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Rain Shadow(47)

By:Cheryl St.John


The severing had been more painful than any of them had anticipated. He  and Nikolaus had driven Rain Shadow, Slade and Two Feathers in the  springboard, their lodge and belongings piled in the box, Jack tied  behind. In Butler, they'd waited awkwardly for the train, the boys  sitting sullenly side by side against the station on a wooden bench. Two  Feathers had poised on the platform's edge like a wooden Indian, arms  crossed, craggy face unreadable.

The eleven-fifty's whistle had pierced Anton's composure, and the train  steamed into the station two minutes ahead of schedule. Two Feathers  gave Anton a resigned nod and boarded the train. At the last minute  Slade and Nikolaus exchanged wooden horses and a bow and arrows, then  Slade dashed up the stairs, appearing at a window with a glum wave.  Nikolaus burst into tears and clung to Rain Shadow's trouser leg until  Anton peeled him off. Anton's eyes met hers, Nikolaus' cries and the  shrieking whistle preventing any last words.

She'd kissed him then, pulling his head down, pressing herself against  his body and closing her eyes tightly. That kiss disturbed Anton's soul,  leaving him wanting to hold her, wanting to keep her with him by  whatever means necessary, stamping her taste on his lips as the train  chugged slowly away from the platform...away from the station...away  from Butler, Pennsylvania... and away from him.

Nothing in his life had been in alignment since.

"She called me 'darling,' Pa," Nikolaus said, dragging Anton from his  reverie. "Rain Shadow hugged me and made me not be so scared. She loves  me, I think."

Anton released his son and took his hand. He didn't know if anything in his life would ever would be on track again.

* * *

Rain Shadow carried a tray through the line and helped herself to a  slice of roast, potatoes and gravy. Over the hubbub of hundreds of forks  and knives, the buzz of voices in different languages and accents and  wooden benches scraping the floor, she glanced around for Slade. Beside  her, Two Feathers balanced a slice of pie on his tray, and together they  made their way through the throng in the dining tent to a table.

Slade joined them as they ate.

"I wondered where you were." She took the napkin from his tray and placed it on his lap.

"I heard the bell, but I couldn't find you."

"That's okay." She gave him a smile. He hadn't been his usual energetic  self lately, and she'd been relieved to see him join the other boys in  their games that afternoon. "Did you have fun?"

He shrugged. "It was okay." He took a bite of his meat and chewed thoughtfully. "I wonder if Nikky got my letter yet."

"I don't know," she said. "The mail takes a while to get that far west."

"Think we can go visit Nikky after Philadelphia? It ain't-isn't-too far, is it?"

She met Two Feathers' eyes across the table. "No, it's not far."

"I told the other kids about Christmas. It was somethin', wasn't it?"

Rain Shadow didn't miss the way he'd been leaving the gs off his words the way the Neubauers did. "It was something, all right."

A memory she'd fought off like a bad cold hit her full force. Christmas  with its established customs, laced with sentiment and joyful family  celebration, had been a grim pleasure. All of Rain Shadow's former  Christmases had been spent like any other day. Practice, dinner in the  dining tents with some six hundred other members of the show and an  evening in front of a fire with Two Feathers. Any slim imaginings of the  way others spent the holiday came from books, newspapers and pictures.                       
       
           



       

She remembered a photograph she'd seen once-a family at Christmas  dinner, an enormous turkey gracing the table. She had studied that  picture, hungrily inspecting each family member's face, identifying  their relationships to one another and imagining their lives. She'd  examined their clothing, the dishes, the lace tablecloth, even the clock  on the wall, and she'd wondered if they always ate dinner at  one-seventeen. That image had lodged in her mind, real family behavior  as elusive as a butterfly.

Someday, she'd decided. Someday when she found her family, they would  sit down to dinner together, and she would belong. She would experience  what others took for granted.

She would never take a family for granted.

