“Whatever you decide to do…” Henry said.
“She won’t be getting my land. You can damned well bet on that!” Hawk said. Rising, he exited the office, so filled with fury once again that he could have knocked the door from its hinges.
He went straight for his horse, but before he could mount, he heard his name called. Black Feather, an old Hunkpapa friend who traded furs in town despite all the government edicts, strode toward him. He was a tall, well-built man with weather-leathered features and a slow, easy, thoughtful way about him. Hawk cooled his temper, grasping arms with his old friend.
“How are you, Black Feather? Your hunting goes well?”
“Hunting goes badly. The whites have shot the buffalo herds, killing hundreds, perhaps thousands, from their train windows. They slaughter game.” He shrugged. “I’m a good hunter. Tradingfurs for gunpowder.” He lowered his voice. “Come to your grandfather’s village soon. Many friends, who cannot or will not come this close to white settlements, will be moving north and would like to bid you farewell.”
“Joining Sitting Bull?” Hawk asked.
Black Feather nodded gravely. “We have but two choices. Become fenced in like white cattle or fight for our ways. You cannot argue this.”
“I wouldn’t attempt to argue it. I will come very soon.”
“Your grandfather will be glad.” Black Feather hesitated. “We have heard of your father’s passing. My heart is heavy with yours. He was a great man.”
Hawk nodded. “Thank you.”
“He will be missed by us all.”
“Deeply.”
Hawk mounted his horse, lifting a hand in farewell. As he rode hard from the fledgling settlement, he felt as if he had been buffeted by storms with wildly opposing winds. He was angry with his father, in pain for his father, and he could never talk to him again to try to understand what he had done. And he hurt for David, wondering what pain had racked him in the end that he should have become so dependent and enamored of Skylar Connor that she could have manipulated him so. And now, in the midst of this personal tragedy and confusion, the country was continuing to trundle down a road of cruelty and injustice against his people.
The longer he rode toward the lodge on the far eastern border of his property, the more heated his temper grew.
He was ready to do battle.
Dreamsof the distant past had haunted her most of her life. Not continually. Just upon occasion.
The dreams always began the same way. She saw the gray swirls rising before her eyes once again.
Just as they had before. Long ago.
The night air had been thick with a low-hanging fog. Footsteps could be heard falling upon the streets, but no forms could be seen. It was a perfect night for clandestine meetings. For secrets in the darkness.
Maryland had been full of secrets.
A border state, it had teemed with spies and conspiracy. There were those who were openly Southern sympathizers and those who were vociferously pro-Union. There were those who pretended to be Southern sympathizers but spied for the Union. There were those who publicly supported the Union who were really Southern spies.
And there were those who were just caught in between.
Robert Connor had lived down in Williamsburg. Before the war, he’d taken a job as a young attorney there, and when the war had broken out, he’d wound up in the army.
And after Gettysburg, he’d wound up in a Union prison in DC. Only he’d managed to escape. And he’d managed to get a message to his brother, Richard, that he needed help.
Richard Connor lived with his wife, Jill, and their two daughters, Skylar and Sabrina, in a fine house in Baltimore. He’d spent the war years in torment himself, having been wounded early in ‘62 and sent home with a limp that would never go away. He’d been glad to come home. He’d believed in the sanctity of the Union, but he’d never believed in killing his Southernbrethren. And when his brother had called him for help, he’d immediately given it.
So, Robert had come. And he’d played with the girls while he lay hidden in their attic, and Skylar had come to love him nearly as much as her own father. But word finally came that he was to be met by plainclothes Southern spies and spirited back to the Confederacy, where he would be safe.
And the fog and the mist had come
Skylar had been sent to bed, but she’d known what was going on that night. Her father and his best friend, Brad Dillman, were to take Robert to meet the Southerners. They’d all act like drunks down by the docks, then Robert would be spirited away, and Richard and Brad would stumble back to the house, apologizing profusely to Jill and the girls and promising to mend their ways.
Skylar never knew what possessed her to sneak out of bed that night, dress up in shirt and trousers, and follow the men out. Maybe it was the excitement.
Maybe it was some strange trace of fear within her.
