Cherokee Storm. Janelle TaylorЧитать онлайн книгу.
your mother left me, I knew she wasn’t coming back,” he said softly. “I’m a man as any other, and I tire of my own company.”
“You’ve taken a wife?”
“Not exactly,” he hedged. “For I thought I had one, ye see. A sinner I may be, but I do respect the laws of the Holy Church.”
“You live with a woman?” she demanded. “Out of wedlock?” What kind of woman would agree to such an arrangement, she wondered. “Is she Irish?”
“Best you wait until we get home and see for yourself. She’s been all aflutter waiting for ye to get here. You’ll be the best of friends, I promise.”
She stared at him in disbelief. She’d thought it would be just the two of them, that she’d have all of his attention and love after so long being parted. She hadn’t expected to be the outsider again—the stranger in another woman’s kitchen.
“Trust me, darlin’. In no time at all you’ll love her as I do.”
Chapter 4
The sun was directly overhead when Shannon’s father stopped to rest on a fallen log. She was footsore and tired from climbing the mountain, but she would have rather bitten her tongue than admit it. She wanted to get home as quickly as possible, and she had no intention of telling him that the used shoes he’d purchased for her from Ada Baker were two sizes too big. Shannon had stuffed leaves in them, but the rough leather had rubbed blisters on her heels that stung with every step she took.
“I should have brought the horses,” he said. “You’re not used to so much walking. But the fastest way home is cross-country, rough for the horses—hard on their legs and hooves. I thought we’d make better time on foot.”
“I’m fine, Da, really.”
“Can ye not bring yourself to call me Flynn, as others do?”
“But you’re my father. It doesn’t seem respectful.”
“It’s been so long since we’ve been together. When you call me Da, I think of you as a child.” Moisture welled in his eyes. “You’re far from that, me girl. You’re a woman grown. Flynn will do fine.”
“If it pleases you.”
“It does. I’ve not been a proper father in years, but I’ll try to make up for it. I promise.”
“And I’ll try to be a good daughter.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. The sin, however deep, is my own.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Overhead a blue jay scolded a circling crow, and Shannon stared up at it. There were so many birds. When she was young, her father had taught her to identify them by their alarm calls and songs. Even now, tired and aching, the sweet music soothed her, and she strained to see glimpses of the different species in the foliage.
Her father…Flynn…offered her a biscuit and dried meat wrapped in corn husks. “It’s rabbit,” he explained. “Oona smokes and dries it, then pounds it to flour and mixes it with berries and bear fat. It’s a winter staple for the Cherokee.” He supplied the Cherokee word, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t pronounce it correctly.
He chuckled. “It will come back to you. Cherokee is hard. Not so hard as Gaelic, but tough for adults to learn. You spoke both languages when you were a tot. In time you’ll remember.”
“Is it important? That I speak Cherokee?”
“If you want to be a help at the trading post. Not many of my customers will admit knowing English. Storm Dancer speaks it and French as well. His uncle sent him north to a mission school. But most Cherokee and Shawnee speak only their own tongue. Cherokee is a kind of poetry. Do you know how many ways they have to describe rain?”
She nodded. “I’ll do my best to learn, Da.”
His eyes narrowed. “Flynn.”
“All right. I’ll try to remember. I want you to be glad you brought me here. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“That could never be. My worry is that I’ve ruined your chances of a good marriage. There are few prospects for a white woman, even a beautiful one, in these wild mountains.”
“Fewer still back East for an indentured girl at a rough crossroads tavern. Most of the barmaids ended in disgrace with big bellies and no husband. Not that they were wicked, just lonely and unlucky.” Shannon nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully at memories of the indignities she’d had to endure during those years at Klank’s. “This is my home. With you. This is where I want to be, where I belong.”
Her father touched her cheek. “Put the bad times behind you, daughter. ’Tis my shame. It’s a man’s duty to protect his children.”
“It’s not your fault,” she protested. “You didn’t know—”
“I should have.” His eyes glistened with moisture. “It was selfish of me to bring your mother out here. I should have done better by her. Tried harder to please her.”
A lump rose in Shannon’s throat. “She shouldn’t have left you.”
“It’s just that I never fitted in back there. Never could hold a decent job. Seemed like walls were always closing in on me so that I couldn’t breathe. Out here…in these mountains…” He choked up and Shannon dug her grandmother’s handkerchief out of her pocket. He blew his nose and then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “These mountains are the closest to heaven I’ll ever get.”
She squeezed his hand. She’d wanted to hug him, but she was suddenly shy. She couldn’t remember her father ever crying before. He’d always been strong and hearty, too tough to show emotion. Had the years changed him so much?
“We were never really matched. She came from gentry stock, fallen on hard times, and my own father was an outlaw hanged for stealing a pig.”
“Was he guilty?”
“Guilty as sin, but the pig saved us from starving. It was a bad time. Too much rain ruined the crops. We lost our farm and had to take to the road like tinkers.”
“How old were you?”
“Old enough to watch him hang. But Da said he wasn’t sorry. It was worth it.” Pain flickered in his gaze. “He was an unlucky man, but he had a good heart. I’d like to think that the Lord took pity on him, a sinner or not.”
“I’m sure He would.”
Her father nodded thoughtfully. “I hope so.”
“Hadn’t we better move on?” she suggested.
“Right you are. It will be easier traveling this afternoon. We go downhill, cross the river, and follow a pass through the mountains. If we don’t camp tonight, we can be home by midnight. If you’re up to it?” He forced a smile. “You’re certain you’re all right?”
“Right as rain,” she said. Hours of walking to go yet? She groaned inwardly. All she wanted to do was take off these shoes, curl up, and take a nap.
“The thing is, darlin’, all that rain. The river was fierce when I came through before. We can save half a day by using the crossing below. And if we walk down the mountain and find it too high to wade or too swift to swim, we’ve got to climb up again.”
Shannon exhaled softly. Retracing their steps was a dreadful prospect.
“What I’m thinking, is to leave you rest here, go down alone, and take a look-see.”
“Leave me alone?”
“You’ll be safe as a nun’s soul,” he promised. “See that clump of bushes there? You crawl in out of sight, quiet as a fawn laying low and waiting for its mama.”
She averted