Chapter 10

The bright light of early morning streams into the hall as Ike steps through the doorway of his bedroom and quietly pulls the door shut behind him. He's wearing his customary smile again, and his step is lighter than it has been in days. With fears and worries put to rest by last night's meeting, he was able to sleep peacefully, the nightmares finally gone. Now he can hardly wait to visit his grandmother for breakfast as she requested, but first there's something he needs to do. Carefully slipping his notepad and pencil into his vest pocket, he looks up and down the hall, not even sure where to begin. Only half joking, he toys with the idea of finding a ball of string and tying one end to the latch of his room, just in case he gets lost in this mammoth house.

I could take a wrong turn and it would be weeks before they found me! I could starve to death! he thinks, and then with a smirk another thought flashes past. I'm starting to sound like Cody...

Grinning at himself, he finally just shrugs his shoulders and starts down the hall to his right, figuring he'll find who he seeks eventually. Half an hour, three linen closets, six bedrooms, two parlors, a water closet, a kitchen, two pantries, and one laundry room later Ike finally comes upon a cheery sitting room where the woman he's been looking for sits writing a letter.

"Good morning, Ike," Lorraine calls as she glances up at his knock. "Come in and sit down. I was just finishing some business."

Ike enters the richly furnished room and awkwardly sits on the offered sofa, feeling dreadfully out of place among the finery.

"And how are those hands and wrists of yours today?" Lorraine asks, moving over to sit next to him. She's dressed in an elegant frock of dark blue and, despite her grey hair, looks every bit the refined lady.

Ike holds up his hands still swathed in the white cloths for her to see and shrugs his shoulders. In truth, they're still quite tender and stiff with his wrists slightly swollen, but as long as he can move them and sign he's not going to waste time thinking about them.

"Well, you must promise to let me look at them again later today at least."

Reluctantly, he nods. He'd been hoping to avoid being fussed over again by Lorraine, but it's not worth trying to argue about.

"So, what did you want, Ike? I'm assuming you weren't looking for me just to pass the time. Is there something you need?"

Before he loses his nerve, Ike reaches into his vest and pulls out the pad of paper and his pencil. Not wanting to play the normal guessing game approach to communication, he hands Lorraine the pad with his note already written.

Can you tell me about my grandmother, please? What she's like? Her life?

"Ah," Lorraine smiles at the young man sitting nervously before her, looking like a bashful schoolboy. Such a change from the distant, shattered lad of only yesterday morning. "So you want to know more about Margaret?" she continues after a moment.

Eagerly, Ike nods. Maybe by knowing more about his grandmother's past and personality he can better figure out his own, and maybe it can help fill the void he didn't even know there was in his life until that letter came.

Lorraine returns the paper to Ike, and a faraway looks steals across her eyes, as though she sees the past parading before her.

"Margaret and I grew up together, here in Philadelphia. I was an only child and she was the youngest of four brothers, so we became like sisters. She is two years older than me, but it never seemed to matter. Both coming from important families, we enjoyed the privileges of society to the fullest, constantly going to socials, parties, and balls. As a girl, Margaret was vibrant and outgoing, always the life of the party. And stubborn too! She'd get her mind set and there was no changing it!"

Ike grins at her last words, knowing he was right. That's at least one character trait he shares with his grandmother. Almost as though she can read his thoughts, Lorraine smiles back. "Yes, I do believe you resemble her in that area. Of course your mother and your grandfather were just as obstinate, so there really wasn't any way you could escape it."

Soaking up Lorraine's information like a dry sponge, a million questions tumble through Ike's mind, and he wishes with all his heart he could just blurt them out, but he can't and writing just isn't fast enough, not like a real conversation. Grabbing his pencil, he selects carefully and writes only one down.

What was my grandfather like?

Before he'd been so wrapped up in worrying about his grandmother, the woman he was going to meet, he hadn't given more that a passing thought to his grandfather. Now he suddenly finds himself curious to know more about this man he was named after. His mother obviously must have loved him, even after what happened, otherwise she wouldn't have named her firstborn son for him.

