Slade appeared to consider the possibility. At last he broke the expectant silence. "I got lots of friends, what with the show and all the places I been and all, but I guess I can have one more."
"Aw'right!" Nikolaus raced through the doorway with a whoop.
* * *
The doctor showed up shortly after noon the next day. Rain Shadow waited anxiously as he tended the patients in the other rooms, proclaiming them well enough to be transferred. Encouraged, she followed him into the bedroom Slade occupied. The man walked with a marked limp, his movements abrupt. After a terse examination, he placed his instruments in his black bag.
"He's doing fine." His voice was gentler than his gruff appearance and demeanor led her to imagine.
Encouraged, she asked, "May I move him out to my lodge?"
"Not just yet. That was a nasty break, and the least movement the better for healing."
Slade would have to stay. Her spirits fell. She'd planned taking him out of the Neubauer's house as soon as possible. The imposition didn't rest comfortably. She wanted Slade in the security and familiarity of their lodge.
She met her son's ebony gaze. He was bored and hurting. His toes had swollen and turned black and blue.
The doctor picked up his bag and left the room without a farewell.
Rain Shadow stared after him, her slim hopes dashed. The trains were leaving for winter quarters in a few days. She and Slade would not be on one. What was this going to do to her plans? Guiltily, she swallowed her selfish concern. Slade's well-being was most important, of course. She'd speak with Two Feathers about going on without them. She frowned at the unpleasant thought.
This was merely a snag in her tightly woven strategy. She bolstered herself, smoothing Slade's black hair away from his forehead. She could roll with the punches. She would practice every day. She didn't need the fancy setups, and as soon as Slade's leg improved they could take another train. She'd still be ready for an exhibition and contest with Annie in the spring.
It was simply a matter of time.
* * *
That evening Rain Shadow arranged tin plates in a semicircle near the fire, comfortable in her lodge, pleased to have a familiar task to perform. Annette had been relieved to spend time with her own family, and preparing a meal for the Neubauers was small payment for the care and lodging they had provided for Slade. This was her element, something she knew, something she did well and took pride in.
The fact that Rain Shadow was unable to move Slade to their lodge still nettled. She would be obliged to the Neubauers for an uncertain length of time, not only obliged but forced to spend time in their home. She was torn between her discomfort in their house and wanting to be with her son.
Another niggle of concern finally pierced her consciousness. She wanted to be accepted in the world of the whites. How would that ever happen when she was so uncomfortable in the home of these whites? She couldn't explain her unease. The tense feelings were understandable because the environment was all unfamiliar, but they were disconcerting as well.
The flap parted, and Two Feathers entered.
"Father," she said in greeting. Her heart grew warm as always by the familiar sight of his craggy face.
"Daughter." He stepped to the right as was the custom and took his place before the fire. "Slade rests."
She glanced toward the flap. "The Neubauers?"
"They follow."
She nodded and retrieved baked sweet potatoes from the coals. A sound outside brought her head up.
"Enter," Two Feathers welcomed.
Johann appeared first. He was a tall, handsome man like his sons. His skin testified to years of sun and weather, deep smile lines bracketing the corners of his faded blue eyes. At Two Feathers' gesture, Johann took a seat near the fire.
Anton and his son entered together. Anton wore a fresh white shirt, its sleeves rolled back over his corded forearms. His flaxen hair was damp and combed from his face in sun-streaked waves. He glanced around the inside of the lodge, and his scrutiny brought Rain Shadow's defenses into play. She couldn't help wondering what he was thinking. In comparison to his home and room, their things no doubt seemed meager to him, but on the move, as they were, they had no need for more. She had never gone hungry or without clothing. Will Cody had great respect for the Indian population, and treated and paid them well. She and Two Feathers had traveled with the Wild West Show since its first performance in Omaha eleven years ago.
Anton's cobalt blue gaze rested on her, and she had to force herself not to look away. He seemed to take stock of her as he had the lodge.
She'd never had occasion to care what someone else thought of her. She'd always been accepted for her ability as a horsewoman and sharpshooter. Anton Neubauer knew none of those things about her. He saw only a woman. She had to deal with him on a level she wasn't prepared to examine.
"Sit," Two Feathers invited.
Leading Nikolaus to a spot near his pa, Anton watched Rain Shadow dish food onto tin plates. Mouth-watering aromas had set his stomach to rumbling as soon as he'd entered the tent. The chickens cooked on a spit over the fire were golden brown. He hadn't eaten chicken like that since he was a boy.
The young woman worked gracefully, with deft, efficient movements, serving his father first. The doeskin garment she wore lent a soft, feminine appeal to her already pleasing shape. Long fringe at the hem and armholes swayed with her every movement, caressing honey-colored skin. Her knee-high moccasins appeared worn and comfortable, the tops visible only when she knelt and the fringe parted.
"Thank you." Anton accepted the plate and biscuits she handed him. Nikolaus, echoing his appreciation, sat in awe of his surroundings and the two strangers.
She served her father, then took her food and sat near him. The two sat companionably side by side, knees touching, as though they'd shared many meals together. The old man she called her father was unquestionably Indian, handsome in a dark, compelling manner. He carried himself straight, his chin high, with proud mannerisms of a man who knew his worth. His copper-skinned face, wrinkled from years beneath the sun, was thoughtful and deliberate.
Two Feathers was dressed as many of the Indians had been dressed that morning, deerskin pants, a flannel shirt and a vest. A kerchief banded his forehead, holding his flowing black hair in place. Beads and bears' claws hung from a leather thong around his neck.
Rain Shadow lifted her gaze from her plate and stared at Anton questioningly. He realized he hadn't tasted the food. Biting into the generous portion of breast she had given him, he chewed and looked up in surprise. He'd assumed she'd cleaned one of the birds that ran loose in their dooryard. "This isn't chicken!"
"It's grouse. Don't you like it?"
"I like it," he assured her quickly, noting the edge to her voice. "It's just that I thought-I figured...
"That I stole your chickens?"
"No." He glanced at her father, then his. Both ate placidly, refusing to look up.
"You assumed they were your chickens," she said, her chin lifted.
He hadn't actually given it a whole lot of thought. The chickens were there, they ate 'em. A fact of life. "It wouldn't have been stealing."
"They aren't my chickens."
The conversation had gotten out of hand, and he wasn't sure how. "Well, it's good." He demonstrated by taking another bite and chewing.
The wild sweet potatoes were tender and delicious, and she served them each a handful of roasted nuts. She must have gone foraging today, and her father had obviously trapped the birds. Briefly, Anton considered telling her he appreciated how much trouble she'd gone to, but her reaction to his last comment silenced him.
After the meal, Two Feathers produced a long pipe from one of the many bundles around the perimeter of the tepee. He tamped tobacco into the bowl and lit it. Johann accepted the pipe in turn.
Anton studied their portable dwelling while Rain Shadow cleared away the remains of the food. Three remarkably large trunks were stowed on one side. Each had a lid, several drawers and locks. Robes and blankets made up one pile. Jugs, baskets and a few pans were stacked neatly alongside lanterns and several wooden crates. Just inside the opening was a sizable stack of firewood, and hanging from the interior was a ragged-edged hide with tiny pictures and symbols spiraling in a line from the center outward. Those he easily recognized as horses, birds and tepees.
"It's a calendar," she offered.