The Spirit Path (33 page)

Maggie shook her head as Sheila went on and on about how inconsiderate it had been of Maggie to take such a long vacation without telling her.

“I’m sorry, Sheila,” Maggie apologized for the third time. “Truly I am. Now, do you want to go on ranting and raving at me, or do you want me to tell you that the book’s finished and in the mail? You should get it in a day or two.”

“Finished! Bless you. Oh, and Maggie, wait until you see the cover! It’s fabulous. You look wonderful, of course, but Hawk is going to have every woman in America drooling, and every other author in America is going to be green with envy.”

“Send me a couple copies, will you?”

“Of course. And listen, girl, now that you’re on your feet again, how about an author’s tour after the baby is born?”

“No, Sheila, I’m sorry. I’m going to take some time off, and then I’ve got an idea for another time travel book.”

“I was afraid you’d say no, but I can hardly blame you. I wouldn’t leave home either if I had a gorgeous hunk hanging around. Well, listen, sweetie, I’ve got to go. Let me know when the baby’s born.”

“I will. ‘Bye, Sheila.”

Maggie hung up the phone, then sat back against the pillows, staring out the window, wondering what she could do to put a smile on Hawk’s face, hoping that the baby would bring him out of his melancholy mood.

Spring gave way to summer and Maggie began counting the days until the baby would be born. She fretted because she couldn’t go shopping for a layette. She didn’t have a single thing for the baby, not a diaper, not a gown, not even a bed for it to sleep in.

Hawk seemed resigned to remaining in the present. Not sad, not happy, just resigned. Some days she seldom saw him at all and she wondered where he went and what he did.

And then one morning early in June he took the truck and went into Sturgis. He was gone for a couple of hours and Maggie spent the whole time wondering what he was doing there. He didn’t know anyone, so he wasn’t visiting. He’d done the marketing the day before, so he hadn’t gone for groceries…

Maggie smiled sadly. She’d never thought to see Hawk doing anything as domestic as shopping, but he’d learned to do it because she couldn’t, because he loved her enough to sacrifice his male pride to do what he considered women’s work.

He’d learned to do the laundry and change the sheets on the bed. He could cook a variety of simple meals. He’d become quite adept as a ladies’ maid too. And she felt guilty as hell for being the cause of it, especially because he never complained.

And each day she loved him more.

Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the truck pull into the yard. The back door slammed shut and then she heard the faint whisper of Hawk’s footsteps as he walked down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Hi,” she said, smiling brightly as he peered into the room.

“I thought you might be asleep.”

“No. Where did you go?”

“I went shopping.”

“But you bought groceries yesterday.”

“I did not buy groceries.”

“Oh?”

He looked somewhat sheepish as he stepped into the room, his arms laden with packages. One by one, he placed them on the bed.

“What’s all this?” Maggie asked.

“Presents.”

“Presents? What’s the occasion?”

“Open them.”

Feeling like a child on Christmas morning, Maggie unwrapped a large box. Inside she found a delicate blue baby quilt.

“Hawk…”

“I asked Veronica what things the baby would need,” he explained, “and she gave me a list.”

Maggie felt a prickling behind her eyelids as she reached for another package. It contained several cotton gowns. Other packages revealed diapers, blankets, booties, sweaters and tiny stretch pajamas.

“You are pleased?”

“Yes. You used the money from the photo shoot, didn’t you?”

Hawk nodded, then pointed at the last package, partially hidden by wrapping paper and ribbon. “You missed one.”

Maggie opened the last present and the tears came. It was a nightgown, sheer black silk.

“You do not like it?” he asked, puzzled by her tears. The saleswoman had assured him that any woman would be delighted with such a gift, but perhaps she had been wrong.

“I love it, Hawk,” Maggie said, blinking back her tears, “and I love you.”

“There is one more gift,” he said, and turning on his heel, he went out in the hallway.

When he returned he was carrying a cradle similar to the one he’d made before, the one they’d had to leave behind.