Lorraine sighs before speaking again. "Isaac Lowe was a proud, stubborn man, and some people used to say he had no heart. He knew exactly what he wanted in life – riches – and went after them with a vengeance. He was a sea captain by twenty-five and made his fortune trading around the world by the time he was thirty. Your grandmother and I met him at a party one night. He was boasting of his prowess at riddles, claiming no one had ever bested him. Margaret never could resist a good challenge and so, with fire in her eyes, she took him on. It was quite the sight, the giant bearded captain and the tiny dark-haired girl of only eighteen locked in a battle of wits. Your grandmother won the match, and somehow she also won his heart, the one people swore he didn't have. Against the advice of her family, and yes, even me, she married him when he asked. He was thirteen years her senior but they loved each other, so what could we say? He quit sailing and instead founded a woolen mill and doubled his fortune in just two years."

Ike listens in amazement to this tale. A gloomy, mysterious sea captain…a bright-eyed young girl…fortune and riches; it all sounds like something from one of Cody's adventure stories! He can hardly believe that he's listening to his own family history! He's spent most of his life believing he was just another orphan and a misfit. His parents were just poor farmers descended from generations of other poor farmers and though he's always been proud of his name and his family, he never imagined there was anything remarkable about them! But the more he learns the more in awe he is. Finding his pencil once more, he scribbles a question that's been gnawing at his mind.

Was he good to her? Did he love her?

"Oh yes, Ike, he loved her. He loved her fiercely and she him. Their arguments could set the whole neighborhood trembling in terror but they only seemed to strengthen your grandparents' love for each other. She was the only person I've ever met who could stand up to him, and I believe he adored her for it in his own gruff way. So yes, he loved her, and she knew it, he just couldn't show it in the way the rest of the world thought he should."

Lorraine pauses to once again gaze at the boy before her. Seeing his eyes bright with eagerness, she's struck with a thought. Her whole life she's been surrounded by people, family and friends, and she can name them all, right down to the second wife of her great-aunt Nellie's brother-in-law. But for most of his life, the young man sitting next to her has had no one; a life lived mostly alone, and judging from what she's seen herself, undoubtedly it hasn't been an easy one. The deep longing to understand more, to belong, shines out from his face, and Lorraine marvels at the fact that she knows more about his own story than he does. Her heart goes out to him and she smiles affectionately as she continues.

"They were married for eight years before your mother was born. It was a terrible labor and we nearly lost both mother and child several times. Isaac paced the halls like a ghost, not saying a word. I'd never seen him silent for that long. It was as though he was seeing his life for the first time. When the doctor informed us they would both live, he broke down and cried like a child. From that day on he was a changed man, every bit as stubborn, but ever mindful of how blessed he truly was. He became the kind of doting father and husband everyone dreams about, and your mother was his pride and joy. Margaret and MaryAnne were very close as well, always laughing and singing, but your mother practically worshiped her father. She went everywhere with him, and he spoiled her tremendously."

Ike absentmindedly fingers the almost worn-out letter still in his vest pocket as he listens. He can pretty much piece together the rest of their, no his, story from the paragraphs he's practically memorized, but he wants to hear it again, in person. He needs to know how he could have been forgotten and overlooked for ten long years.

"Clark McSwain was not the polished, refined, and wealthy suitor Margaret and Isaac had always pictured for their daughter. The orphaned son of immigrant parents, he had hardly a penny to his name. True, he was honest, respectful, hard-working, and MaryAnne adored him, but it wasn't enough. Your grandfather said he hadn't worked his way up the latter of success for his family to have his daughter throw it all away and marry a pauper. Margaret didn't mind his lack of money as much as she did his heritage. Your father was Irish and she was brought up believing the Irish were troublemakers, swindlers, and fools. I don't think she ever saw Clark that way, but she just couldn't put so many years of hating aside so quickly. There was a terrible row one night and come morning, MaryAnne was gone, eloped with your father and off to start her own life. Your grandparents were devastated and Isaac reacted by reverting to his former, unapproachable self. He swore MaryAnne was never welcome in his home again, and he forbid Margaret to contact her. It was the only time she ever lost a battle with him.

"Your mother tried to keep in touch, Ike, to seek forgiveness. She wrote me several times, knowing I would get word to them. She sent a wedding picture and I got letters when you and your sister were born."

Ike looks at Lorraine in surprise. So his grandparents had known about him.

