By Cheryl McCreary
Copyright 1999
Life had become stable for Buck again even if it could never return to normal. He couldn't go off and leave Isaac again. He knew that Isaac would never forgive him if he did. Buck didn't think that he could forgive himself. And so he stayed. But although he lived with the white world he didn't live in it.
Rachel had offered him the bedroom that was once his and Clara's. She had done it out of kindness. The small house had only three bedrooms. And he had been kind when he had explained to her that he couldn't spend a night in that room. Explained that it held too many memories of happier times that would never be again.
She then offered that he stay in Isaac's room. They could move on extra bed in. Again he had refused. He didn't want to live in a house with four walls. He couldn't, just like he couldn't ever sleep in a teepee again. Rachel had accepted his answer even though she didn't understand it.
Finally she offered that he sleep in the old bunkhouse. It was just used for storage and the rare guest now. He told her that that to held too many good memories for him. He couldn't go home. It would never be the same. He was okay with this now.
Buck had told her that he would sleep under the stars. It was the only place that he felt at home. She hadn't accepted that as a possibility. She cared about him too much to let him sleep out in the cold alone. She had told him that he would stay in the tack room in the barn. It wasn't a house, it wasn't the bunkhouse. Her statement had been a command not a request. And Buck had agreed to it.
His relationship with Rachel would never be as warm as it had once been. But they had come to some understanding. She was glad that he wanted to stay. Even though she hadn't given birth to little Ike, he was her child. She was the one that had woke up to feed him in the middle of the night, she changed dirty diapers, watched his first step. She was the one that stayed by his bed when he was sick, comforted him he had got hurt. She had never been a mother before. And even though Ike never called her mom, there was an understanding between the two of them that she was.
Rachel had come to realize that she could give Ike all the love and tenderness that she had and something would still be missing from his life. Buck was the only one that could give Isaac what she couldn't. He needed Buck to be there for him. And Rachel imagined that Buck needed Isaac too.
Even if Rachel and Buck no longer understood each other they still both loved Isaac. And Isaac needed both of them. Buck wasn't about to take his son away from Rachel.
Rachel never asked him about the past. She tried not to mention Ike and Clara to him. She never did ask what he had done while he was gone. She knew the little bit that he had told them all that first night. And she left it at that. She didn't really want to know. What mattered most to her was that Buck was there for Isaac, and he was. Buck remembered the first time he had gone off to the wilderness by himself. Teaspoon and Isaac knew that he just needed to get away from the white world. He needed to be alone with nature. Rachel however had her doubts. She thought that maybe he'd keep on riding like he had done all those years ago. She was a little surprised when 3 days later he showed back up at her breakfast table.
Buck often took short trips into the wilderness. At times he would just relax and visit with nature. Enjoying the soft sounds of the wilderness instead of the loud noise of Rock Creek. At times he would hunt and bring back game. He would fix them over the fire in the Kiowa tradition for Isaac. And at times he would ride to the Kiowa camp and spend time with Red Bear. Red Bear and the rest of the tribe wanted Buck to fight again. They knew he was a good warrior and he could be of use in their war. But Buck had told Red Bear that he couldn't fight any more. That if he did what little shred of humanity and goodness that was left in him would die. Red Bear had accepted the answer. Had told the rest of the tribe of it. It was an odd feeling for Buck, he could live with either of his worlds, white or red. And both of them respected and accepted him. But he didn't live in either of the worlds. He was just visiting. He soul had always been split in half. But now although his soul was still made of two parts it was whole. He had spent his life feeling like he was being pulled apart by two worlds. But now he stood between them. He had created a world that was all his own. And by doing this he was finally whole.
Buck allowed no one into this world of his own, no one but Isaac. He did eventually tell Isaac the whole story of his life. He told him about growing up with the Kiowa. Told him about his mother and Red Bear. He told him about the catholic orphanage and about Ike. He told him of the Pony Express, who had become the family he didn't have. He told him about Clara and how happy they had been. He told him of Morning Dawn and Soaring Eagle, his brother. Buck told all this to Isaac. And Isaac listened quietly. Taking all the stories into his soul. Buck and Isaac did share an understanding that no one else seemed to get. The name Isaac was appropriate. They were the two people in Buck's live that truly understood him. Buck was content in the new world he had created if not happy. He figured that he would probably never be happy. Life had taken from him something that he couldn't ever regain. And without that he would never truly be happy again. But Buck accepted this.
Buck had begun to teach Isaac of the Kiowa world. Rachel and Teaspoon and Rock Creek had taught him of the white world. Now Buck taught him of the red. To do it right would take Buck years. He had started to teach Isaac the basics of horsemanish and hunting and tracking. He told him ancient stories of the Kiowa. He taught him of the Indian religion, the Great Spirit, the great hunting grounds in the other world. He told him of the customs and traditions of the Kiowa. Isaac was a very good student. He enjoyed learning. And he wished to know all he could of the Kiowa.