“Oh, Hawk,” Maggie murmured, and knew she’d never loved him more than she did at this moment. She held out her arms as he crossed the room toward her.

Placing the cradle on the floor at the foot of the bed, he took Maggie in his arms and held her tight. “Ah Mag-gie,” he whispered softly. “Do not weep.”

“I can’t help it. You knew how I loved the cradle you made, and you made me another.”

“My child must have a bed to sleep in,” he said, trying to lighten the mood between them.

“Sometimes you seem so far away. I look at you and I feel your sadness. If you’d married a Lakota woman you wouldn’t be stuck here waiting on me hand and foot. You’d be with your own people, and…”

“Shh.” He placed his fingertips over her mouth. “I do not want a Lakota woman, Mag-gie. I want you. You are my people.”

“But you’re not happy here. I know it. I can feel it.”

“Mag-gie, I am where I want to be.”

“But you’re not happy here.”

He could not argue with the truth. He was not happy, but only because he felt his life lacked meaning and purpose. He did not mind looking after Maggie. In many ways, he enjoyed taking care of her. She was his woman, his wife, the mother of his son. He would live and die for her. But how was he to fill his days when she recovered and no longer needed his care?

He held her close that night, listening to the soft sound of her breathing as she slept, tormented by the sweet feminine curves pressed against his groin. Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands, the scent of her hair filled his nostrils, the scent of woman aroused his desire.

With a low groan, he closed his eyes, his body aching for hers, but he dared not take her.

He reminded himself there were only a few more weeks until the baby came and that thought cooled his ardor. He was afraid for her, for the child. She had told him not to worry. First babies usually took hours to be born. They would have plenty of time to get to the hospital.

He placed his hand over her swollen abdomen, felt his child’s lusty kick. Surely there could be nothing wrong with a baby as active as his son seemed to be! He could feel the tiny foot pressing against his hand and he was suddenly eager to see his son, to hold his child in his arms.

Lying there, holding Maggie close beside him, he fell asleep with a prayer in his heart that all would be well.

He woke to the sound of thunder. Turning his head, he saw that Maggie was still sleeping. Slipping out of bed, he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt and left the house.

It started raining as he ran toward the barn where he forked the horses some hay, threw some feed to the chickens.

Sprinting back to the house, he turned on the light in the kitchen, put the coffee pot on the stove, then stood looking out the window at the rain. Another rumble of thunder shook the house and it began to rain harder.

In a matter of minutes, what he’d thought was merely a summer shower became a raging storm. Lightning rent the clouds, wind flattened the meadow grass and moaned under the eaves.

Pouring two cups of coffee, he carried them into the bedroom, intending to crawl back into bed with Maggie and enjoy the rain.

He’d expected to find her still asleep, but she was sitting up in bed, one hand pressed to her stomach, her eyes wide and scared.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I think I’m in labor.”

Setting the coffee cups on the top of the dresser, Hawk went to sit beside Maggie. “It’s too soon. The baby is not due for another month.”

“Dr. Lansky said it might come early. Maybe you’d better call him and see what he says.”

With a nod, Hawk picked up the phone, then frowned. “It makes no sound.”

“What?”

He handed her the receiver. “It makes no sound,” he repeated.

Maggie listened for a moment, but there was no dial tone, only an echoing silence. “The storm must have knocked one of the lines down,” she mused, replacing the receiver. “I guess…” She went suddenly rigid as a sharp pain threatened to split her in half. A moment later, her water broke.

“Hawk!” She looked up at him, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. “I don’t think this is going to take hours.”

Hawk looked out the window, wondering if he dared try to drive Maggie into town, wondering if they had time to get there before the baby was born. He frowned as lightning sizzled across the blackened skies. What if they made it part way and the roads became impassable? What if he got a flat tire or ran out of gas? He couldn’t take a chance of being caught out in the storm. No, they were better off here. Indian women had babies all the time. But some of them died…

He shook the thought from his mind, turning back to the bed as a Maggie moaned his name.

“Mag-gie, tell me what to do?”