"I gave the letters to your grandmother and she read them over and over. She often talked about the two of you, wondering what you were like, where you were, what you were doing. She forgave your parents the moment she realized what she had done, and in truth, I think Isaac did as well, he was just too prideful and hurt to change and Margaret felt she must be loyal to her husband. And then the letters stopped coming. Margaret always assumed it was because she never wrote back."

Ike's eyes fill with pain at what those words imply, and Lorraine feels such sorrow for this boy. She reaches out and gathers his hands into her own.

"Oh, Ike, if they had known the real reason, neither your grandmother nor your grandfather would have left you out there all alone!

Hearing this, Ike quickly looks away, his eyes filling with unshed tears he's trying not to let fall. He only looks back with Lorraine speaks again.

"Isaac," she says, using his given name for the first time, "your grandmother loves you. You can't change the past, but there is still the future..."

For several moments silences hangs in the room as Ike ponders what she's just said, then he pulls his hands away and writes another note.

Why did she start looking for me, after all that time?

Realizing he needs the story to be completed, Lorraine continues. "Three years ago, Isaac's mill burned down and your grandfather collapsed trying to save it. He died just two days later and Margaret was devastated. She'd lost her husband and most of her wealth in one blow. My own husband had died only one year earlier and I was lonely, so I invited Margaret to come live with me, thinking we could comfort each other. We did, but it wasn't enough for your grandmother. She was suddenly consumed with the idea of finding her daughter and family again. She wanted to make amends and she didn't want to be alone. The few letters your mother had sent me gave us a place to start and Margaret spent most of what remained of her money on the tireless search. Even after all that, it was only by Providence that we ever found you."

She finishes and Ike sits for a long time, pondering over the last hour's conversation. He has so much to think about! In only sixty minutes he's gone from the freak orphan with barely a past to a person with a rich and vivid history. It's almost more than he can take in all at once, but there is just one more question he has to ask.

Why did you write me the letter? Why didn't my grandmother do it?

Again she sighs before answering. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ike. The last few years have been hard on Margaret. Her health declined rapidly after Isaac passed on and though she recovered, she never really got her strength back. Her rheumatism troubles her greatly and lately her hands have trembled too much for her to do many things she used to enjoy, including writing. But just knowing you were coming has given her back more of her old spark and vigor than anything the doctor has prescribed." She smiles warmly with her last words and Ike returns it, though his heart feels a sliver of fear knowing the grandmother he has just found is so fragile, but he shoves the thought aside. Once again, he writes the words he can't say out loud and gives the paper to the woman next to him, a woman who has just give him more than she probably realizes.

Thank you very much! I wish I could tell you...

With a catch in her own throat, she gazes at him and shakes her head. "No, thank you, Ike. Thank you for coming and making my best friend smile again." Then trying to change the subject before their emotions run away she adds, "Speaking of which, hadn't you better hurry along? Margaret will be waiting for you, and she hates it if her eggs get cold."

With a grin and a nod, Ike gathers his paper and pencil and returns them to his pocket, then hurries to the door, but he pauses one last time and turns around. Solemnly, he looks at Lorraine and using his own language this time he signs, *Thank you so much,* before racing off to find Buck.

00000

*Hurry up, Buck. You're slower than a dead horse this morning!* Ike signs as he turns around and climbs the stairs backwards so Buck can see his hands.

"Well, if people wouldn't put so many useless sets of stairs in their houses I wouldn't be so slow," Buck grumbles in mock indignation.

Grinning, Ike doesn't miss a beat. *If you weren't so fat and out of shape the stairs wouldn't be a problem!* he teases, and then just as he signs the last word he reaches backwards with his foot to find the next stair and misses it completely, landing in a startled heap on his backside and bumping down several steps. Seeing the total shock displayed on his friend's face, Buck bursts out in uncontrollable laughter as Ike gingerly picks himself back up, glaring reproachfully. This only makes Buck laugh harder.

"See what happens when you say nasty things, Ike? You make the 'spirits' angry," Buck retorts through chuckles and Ike can't help grinning back. After all, it was pretty funny. Then he turns around to finish climbing the steps in a safer fashion.

