Wolf Runner by Constance O'Banyon Page B

her.
    Frowning, Cheyenne saw something tucked behind the frame—an envelope. She carefully slid it out andstared at it for a long moment. It was from Indian Territory, from a Mr. Samuel Dickens.
    “Hmm,” she said aloud, wondering whom the letter was from, and why her gram had hidden it away.
    Removing the letter from the envelope she held it to the lamp and began to read:
Dear Mrs. Gatlin,
    Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Indian agent for the Cheyenne tribe in Indian Territory. Chief Bold Eagle has asked me to make inquiries about his daughter’s child, whom he has reason to believe is your granddaughter. He is most anxious to hear about the child and would appreciate any words of comfort you can offer him about his deceased daughter’s child.
    Sincerely,
Mr. Samuel Dickens
    P.S. Since writing the above the Cheyenne people have been relocated to Montana. If you will write to me, I will make certain the letter reaches Chief Bold Eagle.
    I have told him that it is unlikely he will ever find the child. But this does not dampen his spirits. If he cannot see her, he would like to know if she is thriving. If you can help set his mind at ease, you will have his gratitude, as well as mine.
    Cheyenne held the letter to her breast as fresh tears washed down her cheeks.
    She had family, a grandfather!
    And he wanted to see her.
    Of course, the letter was dated three years earlier. Bold Eagle might be dead by now.
    Why had her grandmother never mentioned to her that she had family looking for her?
    Had Gram ever answered the letter?
    Cheyenne did not think so.
    If anything, Gram would have gone to great lengths to keep her granddaughter away from the Cheyenne tribe.
    Someone knocked on the door and Cheyenne’s head jerked up. She wiped her tears on her apron before she went to answer it. Maria was still sick with a fever, so it would not be her, and Señor Mendoza was not coming with the wagon for a couple of days.
    When she opened the door shock registered in her mind—she had never spoken to the woman who stood on the doorstep staring back at her, but she recognized Mrs. Sullivan. She wondered if the woman had come to ask her to vacate her husband’s property.
    “Would you like to come in?” Cheyenne asked, stepping aside.
    “Indeed I do,” the woman ground out. “I certainly want to talk to you.”
    Nancy Sullivan was a small-boned woman with thin, light brown hair. She was pretty despite the dark circles underneath her eyes. Her blue-and-white gingham gown was made of the finest quality material and not store-bought, but probably ordered from some fancy dress shop back East.
    “If you like coffee, I could make some,” Cheyenne offered.
    Looking about the cluttered room Nancy Sullivan’s thin lips curled in distaste. “No. I don’t want any.”
    Quickly removing a stack of books from a chair and placing them on the floor, Cheyenne said, “Please forgive the mess. As you see, I’m packing. If you have come to inquire when I will be leaving, I will have most of the things out in two days.”
    Nancy Sullivan glared at the young woman, casting her a smug glance. “I have not come to ask you to vacate the house. I came with a warning.”
    Mr. Sullivan’s wife was plainly angry and Cheyenne could not understand why. “A warning?”
    “Yes, my girl. I’m warning you to stay away from my husband. Don’t deny you are after him, ’cause I know you are.”
    Feeling her face pale, Cheyenne stared at her uninvited guest as if she had lost her mind. “I do deny it! I don’t want anything to do with your husband. Why would I?”
    “Of course you’d say that to throw me off track.” The woman gave Cheyenne a wintery smile. “Do you deny he was with you the very night your grandmother was buried?” the woman asked, glaring at Cheyenne. “He was seen coming in here.”
    “He came to tell me he owned this house and to offer me a job. He said you would approve—I didn’t believe him.”
    Mrs. Sullivan’s face