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Although he was of a white heritage, his skin was bronzed dark from the sun and wind, and his hair was black, sleek and long like the Navaho, held back by a brightly colored bandanna. Today he wore fringed clothes, making him look even more Indian. Prejudice against him being there emanated from the other diners as Stephanie took Runner by the arm and led him to a table.
Runner could feel molten hot eyes on him. He surmised that those people who were staring at him knew by the way he was dressed that he was the “White Indian” everyone had heard rumors about.
Stephanie was only now aware that Runner would not know the proper manners required for dining out. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? She hurriedly sat down without his assistance so that it would look like she was the one who was uneducated in proper etiquette.
When Runner still stood there, stiff and quiet, she feared that he was going to change his mind and leave. Then he scooted his chair out and sat down, and she heaved a deep sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry if I am the cause for you being uncomfortable,” she said, leaning over the table so that only he could hear her. “If you’d rather leave, I would understand.”
“I have faced worse ridicule,” Runner said, his shoulders proudly squared. As the candle’s glow shone in flickering shadows on Stephanie’s face, everything and everyone but her was forgotten. She was ever so beautiful.
His uneasi
ness returned when a waitress stepped up and asked to take their order. He looked around him and noticed that there were several young ladies who served as waitresses. They wore long black dresses, flowing white aprons, and hair bows.
“The menu,” Stephanie whispered over at Runner. “You must choose what you want from the menu.”
She knew that he had gone to school, enabling him to read. Yet as he picked up the menu and his eyes began to scan the entries, she could see that he was confused.
“If you wish, I shall order for both of us,” Stephanie suggested softly.
“I shall order for you and myself,” Runner said, surprising Stephanie.
“That would be fine,” she said. She closed her menu, turned a soft smile up at the waitress and twined her fingers together on her lap, waiting.
“There are varied meals to choose from,” Runner said, trying to recall the taste of those things that were familiar to him long ago. “There is halibut, chicken, roast veal, and spring lamb for seventy-five cents each. This will be served with a vegetable and sweets.”
The waitress began to tap her fingers on the pad on which she was going to write the order. “Sir, please make up your mind,” she said in a whiney voice. “There are others waiting.”
“Two roast veal,” Runner said, closing the menu.
“And two glasses of red wine,” Stephanie quickly interjected.
The waitress nodded and walked away.
Runner’s lips parted in a light gasp. “I do not carry money with me,” he whispered across the table to Stephanie. “I have no means to pay for these things.”
“I’ll pay for it,” Stephanie whispered back. “Just try and enjoy it.”
“I would much rather eat in the privacy of my hogan,” Runner said. He looked uneasily from table to table, aware that wondering, angry eyes were still locked on him. “To these people I am almost an alien. Do they not know that I feel the same about them?”
“Who cares what they think? Anyhow, we won’t be here for long,” Stephanie murmured. She paused and then added, “I guess you are seeing, firsthand, what you have missed by living with Indians. I see that you do not regret your decision at all.”
“If not for you, I would walk away now and not look back,” Runner said stiffly. He ran a hand across the white Irish linen tablecloth and stared at the Sheffield silver plate on which his food was now being served. As a long-stemmed glass was set beside his plate of food, he watched the glow of the candle reflect deep within it, like the stars at night, sparkling down at him from the heavens.
“If there is anything else you need, please ask for me,” the waitress said, doing a half curtsy. “My name is Bridgit.”
“I think that will be all,” Stephanie said, smiling up at the waitress. “Oh, just a minute. Please leave the ticket. I doubt if we will be interested in dessert.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bridgit said. She took the ticket from her pocket and placed in on the table beside Runner.
After the waitress was gone, Stephanie scooted her hand over and took the ticket, tucking it in a pocket of her riding skirt. In silence, they ate within the soft glow of the candle’s light.
Stephanie was glad when they left the lunchroom. As she went down the stairs, she was trying to get the nerve to ask Runner to spend the night at the hotel with her. But that was thrust from her mind the minute she stepped outside. One look at her pack mule made her realize that someone had stolen not only her precious camera, but even the saddlebags in which she had kept all of her photography equipment. Even her tripod had been taken.
“No,” she cried, rushing to her mule. “It’s all gone!” She turned to Runner. “While we were eating, someone took everything from my mule.”
Anger swelled up inside her. She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m surprised they even left the mule and the horses,” she spat out.