“Heat some water,” she said, breathing through the pain. “Get a knife to cut the cord. And some twine. It’s…in the kitchen drawer…” Another pain knifed through her and she grabbed his hands, squeezing tightly. “Clean sheets for the bed…a blanket for the baby…hurry!”

He eased her down on the bed, then went into the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove to warm. While the water was heating, he found a sharp knife and the twine, pulled a receiving blanket from the dresser drawer. That done, he put fresh sheets on the bed, covered Maggie, and went to check on the water. It was boiling and he turned off the burner, then covered the pan before returning to the bedroom.

“Mag-gie.” He breathed her name as he took her hand, wincing as her nails bit into his palms.

The next half hour was the worst he’d ever known. Unable to help, he watched her writhe in pain as the contractions came harder and faster. She clung to his hands, her grip like iron, as her body fought to dispel the child.

She screamed only once as the baby’s head crowned, and then, quickly, it was over and Hawk was staring down at his son. The baby’s first cry was the sweetest music he’d ever heard.

For a moment, he could hardly breathe so awed was he by the miracle of birth. And then he placed the child on Maggie’s belly, cut and tied the cord. He washed the baby, terrified he’d drop it, it was so small and slippery, and then he wrapped his son in a blanket and placed him in Maggie’s arms.

“It is a boy,” she murmured. “You were right all along.”

Hawk smiled through a mist of tears, thinking he had never seen anything more lovely than Maggie cradling their newborn son.

“Thank you, Hawk,” she said, smothering a yawn. “He’s beautiful, just like you,” she added with a lopsided grin, and promptly fell asleep.

Hawk gazed at his wife and son for a moment, and then he went to stand at the window. Raising his arms overhead, he offered a heartfelt prayer of thanks to
Wakán Tanka
and as he finished the prayer, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. And there, stretching over the Black Hills like a promise from God, he saw a rainbow made by the rising sun.

Hawk sat on the front porch, his legs crossed, his arms folded across his chest as he watched a handful of baby chicks follow their mother around the yard. From inside the house, he could hear Maggie singing to their son as she put him down for a nap.

Two months had passed since the day their son was born and Maggie and the baby were both strong and healthy. Dr. Lansky had come out the day after the delivery to examine mother and child, Veronica had arrived the next day, arms loaded with flowers and presents, declaring she had come to stay and look after things for a few days whether he liked it or not. Hawk had put up a token protest, insisting he could look after Maggie and the baby just fine, but, secretly, he was glad for her help. Delivering a baby was one thing, looking after it was another.

His son. Every time he looked at the baby, he saw a living, breathing miracle. The boy was so small, so perfect, from the top of his black-thatched head to the soles of his tiny feet. Maggie had mentioned wanting another child in a year or two, but Hawk wasn’t sure he would ever put her through the pain of childbirth again. He’d felt so helpless, so damned helpless, while she lay there struggling to bring their son into the world, her face pale and sheened with sweat, her body convulsing with pain that he could not begin to imagine.

Woman’s work, he mused, and felt a new reverence and respect for his wife, his mother, for all women who had walked the Shadow World to bring forth a new life.

He was dozing when the sound of hoofbeats roused him. Rising, Hawk stared down the road to see a young Indian boy riding toward the house.

Descending the stairs, Hawk walked down the driveway to meet him.

“Is this Miss St. Claire’s house?” the boy asked as he drew rein.

“Yes.”

A look of relief crossed the boy’s face. “Is Bobby Proud Eagle here?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I need to find him real bad.”

“Who are you?” Hawk asked.

“I’m Bobby’s brother, Glen.”

Hawk took a deep breath and let it out in a long slow sigh. “Why have you come looking for Proud Eagle?”

“Our father died. I’ve got no one else to stay with. The elders were going to send me to live with a foster family, but I want to live with Bobby, so I ran away. You’re the Indian he told me about, aren’t you? Do you know where he is?”

Hawk frowned, wondering how to explain Proud Eagle’s whereabouts, wondering if the boy would believe him if he told him the truth.