As Buck falls in line behind Ike, his thoughts really do turn to toward the Spirits, thanking them for the return of his happy, cheerful friend because just last night he'd thought for sure he'd lost him. After Ike went into his grandmother's room, he'd waited for what felt like ages, every possible scenario playing through his mind. With him in the hall, Ike was left with barely any means of communication and Buck was worried sick, especially as time stretched on with not a sound that he could make out escaping from the room. He was just about to throw Ike's wishes to the wind and enter the room anyway when the door opened and his friend emerged. Seeing the tear streaks on his cheeks, Buck's heart sank, but then he noticed the smile behind the tears and his friend's hands told him everything was okay.

The sound of Ike thumping his chest brings his attention back to the present and he watches the white wrapped hands flash again.

*Come on, Buck, hurry up!*

"Why are you in such a big rush, Ike?"

*Because I want you to meet her!* Ike's face is eager as he gazes at his friend and he beckons him quickly down the hall.

"All right, I'm comin'," Buck says and hurries up to Ike, although he's reluctant to meet this mysterious woman who's letter has caused his best friend so much emotional turmoil.

When they stop outside the same closed door as the night before, Ike looks quickly at Buck, his eyes asking if he's ready.

"Yeah, go on."

Rapidly, Ike knocks on the polished door.

"Come in."

The voice floats out, a voice that Ike realizes with delight is now familiar and welcome, and he grins broadly at Buck before turning the knob and pushing the door open.

His grandmother sits in the same rocker as last night, but today a small table has been pulled up to it and places set for two, with another chair opposite her. The bright morning rays fill the room and give warmth as they accent the cheery quilt draped over the plump bed and illuminate the pictures on the walls.

"Good morning," she calls, smiling at her grandson as he steps through the doorway, but the smile falters slightly as another unknown and rather rough looking youth enters behind him. An Indian! she thinks with a start.

"Who is this, Isaac?" she asks, more harshly than she means and Buck stiffens behind his friend, but Ike doesn't notice.

*This is Buck Cross, my best friend,* Ike signs, forgetting for a moment in his excitement at introducing his two family members to each other that his grandmother can't understand his gestures.

"Gracious, what in heaven's name are you doing, child?" Margaret asks, alarmed by Ike's rapid hand movements, and Ike's face falls as he remembers his signs are useless here. Swallowing his own discomfort and ill-ease, Buck steps forward to aid his friend. "Ike just said that my name's Buck Cross and that I'm his best friend. He was introducing me using Indian Sign Language, ma'am."

Smiling his thanks to Buck, Ike motions again, knowing Buck will interpret for him. *I'm sorry, I should have told you I was bringing him, too, but I just wanted you to meet him. He came with me on the trip.*

After Buck repeats Ike's words out loud, Margaret studies the two boys for a long time. Ike wears a red bandana this morning, covering his hairless scalp, and he stands there apprehensively, waiting for her approval of his friend. Beside him, Buck is tall and proud, his features strong and his long black hair and tan skin a stark contrast to Ike's pale face and bald head. As different as night and day these two friends, but somehow Margaret senses they are bonded together. She can't have Ike in her life without getting Buck, too. But an Indian? Sitting down to breakfast at her table! This is definitely a new experience!

Then suddenly, she stops her thoughts, mentally scolding herself. You really are an old fool, Margaret Lowe! Didn't you learn your lesson well enough twenty years ago? This time you'd better do things right! With all the grace of a lady, she picks up a small silver bell sitting next to her plate and gives a quick ring. Moments later, a maid appears.

"Yes?"

"Laura, please set a place for Mr. Cross and bring another chair."

"Yes, ma'am," the girl replies and Ike smiles widely to show his thanks. Soon the three are seated and the maid begins serving the food.

"I'm sorry if I appeared rude, Mr. Cross. I was just startled to see you. I was unaware that Isaac brought a friend with him," she apologizes, attempting to start a conversation.

Arching his eyebrows, Buck glances curiously at Ike when she calls him Isaac again, but Ike merely shrugs. He didn't have any way to tell his grandmother last night that people call him Ike, and if she wants to call him Isaac, it doesn't bother him. Understanding what the simple shrug means, Buck turns back to Margaret. "It's fine," he says, but he's still rather wary of this wealthy grandmother. It's been his experience that people can say anything if they want to get your trust. Still, for Ike's sake, he'll try his hardest to believe her. He owes his friend that much and more. Mustering more congeniality than he feels, he continues, "And just call me Buck."