Rain Shadow could still smell the tree Anton had cut and carried into  the cabin for them to decorate. She could still taste the popcorn they'd  eaten faster than they could string it. She could still see the delight  on her son's face when Anton had held him up to place his paper star on  top of the tree, and-a divine disturbance swelled in her heart at the  memories of the man she'd grown to love-she could still feel his strong,  healthy body as he'd stood behind her and whispered secrets about the  gifts he had waiting in the hay loft for Nikolaus and Slade.

Never would a Christmas Eve be as wrought with dear anguish as that one  had been. Everything she'd ever wanted, ever dreamed of, danced ahead of  her reach, taunted her with the realization of just how happy she would  never be.

None of it had been real.

She had tucked Slade into bed, knowing they didn't belong there. She'd  sat near the fire with Anton, coping with the fact that he was her  husband but that nothing concrete bound him to her. She'd gone to bed in  anticipation of another disturbing day to follow and listened to the  cabin's night sounds, hoping Anton would come to her bed, praying he  wouldn't.

He hadn't.

Day after strenuous day, she had avoided situations and subjects that  would make her feelings for him obvious. She loved him. He wanted a  proper wife. They'd come to a stalemate. He still had a chance for  happiness. As soon as she was gone, he could get on with his life.

Why couldn't she get on with hers? Rain Shadow slid her hand in her  pants pocket and closed her fingers around the gift Anton had given her  that Christmas Eve. She pulled out the silver-dollar-size pocket watch  and ran one finger over the delicately engraved flowers on the gold  cover. An unusual gift for a woman, she'd said without thinking. "You  are an unusual woman," he'd replied.

She regarded her son with frustration. How could she put Anton Neubauer  behind her when Slade spoke of the Neubauers constantly, begged her to  return and had even adopted their clipped speech? Slipping the watch  back into in her pocket, she made up her mind to get their lives back to  normal. Slade playing with the other boys today was a good sign. They  needed time and distraction. "Want to practice with the hatchets  tomorrow?"

His black eyes lit with enthusiasm. The trick was one he'd wanted to  learn for some time. "Yes-sir-ee!" His gleeful expression clouded over.  "What if I hit Grampa?"

She smiled tolerantly. "You won't throw at Grampa until you're very,  very good. Grampa didn't take his place on that target until I'd been  throwing for a couple of years."

"Aw, heck." Slade laid down his fork and finished his milk. "Good," he  continued, his reaction changing from disappointment to relief in the  flash of a second. "I was worried about hitting him. Think I'll be as  good as you, Ma?"

"You can be whatever you want to be," she replied, imagining him as a  lawyer, a teacher or the head of a big industry. That's it, Rain Shadow.  Focus on your goal. Get back on track. The contest was less than a  month away, and her success depended on giving it her undivided  attention.

Her shooting was better than ever. She practiced hours on end every day.  Yesterday she'd seen the posters and handbills advertising the contest.

Championship Contest Between

Annie Oakley, Peerless Wing & Rifle Shot

&

Princess Blue Cloud, Superb Horsewoman & Crack Shot.                       
       
           



       

Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show

Opens April 14, 1895

Delacourt Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

It was only a matter of time until her dream came true.

* * *

The dream changed. The nightmare evolved into a sensuous panorama of  shapes, scents, sounds, textures and temperatures that titillated and  tortured. From the edges of sleep Anton moaned at the sensation of cool,  silky hair grazing his hypersensitive heated flesh. Velvet-soft skin  gliding along his hard muscle and bone was painfully vivid.

Warm, damp lips and tongue caressing his stubble-rough cheeks and furred  chest stole his breath and suffused his body with rock-hard heat.

The sensory onslaught haunted him.

Rain Shadow. Cool satin skin and ardent responses.

His own blazing heat and nameless, crushing fear. Apprehension seized  his heart and squeezed the breath from his chest. The gentler her touch,  the more suffocating the heat. The more passionate her mouth, the more  crushing the dread. He was afraid his blazing desire would rage out of  control and burn down the defenses he'd so carefully built and  protected.