Tykota's Woman(42)

Hannah thanked her and began chatting to cover her sadness that her son would be leaving the next day.

After a while, Makinna withdrew from the conversation, concentrating on her misery. To never see Tykota again-how would she bear it?

"What do you think, Makinna?" she dimly heard him say. Belatedly, she realized that Mrs. Silverhorn had been speaking to her.

"I beg your pardon, I didn't hear what you said."

"My mother asked if you would consider remaining here on the ranch with her for a few weeks. She would love to have you. It is seldom she has another woman to talk to, apart from Frances, the cook."

Makinna would like nothing better than to stay at Biquera Ranch, where she could at least be near Tykota. But her mother's long illness had taught her to face painful truths, and she did so now: impossible as it seemed, she had to move on, resume her journey to California without Tykota.

"You are most kind, Mrs. Silverhorn, but my sister will worry if I do not arrive soon. Even now she must be wondering what has happened to me."

"You could write to her and explain that you are going to remain with us for a time," Hannah said hopefully.

"I'm sorry, but I must decline. My sister has surely made plans for us."

Somehow, Makinna managed to get through the meal, although she scarcely tasted the food that had been carefully prepared for the occasion. She was about to excuse herself and go to her room, when Tykota stood and spoke to Mrs. Silverhorn.

"Mother, will you excuse us? I wish to speak to Makinna."

"But I should help your mother clear away the dishes."

"Nonsense," Hannah said. "Frances has returned, and she will not welcome help from either of us. Go along with Ty."

Tykota indicated that Makinna should precede him, and when they were out of the dining room, he escorted her out the front door. They stood on the veranda, both with so much to say, yet neither willing to speak.

Makinna moved to the porch railing and gazed out at the ranch. The full moon was so bright, it looked almost like daytime. "It's so peaceful here," she said at last.

He came up beside her, resting one hand on the ornate post. "Yes. Yes, it is."

They were so close and yet not touching, but Makinna could feel his presence as strongly as if he were pressed against her. "So," she said, hoping her voice did not tremble, "you are going away tomorrow."

"I must."

"Your mother will miss you."

He seemed to be struggling to say something. At last he said in a harsh tone, "My life does not belong to me, Makinna."

He broke off and moved away from her. He gripped the railing with both hands, fearing he would take her in his arms if he didn't hold on to something. "My life was ordained for me the day I was born. The path I must follow leads away from here."

"Your mother told me that you are the new chief of the Perdenelas." She turned to him. "Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you trust me to keep your secret?"

"I do trust you, Makinna." He gazed toward the corral where the pintos, not accustomed to being fenced in, were trotting about restlessly. "I would trust you with my life. But I have never told anyone about my people."

"You must have heard what Mr. Rumford said about the Perdenelas that day in the stagecoach."

"I did."

"When he asked you if you knew anything about the tribe, you told him you didn't."

He let out a breath. "That is not what I said, Makinna. I told him I could tell him nothing. Which is not the same thing...."

"Yes, I see."

A long silence followed until Tykota turned to her.

"I just wanted to say that it has been an honor to know you, Makinna." He swallowed quickly before he continued. "I want to wish you happiness. I want... I want..."

She had never known him to be this uncertain. She stepped closer to him. "What do you want, Tykota?"

The words seemed ripped from his throat. "When you leave, you will take my... best wishes with you."

"Is that all?"

He reached out to her, pulling her against him. He rested his chin on top of her head. "Take my heart with you, Makinna, because no other woman will ever have it. But understand this: there is no place in my life or heart for a woman-any woman."

She was afraid she might cry. He had just admitted he cared for her, but not enough to take her with him. Her heart yearned for so much more. She could not speak.

He held her in silence. "I will never love a woman as I-" He broke off. "I do not want to hurt you, Makinna."

She raised her head and looked into his dark eyes. "Tykota." She touched his face. Her lips quivered, and pain she could hardly bear tore at her heart. "How can I endure it when you go?"