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her straw bonnet and its matching green velveteen bow tied beneath her delicate chin, Melanie walked alongside Shane on the wood-planked sidewalk in St. Paul, proud of his transformation. He had been fitted for several fashionable suits. Many would take several days to be ready for him, but they had managed to find a few that were ready to wear, and the one he wore now fit him to perfection.
Out of the corner of her eye, Melanie looked at Shane admiringly. His black cutaway coat emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. His shirt was dazzling white against his tanned face, an abundance of ruffles spilling over his embroidered waistcoat. His fawn-colored trousers fit him like a glove and were worn down on his boots, even touching the sidewalk in the back, with a strap under the foot.
But one thing was amiss. He had refused to buy a hat or have his hair cut. His golden hair was drawn back from his brow and hung long, just past his shoulders.
''Shane, you look quite handsome," Melanie said, shifting her velveteen purse from one hand to the other. "I hope you feel comfortable in your new clothes. Do you?"
Running a finger around the collar of his shirt, stretching it away from his neck, Shane gave Melanie an awkward smile. "I know I have much to get used to now that I no longer live with the Indians," he said, his voice drawn. "Wearing these damnable tight clothes may be the worst of the lot,
Melanie. Nothing feels better than buckskin against the flesh. Nothing."
Melanie elbowed her way through a crowd of men standing in front of a saloon, relieved when Shane slipped an arm around her waist and helped her along, away from their leering, drunken stares. "Thank you," she murmured. "I have found that shopping in St. Paul can sometimes be quite challenging. If a riverboat has just arrived with an onslaught of new settlers to the community, one never knows what to expect of the men who seek out the saloons even before a decent meal. My father never allowed me to come to town alone. But since his death, I do pretty much as I please."
"Perhaps that isn't wise," Shane said. "You can't trust everyone the way you did me, Melanie. When your brother warned you against being reckless, perhaps you should have listened."
He looked over his shoulder at the saloon they had just passed. He had heard the clink of coins and the shuffling of cards. It was arousing a hunger in him that had begun the day he had learned the game of poker from a trapper. Though he had never played poker anywhere but in the Indian village, he could not help but wonder how far his skills would take him in a white man's establishment. He would give it a try the first chance he got.
Melanie looked up at Shane, aghast. "How can you defend anything Terrance says or does?" she gasped. "Shane, he has been anything but polite to you."
"I'm not defending him," Shane said, his eyes
locking with hers. "It's you I'm concerned over. Though I admire your adventurous nature, I would hate to see you let it get out of hand. Melanie, this world we live in isn't all that safe or nice."
Melanie sighed. Her shoulders drooped as she looked away from Shane. "Yes, I know," she murmured. "But it is a world I have learned to live in and have done quite well for myself, thank you."
Shane's attention was drawn to a huge, impressive house across the street, on the corner of Minnesota and Bench streets, where the American flag fluttered on a pole in front.
Melanie sensed his silence and followed his gaze. "That's St. Paul's Central House," she said. "That's where the Minnesota territorial legislature meets to discuss the tax laws, the territory's school system, and the plans for a capitol building that should be completed in a couple of years."
"Capitol building?" Shane said, forking an eyebrow.
"St. Paul is the capital of the Minnesota Territory," Melanie said. "One day soon, Minnesota will become a state. I am so glad to be a part of this thriving community. When I was small, before there was ever a trace of a city here, I had doubted there ever would be. Everything seemed so untamable."
She looked up at Shane and said softly, "Your future was changed because of everything being so wild. But I doubt if there are any men left in the territory who would do anything as horrible as those white men did who massacred the ship's passengers that day."
"Twenty-five years have passed, but I cannot believe the man with the peculiar eyes has given up his evil ways," Shane said.
"I have dreamed of the day that I will avenge my mother's death and I plan to look into those strange-colored eyes again soon. It has been said by many Chippewa that he has been seen. I will search for him soon. He is the same as dead."
A shudder coursed through Melanie. She stopped and grabbed Shane's hands, stopping him. "Shane, I understand how you feel," she said. "But I'm sorry I brought up the past today. I've had such fun shopping with you. Let's not spoil it by talking about that terrible man." She looked down at a cigar that was barely visible in his waistcoat pocket. Her eyes twinkled. "Let's talk about that cigar you bought when I wasn't looking. My word, Shane, don't tell me you're going to smoke that thing."
A slow smile lifted Shane's lips. He glanced down at the cigar, then at Melanie. "I smoke a fine cigar every chance I get," he said, chuckling. "I've managed to get cigars on occasion when trappers or traders came to the village." His eyes took on a haunted look as he again glanced at the cigar. "The old chief even learned to like cigars. If he wasn't smoking his pipe, he was smoking a cigar. That old man liked nothing better than his smoke, cards and whiskey."
Melanie's eyes widened. "What?" she said incredulously. "An Indian chief who liked not only
cigars and whiskey, but also cards? What sort?" In her mind's eye she was recalling the deck of cards that she had found close to Shane's belongings that morning when she had returned for him. In the moments of passion that followed she had forgotten to ask him about them.
"Poker," Shane said, shrugging casually. "What other sort of cards are there?"
Melanie was at a loss of words for a moment, then she laughed. "My Lord," she said, swinging back around to Shane's side, to walk alongside him again. "I guess I have much to learn about your friends, the Indians, don't I?"
"If you want to learn, I will be more than pleased to teach you," Shane said, his chin held proudly high. "Just as I accept your teachings about things that I have not had a chance to learn through my years of living away from the white man."
Melanie spied a millinery shop just ahead. Her one weakness was hats. She could hardly ever pass a window display of hats without going inside the shop to buy one. She looked anxiously up at Shane, then back at the shop. "Shane, I know how eager you must be to get back to your father," she said. "But I would like to make one last stop before returning home." She pleaded up at him with her seductive brown eyes. "Would you mind?"
"Father says he sleeps the afternoon away," Shane said, smiling down at her. "He doesn't expect me at his bedside until later this evening.
You take all the time you need. Where do you want to go?"
