Another shake of her head. "It wouldn't have changed anything. I kept quiet to protect you."

"To protect me! You kept quiet because I was a breed and your father would have forbidden you to marry me! That's the truth, isn't it?"

She couldn't speak, didn't know how to counter the truth.

"Tell me now, Anya: who is William's father? Huh? Say it, for once in your life, have the guts to tell the truth."

His words stabbed her heart. Looking down again, she whispered the answer. "You are."

"Jesus, don't you think I knew that the moment I looked at his face?" He kicked the dirt at his feet. "It's like looking in a mirror."

Her tears fell freely. "I'm sorry, Sutter, so sorry."

He hissed the words through his teeth. "You're sorry! You're sorry! You knew, had to have known, the Blackfoot treasure family above everything."

"It was cowardly of me, all right? I took the easy way out, and every day of my life I paid a heavy toll for deceiving not only you but Lewis." A sob tore from her throat. "He knew the boy was not his, and made my life a living Hell because of it until the day he died."

"So you just walk into my life ten years later and ask me to not only heal your boy, but then casually claim the boy I'm performing a sacred ceremony for is mine?"

Her voice low, she said, "Yes, and I have no defense, no justification other than to save my boy's life."

Hot as the fire of Hades, embers flashed in his eyes. "If you were a man, I'd . . .."

She took a step forward and he studied her tear-stained face as if to dissect whether those tears falling from her eyes were real. Close enough to inhale his distinct scent─fresh rain and pine trees─memories from long ago flooded her senses. "If it will make you hate me less, make you stop looking at me as if I'm lower than a beetle, then do what you must do!"

A gamut of emotions passed through his eyes—anger, hurt, and dare she hope love? She gasped when he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to him. Did he mean to strike her? Her question was answered in a heartbeat. He didn't hit her like Lewis had in the past, but rather searched her face, his mesmerizing eyes whispering over every inch. His expression softened and an eerie stillness hovered over them.

If only she could make him understand. "I'm sorry,” she said low-voiced. “I'm so—"

His lips descended on hers, cutting off her words. The kiss was demanding, punishing, but she reveled in every moment of the melding of their mouths. How many nights had she dreamed of those lush lips possessing hers again? How many times had she cried a million tears for the moment that she knew would never come?

And suddenly it had arrived.

She didn't care if he meant to be cruel or angry with her. She kept her eyes shut tight and lingered in the euphoric sensations rushing through her. Heat pedaled through her blood, her heart launched into triple beats and she wondered if her knees would collapse like milkweed caught up in a strong wind.

Even through the fog that had crawled up from the river and entered her brain, she recognized want, need and unbridled passion emanating from Sutter. He still loved her after everything that happened, after all the years that had separated them. He did. She felt it with every cell in her body.

Long moments later, mindful of her injured shoulder, he set her back and stared into her eyes. Reeling from the kiss, she couldn't find her tongue. Their eyes locked as the seconds ticked by. At last, she spoke. "What happens now?"

"If you're asking about you and me, I don't have the answer. Not now, maybe not ever." He held Willie-boy's note in the air. "I only know one thing, I'm going to see my son, talk to him about his People, and hope the sound of my voice releases this sickness trapped inside him."

"What about the sweat lodge?"

"When darkness falls, I'll enter and pray for a vision. That seems to be the ghost's preferred time to show himself."

Ice chilled Anya's blood. She searched left to right before meeting his eyes again. "You mean he left Willie-boy's body but he's still here?"

Sutter's eyes narrowed. "No, he hasn’t left. I heard him last night in the woods."

"But why? What does Lewis want from us?"

Sutter blew a long breath. "It's not your dead husband."

A gasp of surprise escaped her mouth. "You don't know that!"

"It's not him. Cobb said the ghost came before Lewis… before he died."

Knowing Cobb was tending to the horses, she glanced toward the barn. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because you were dragged out, like you are now and he didn't want to add to your misery."

"Then who─?"

"I don't know, but tonight I'll do my best to find out who it is and what it wants." Sutter brushed past her, walked toward the house and said over his shoulder, "Get some sleep, Anya, and get a poultice on that shoulder. I'll stay with the boy."

When Cobb walked from the barn. Anya called out to him. "Breakfast will be warming on the stove in ten minutes."

Cobb smiled and nodded.

Anya headed for the house and wondered if Cobb had seen what happened between her and Sutter. Guilt washed over her. She'd known for years Cobb loved her. She saw the hurt in his eyes when she married Lewis and had no desire to hurt him ever again.

She kicked at the dirt before she reached the first step of the porch. What a mess she'd made of everything.