Page 17 of The Last Warrior

Snow was falling gently as the train slid into the Denver station. The screech of the brakes, the blare of the horn, the sounds of humanity scrambling for their possessions broke into Suzette’s thoughts. But even still, such affairs barely registered.

Although she was cold, weary of the constant traveling and anxious about the sort of reception which awaited her, her mind was as far away from the business of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway as if such matters as new trains and their stations were commonplace. To Suzette, it was simply another conveyance, and there had been many in this past month: ships, stagecoaches, trains. She grabbed her purse and bag, lingering in her semiprivate compartment when the others on the train were scrambling to depart.

What was Irena going to say to her? Would she shoot questions at her one after the other, curious to know why Suzette had traveled all this way to join her here in the American West? Would she want to know the details as to why she had left England?

Of course by now Irena would know of her broken engagement. Suzette’s mother was sure to have included this little tidbit in her letter to Suzette’s grandmother. Did Irena know also of her granddaughter’s embarrassment? Worse yet, was she aware of the scandal of Suzette’s predicament?

Hopefully not. Certainly Suzette would try to hide the particulars of her condition for as long as possible.

A whistle blew, bringing Suzette back to the present. Looking around her, she realized most everyone who was going to depart had left the car, save her. Squaring back her shoulders and drawing in a deep breath, she at last rose from her seat, settled her hat on her head and stepped away from the refuge of the train.

“Suzette! Suzette! Dear, how good it is to see you.”

Irena rushed toward Suzette, accompanied by the colorful figure of Buffalo Bill Cody.

Suzette smiled reservedly at her grandmother as the two of them approached. “Irena.” Suzette set down her bags. “How glad I am to see you. I’m also happy to realize you must have received my mother’s letter.”

“Of course we did. We’re not entirely away from all civilization here. But come closer, my dear, and give me a hug.”

Suzette did as requested. As soon as Irena’s arms wound around her, she knew an uncanny desire to cry. She refrained from doing so, however. Indeed, too much English blood flowed through her veins to break her reserve in so public a place.

“You do remember Mr. Cody, don’t you, dear?”

“Of course.” Suzette offered Cody her gloved hand.

“Welcome to Colorado, Miss Joselyn.” Cody accepted her hand and bent to present a kiss upon it. “Your grandmother tells me you are quite the actress, as well as a singer. Maybe we could⁠—”

“That’s all in my past.” Suzette smiled at him, as if to take away the sting of her words.

“Yes, well, come along, dear,” Irena said. “We’ll collect the rest of your luggage. I am assuming you have a trunk?”

Suzette nodded.

“Very well. This way, then. I imagine you’re tired and hungry and ready to do nothing more than sleep for several days. There’s no better place to do so than Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. I have ample space in my very luxurious tent…” Irena sent Cody an engaging grin, “…and you can even have your own room within my rather large…well, I’ve come to think of it as my apartment, although it is only a tent.”

“Yes,” agreed Suzette. “This would be good. Very good, indeed. Pray, I think I could use a rest. The journey here has been…pleasant, but it has also been long, and in my…” She paused, realizing she had been about to say, in my condition. Instead, she drew in a deep breath, then said, “I am, indeed, tired.”

Irena took hold of Suzette’s arm, and though the action was simple, Suzette immediately felt better. “Then come along, dear. You’ll soon be back on your feet again, good as new.”

Suzette smiled at Irena. Perhaps what she said might be true in five or six more months. But more about this later. For now, she did need the rest. Later, she and Irena would talk.

Black Lion trudged through the snow en route to the Song Bird’s tent, the woman whom the white people knew and referred to as Irena. As his feet sank into the sprinkling of the cold, white flakes, Black Lion blessed his good luck. In addition to a business arrangement, he had nurtured an unusual friendship with this woman. It was fortunate to have done so, because the Song Bird was a being of music and art.

It was also a godsend for him to bask in her friendship. Maybe in time it would be through her that he might discover the one special song which would free his people.

Although in this regard he was uncertain, since, though his dreams were filled with a feminine voice, it was not the voice of the Song Bird. But he could be wrong.

Still, when they were together, Black Lion would often ask the Song Bird to sing for him. Always he requested her to render him a different song, and there was a purpose behind his entreaties. Someday, when all this was over, he might confess the motives of his soul to her, for even though he must, he felt as though he were using her for his own gain.

However, the time for his confession was not now.

At present, time was his enemy. Alas, he had only one year remaining in which to end his people’s enchantment, only one more year to solve the riddle of the song.

If he failed… But such was unthinkable. He mustn’t fail.

“Auntie,” he called out, as he reached the Song Bird’s tent and scratched on the entry flap. “Auntie?”

He alone addressed her in this manner. Since the Wild West Show had come to roost here in Colorado, Black Lion had begun to think of this woman more as family than as a friend. In truth, she looked after his needs, checked on his comfort and spoke to him as a mother might a son. This was why he had started calling her Auntie, in honor of the custom of his people.