“I know it comes in little bitty bottles, but for what this thing would cost, I could buy you ten jars of perfume.”
“I can see that I’m getting nowhere with you,” she said. She got out of the car. “Okay, take me out to dinner. And if you aren’t going to buy me this car, then I want to most expensive dinner in town.”
“That, I will do,” Smoke replied.
Boulder’s newest, and quickly one of its finest, restaurants was Summer’s Sunken Gardens, a European-style eatery. The focal point was a large pool-like fountain in the center of the dining area.
“Please don’t tell Pearlie or Cal that we ate lamb,” Smoke said as they began on the entrée, crown roast of lamb. “I’ll never live it down.”
“How are your sessions with Professor Armbruster going?”
“It’s funny,” Smoke said. “But talking to him like this, I mean bringing things out in great detail, not just a quick story here and there, it’s as if I am actually reliving it.”
“Are you all right with that?” Sally asked as she carved off a bit of lamb.
“Yes, I suppose I am. Some of it, I’m actually enjoying. But some of it has been hard, much harder than I would have thought.”
“I know you talked about Nicole and Arthur, and I know how difficult that had to be for you.”
“Yes, it was difficult. And, it was also difficult talking about Denise and Louis, especially Louis, since it hasn’t been that long since he was killed.”
“At least we have our grandchildren, Frank and Elyse,” Sally said.
“How old are they now?”
“Frank is eleven, Elyse is nine.”
“They’re living with their mother and her new husband, and we never get to see them.”
“The trains run in both directions,” Sally said. “We could go back East to see them easier than they could come here. They do have school, after all.”
“Yeah, we can, can’t we? Sally, what do you say that after I’m finished with this business with Professor Armbruster, that we go see the grandkids?”
“Oh, Smoke, I think that would be wonderful!” she said. “Yes, let’s please do it!”
“We will,” Smoke promised.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Old Main Building
“Do you need to listen to where we left off yesterday?” Professor Armbruster asked Smoke the next morning when he showed up at the Old Main building to continue with the narrative.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Smoke said. “I know exactly where I left off, and I know where it’s going next.”
Smoke was silent for a long moment.
“Is something wrong?”
“The part that is coming up isn’t going to be easy,” Smoke said.
“Do you want to take a few moments to compose yourself before we begin?” Professor Armbruster asked.
“I’ve had all night to compose myself, Professor. A few more minutes won’t make any difference.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Tell Wes I’m ready.”
Professor Armbruster reached down to click the toggle switch. “We’re ready, Wes,” he said.
Through the window Smoke saw Wes nod, then bring his hand down. Smoke resumed the story.
John’s cabin
Whips His Horses held his hand up as a signal for the others to be quiet. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because they were all good warriors, and they well knew the value of stealth. Then, they saw the woman come from the house with a basket. She walked into the garden and began picking vegetables.
Whips His Horses signaled to three who were armed with bows and arrows. All three fired, and Whips His Horses watched the rapid and graceful flight of the arrows. All three arrows struck the woman and she dropped the basket, took a couple of stumbling steps, then fell.
“Ayiee!” Whips His Horses shouted, hoping the shout would bring out the man who had killed his brother.
But no one came from the white man’s house.
They waited for a few moments, then they heard a baby crying. The baby cried for several minutes without letup.
“I think the man is not here,” one of the others said. “He would not let the baby cry for so long. He would come for the woman, but nobody has come for the woman.”
“We will see,” Whips His Horses said.
There were six others with him. Eight had started in pursuit of the man and his woman when they left the village, but two were killed in the pass. Then, the rocks fell, and it took a long time to move the rocks so they could continue. Now they were here, and Whips His Horses did not think the man they had followed was here.
He started toward the cabin, moving in a crouch, and on the balls of his feet, ready to run if need be.
But the man did not appear.
One of the other Indians in the party darted quickly up to the cabin, stood with his back to the wall near the door, then, cautiously, looked inside.
“Only the baby is here!” he called back to the others.
“Bring the baby out,” Whips His Horses said.
The Indian by the door went into the cabin, then came out again, carrying the baby upside down, holding him by his foot. The baby was still crying.
“What shall we do with the baby?” the man holding it asked.
“Throw it on the ground by the woman.”
With a huge smile, the Indian holding the child swung his arm back and forth a few times to get the momentum he needed, then he let the baby go. It flew through the air, then landed, hard, on the ground, next to its mother. There it lay quiet and still.
“Shall we burn the house?” one of the other Indians asked.
“Yes,” Whips His Horses said, then he changed his mind. “No. Leave the house as it is. When the man returns, I want him not to know what has happened until he sees the woman and the baby.”
“Will we wait for him?”
“No,” Whips His Horses said. “If we wait for him, we will kill him, but he will die only one time. When he sees his woman and his baby dead, he will die two times. Then, we will kill him a third time.”
“Yes, he will die three times. That is very good,” one of the other Indians said.
“Let us return to the village now. It will be good to let him find his dead woman and child and weep over them.”
It was dark by the time John returned to his cabin. All the way home he had been thinking about the soup Claire had promised him, and he thought it would be very good, with the vegetables grown in his own garden. He even thought he might be able to smell it when he got close enough.
He smelled nothing and was disappointed. Then, when he got to the little clearing where he had built a home for himself, Claire, and the baby, he was surprised to see no light shining through the window. Instead the cabin sat there, gleaming silver under the full, bright moon.
Why could he see no light from within the house?
Then he thought of what a hard ride it had been for Claire and the baby, and with a smile, he realized they must already be in bed.
That was all right. The soup could wait until tomorrow. He was tired too, and it would be good to climb into bed beside his wife. And if she wasn’t too tired . . . he smiled at the implications of that.
He took his horse around to the lean-to attached to the back of the house, unsaddled him, then tied him to the hitching rail alongside Claire’s horse. The watering trough had water, and he pitched some hay into the feeding trough, then he went inside.
“Claire, I’m home,” he said, speaking just loudly enough for Claire to hear, but not to wake the baby.
“Claire?”
John went over to the baby’s crib and felt down inside. The baby wasn’t there, and he realized that he must be in bed with Claire. He lit a candle. If he was going to move the baby back to his crib, he didn’t want to trip over something.