Buck enjoyed Isaac's presence. They would take walks to the pond and talk as they had done that first afternoon they meet. Or Buck would take Isaac riding with him on the bare back of Rolling Thunder. They would ride over the hills and just enjoy nature and each other. Buck couldn't image a day without Isaac. He wished the world wouldn't ever take him away too. Buck knew that he couldn't live with that grief. He prayed to the Great Spirit and God to be allowed this one thing of joy in his life. He hoped that they heard his prayers. And Buck had been right, Isaac had grown to love him, understand him and know him, even better than Ike ever had. This child him and Clara had created was his salvation from the harsh world that life had given him. Ike had been right also. Isaac did need him. Kiowa blood still coursed through his veins. The white world had erased his Indian heritage from his features but not from his heart. Isaac needed him to show him the power of the Kiowa blood he possessed. To show him it's glory and nature. And Buck accepted this task with a happy heart.
Buck had set up the tack room in the barn as his home as Rachel had insisted. It contained all the things in this life that he held dear to him. The furnishings were sparse. A small cot sat against one wall, a thick buffalo blanket the only covers on it. An old worn desk sat against the other wall. It was filled with memories, a framed picture of Clara, a jewelry bow he had got her while they courted that played the first song they danced to. A pair of Isaac's baby booties that Clara had knitted. A wooden horse toy that had belonged to Soaring Eagle, the beaded necklace Morning Dawn had wore at their wedding, Ike's hat and worn red bandana. Clara's favorite shawl graced the back of the only chair. His memories covered the walls also. A picture of his complete Pony Express family. A drawing on buffalo hide of Morning Dawn holding an infant Soaring Eagle. An Indian bow that he would someday teach Isaac to use, a quiver full of arrows. Ike's gun and gun belt that someday he would give to Isaac also. His life and memories filled that small room.
In front of the bed sat an old trunk. It was filled with the parts of his life he still didn't want to think of and would rather forget, his old boots and hat from the Pony Express, Clara's wedding dress, his buckskin leggings and breech cloth. Ike's journal of the first days of the Pony Express and Clara's diary were both inside. Maybe someday he would read them to Isaac. The bible and a crucifix he had been given in the orphanage.
His war shirt was in that trunk. He had thought of throwing it away, tossing into the fire. But it was part of his past. It would be with him whether it existed in that trunk or not. To the Kiowa that shirt showed his deeds as a warrior. To get rid of it would mean disgracing his Indian blood.
He had taken the war shirt out one day. To think about the deeds that it symbolized, the actions he had taken to make it. He couldn't go back to that life. He couldn't fight like that anymore. But his heart knew that what the Kiowa fought for was right, whether or not they went about fighting correctly.
Teaspoon had seen him looking at the shirt. The old marshal knew what it was. Knew what it stood for. He saw the scapls, the bloody handprints. He knew it belonged to Buck. But he had asked no questions of Buck. He had allowed Buck to put it back in its place in the trunk without a word.
There were lots of unspoken word between him and Teaspoon. The ex-stationmaster knew that Buck was no longer his charge. He also knew that life had taught Buck some harsh lessons and nothing Teaspoon said could add to that learning. Teaspoon had pieced together the outline of Buck's life already. Buck knew this. And they left it at that. Unless he told the old lawman his knowledge of Buck's past would remain guesses.
Teaspoon had seen the picture of the Indian woman and child. He knew that they had belonged to Buck. He had seen the toy horse. And thus assumed the infant was Buck's son. Figured that they were now dead. And assumed that the cavalry had something to do with that. He had seen the war shirt. He knew that Buck had been a very good warrior. And he knew how bloody an Indian battle could be. Knew the nightmares and regrets that went along with it. And Teaspoon knew that this was just the backbone of a lifetime of hardships, pain and grief that Buck had already lived.
Teaspoon knew all of this and never asked Buck of it. It was agreed that they would not talk and share their personal lives. Buck knew that the old marshal and Rachel were somehow involved with each other. He knew that Teaspoon would tell Isaac and him that he was going to share a cup of coffee with Rachel after they went to bed. And then his horse would remain in the barn. He would spend the night in Rachel's bed and ride out early the next morning. Or at times he would arrive after Isaac was in bed and then say that he had just showed up to bedfast.
Buck cared little about Rachel and Teaspoon having such a relationship. He wondered when it had happened. Why neither of them wanted others to know. He suspected that they shared deep feelings for each other. He knew that Rachel thought fondly of the former Texas Ranger that was almost old enough to be her father. And he had the feeling that Teaspoon had strong feelings toward Rachel too.
It had been unspokeningly agreed between Buck and Teaspoon that they not ask each other of their secrets. So Buck asked nothing about Rachel and the nights Teaspoon spent in her bed. And Teaspoon asked nothing of Buck's Indian wife and son and the battles he had fought with the Kiowa.
And their relationship worked well that way. Teaspoon had needed a deputy and Buck had accepted the job when he asked. They knew each other well. They knew each other's joys and pains, and no words said between them would enhance this.
And so Buck's life was stable and content. He was more at peace with himself and the world than he had been for a long time. But somehow he felt that something was still missing. Ike had agreed with him and told him that soon things would change. Soon life would make more sense.
On to Chapter Nine