Glen shifted impatiently on his horse. “Do you know where my brother is, or don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hawk said at last. “I know where your brother has gone.”

“Where is he?” Glen asked, his dark eyes shining. “Tell me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“You cannot go where he is.”

The light went out of the boy’s eyes. “He’s…he’s not dead?”

“No. We will discuss it later,” Hawk promised. He studied the boy for a moment, taking in the lines of fatigue on his face, the dust and grime that covered his plaid shirt and blue jeans, the mud crusted on the badly worn shoes. “What is a foster family?”

“Somebody who takes in kids who don’t have anybody else.”

“And you do not want to stay with these people?”

“No. And if you try and make me go back, I’ll run away again!”

Hawk grunted, amused by the look of defiance in the boy’s eyes. “How long ago did you leave the reservation?”

Glen shrugged. “Three, four days ago.”

“When did you eat last?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“Come,” Hawk said. “We will look after your horse, and then we will find you something to eat.”

Maggie was fixing lunch when Hawk entered the kitchen, followed by a young boy of perhaps eleven or twelve.

“Well,” she said with a smile, “who have we here?”

“This is Bobby’s brother. Glen.”

“Bobby’s brother!” Maggie exclaimed. Wiping her hands on her apron, she gave Glen a hug. “I’m so glad to meet you at last. Here, sit down. Would you like a glass of milk?”

The boy nodded eagerly, his eyes watching Maggie’s every move as she opened the refrigerator and poured him a tall glass of milk which he downed in half a dozen long swallows.

“Would you like some more?” Maggie asked, and refilled the glass at the boy’s nod.

Taking Maggie into the hallway outside the kitchen, Hawk told her that Glen’s father was dead and that he’d run away from Pine Ridge.

“We’ll have to let them know,” Maggie said. “They’ll be looking for him.”

“He does not want to go back. He said they will send him to a foster family.”

Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “Doesn’t he have any other kin?”

“No. I want to keep the boy here.”

Maggie’s heart went out to the boy, but she had her hands full with a new baby. And she’d heard some awful stories about people who opened their homes to needy kids. She knew the stories couldn’t all be true, but it was enough to give her pause, especially with a new baby in the house.

Feeling guilty, she said, “I’m sure he’ll be all right, Hawk. A lot of orphan kids live with foster families.”

“I want to keep him here,” Hawk repeated.

“But, Hawk…”

“I know what I want to do with my life, Maggie,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement. “I want to bring boys who have nowhere else to go here and teach them the old ways. I want to teach them to speak Lakota, to think Lakota, to walk the Life Path of the Lakota.”

With a start, Maggie realized that Glen Running Horse was the answer to her prayers. Hawk would teach Glen the Lakota way, instill within the boy a sense of pride in his heritage, teach him to value the land. With Hawk’s help, Glen would learn the ancient customs and traditions of his people, and, in time, he would pass them on to his own children.

It was the Lakota way, the warrior’s way, to hand down the lessons and legends of the past to the young.

And someday, God willing, Hawk would teach those same lessons to their grandchildren and their grandchildren’s children.

“Will you help me, Mag-gie?”

How could she deny him anything when the mere sound of his voice still had the power to make her knees weak? “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I think I could be persuaded if I was coaxed just right.”

Hawk smiled, his dark eyes alight as he drew her into his arms and kissed her, the seduction of his tongue stealing her breath away.

Maggie sighed as the kiss deepened, her heart soaring at his touch. After all, how much trouble could one little boy be? She would let Hawk bring home ten children, twenty children, if he would kiss her like this for each one.

With a sigh, she nestled against his chest, secure in his love, a smile of satisfaction curving her lips because she knew he would finish “persuading” her later, when they were alone.

And she would say yes because she loved him too much to deny him anything within her power to give, loved him beyond description, beyond words.

He was her husband, her hero, the warrior of her dreams, and she knew they would live happily-ever-after, because that was the way all true romances ended.

Hand in hand, they went into the kitchen to welcome Glen to the family.