"All right then Buck, may I inquire how the two of you met?" she asks, truly interested, and for the next while Buck tells their story as they eat, Ike content to let Buck speak for him. Wisely avoiding the deaths of Ike's family and the loss of his voice, Buck does explain about Ike's hair in answer to her questions, as well as come up with some excuse for the bandages on his hands, but Ike really isn't paying that much attention. He's perfectly happy just sitting in the room with his grandmother and his best friend, more happy than he remembers being for a very long time. The rest of the meal passes quickly, Ike unintentionally getting lost in his own thoughts. Since Buck would only have to repeat his words anyway, he leaves the conversation up to him, only nodding occasionally, and soon he's barely listening. The story Buck's retelling is painfully familiar, with no surprises. He prefers to let his thoughts drift to the exciting new story he just heard for the first time this morning, a story he is still awed to belong to. His mind wanders back across the years to picture events of long ago, at the same time a small part of him slightly gloats at the idea of telling Cody, Jimmy and the others all of this. It's not until Buck lays a hand on his arm causing him to jump, that Ike realizes his friend has been calling his name.

"Hello? Ike?" Buck calls loudly, and Ike grins sheepishly. "We've been trying to ask if you need some more eggs," Buck continues bluntly, even his voice showing how uncomfortable he is having to be the middle man in this conversation.

Slightly embarrassed by his obvious daydreaming, Ike shakes his head quickly toward the maid standing at his elbow with the dish.

"Well, now that you are back among the living, child, I think it's time to discuss something," his grandmother states. Innocent words, but for Buck, he's sure he hears the echo of drastic change ringing from them, the kind of change that throws your whole world off course. Ike also senses a shift in the light-hearted meeting and leans forward, his eyes questioning but wary.

"The last few years haven't been kind to me, Isaac. There were days when I despaired of ever seeing my grandson before I was cold in my grave, but the Lord has been amazingly generous. He has brought you here to me and let me live to see it." Margaret pauses for a moment, almost struggling with the words, then continues, "I loved my daughter very much, more than words can say, and it tore a part of my life away when she left. I made a mistake in letting her go that day, but I want to right it now. I want to ask you to stay here and live with me, Isaac. I want to have you in my life."

A sharp intake of breath escapes from Ike as his grandmother's words leave him stunned. He'd never even thought of her asking him to stay! Ask him about his parents' death, ask him about his voice, even ask him to forgive her for the past, but never this! At a loss for what to do or say or even think, Ike glances desperately at Buck for help, only to find his friend starring at Margaret with a mixture of hurt, betrayal, and deep anger.

"I know this is sudden, and I know it would be a big change, but I'm getting old. I won't live forever, and I want to spend my last years with family. There is so much I want to tell you, places I want to show you, child! I want to give you the sort of life and privileges you should have had all along." Sensing the growing panic and confusion in her grandson and the hostility in his friend, she hastens to add, "And I don't expect you to give up your other life completely! Any of your friends are welcome to come and visit at any time, and to stay as long as they want."

The sudden scratch of wood on wood signals that it was the wrong thing to say. Without even a word, the normally coolheaded Buck shoves his chair away from the table and storms out of the room, not even noticing the expression of great turmoil and pain plastered across Ike's own face. Ike doesn't try to stop him. He knows the young Indian well enough to know when to leave him alone, but Buck also takes his "voice" with him when he goes.

The bewildered and lost look Ike turns on her after the door shuts goes straight to Margaret's heart, but she can't help how she feels. Quietly she continues. "You don't have to decide tonight, but please, Isaac, think about it. I'm your grandmother. I want the chance to give you all the love you have deserved over the years but never had! Philadelphia life may not be as wild and exciting as the Pony Express but I think you'd come to like it."

With a heavy heart, Ike nods, but thinking isn't exactly the word. More like intense soul searching. Giving a gesture he hopes his grandmother will recognize as a thank you for the meal, Ike stands to leave.

"Will you come and see me this afternoon?"

Ike nods slowly, but doesn't meet her eyes, and then slips silently from the room, his emotions churning like a vast stormy sea again.