I have finished...at last. Thank you to my readers who let me know I was writing in a void. There may be typos as I only edited it once - I can't go over it again until some time has passed and I have some distance.

And let me repeat what I wrote at the top of Chapter 9, all guest reviews, both positive and negative, will be deleted.

A/N It seems that some readers are confused by the implied resolution at the end. It my be necessary to give this chapter a close reading in order to understand.

Chapter 12: The Journey Begins

"You two are home earlier than I expected." I closed the book I had been trying to read – trying because my mind escaped the page and ran elsewhere, to Kopakashe and the dance – and Darla. Hoss and Joe came in, and slowly unbuckled their gun belts as if overcome by lethargy, taking time to roll up the belts before placing them on the long credenza by the front door.

"Yeah," Hoss said, taking off his hat, "the dance ended earlier than 'spected."

"How much earlier?" I noticed a purple bruise on Hoss' left cheekbone. Once Joe removed his hat, I saw a large bruise on his jaw bone and what looked like a split lip with blood on his collar and shirt front.

Joe gingerly touched the tip of his tongue to his lower lip. "Right after you left, actually. Where's Pa?"

"Upstairs sleeping. Kopakashe too. What happened to you two? Looks like you've been in a fight."

" 'Cause we have," Hoss said, sitting heavily on the settee. "Right after you and Kopakashe done left, Judd Brinson – you know what a horse's ass he is – told Darla she was lucky to learn in time that you prefer the taste of a squaw better'n a white woman. And he said that right to her face with a nasty smirk. There was nothin' I could do but shut 'im up right then and there."

"That miserable sonovabitch," I said. "What about Darla, Hoss? What did she say? Did you see her home?"

"Now, Adam…." Hoss screwed up his face.

"You didn't."

"He didn't really have time. I mean, we were fighting – a whole bunch of us, not just me and Hoss – and before we knew it, Roy was there hauling all of us into the backroom. No one pressed charges against anybody else, but Roy said that from what he could make out of what everybody said, Hoss started it. Hoss said Judd started it and Roy said we were all acting like kids and he was sick of it."

"Anyway, since Judd had been drinking, had a flask on him, Roy arrested him for public drunkenness and told the rest of us to go home. Then we had to stop by Doc Martin's to get him to sew up my lip – bled like a mother! Got all over my shirt." Joe lightly tongued his stitches again. "These are going to drive me crazy."

"Did Darla say anything at all?" I asked Hoss.

"She never got a chance to, Adam. But she didn't look none too happy while you sashayed around with Kopakashe. Anyway, I'm worn out. I'm goin' to bed."

"Me too," Joe said. "I need to fortify myself before Pa sees us in the morning and gives us that lecture about representing the Cartwright name and how he doesn't want it to be associated with rowdiness, and all that. He'll probably not let me go to town again until my next birthday. I might as well become a monk. 'Night Adam."

I sat alone, mired in guilt. I had deserted Darla. She had to find her own way home and by now, her parents had been told the whole thing, probably by a weeping – or a furious Darla. And if she hadn't been up to telling them out of protecting me – which I didn't see happening - they would soon find out just as they did about the incident in the saloon. I would be done for as far as they were concerned. I could hear Mr. McMasters saying, "If you think I'm going to let my daughter keep company with you after what you did, after abandoning her and taking off with some Indian girl, well, Adam, you have another think coming."

I turned down the lamps and with one last look at the dying fire, went upstairs. My bedroom door was closed which surprised me but maybe Hop Sing turned down the sheets before he left for his relatives in Chinatown. I opened it. I was startled to see someone sleeping in the bed. I stepped closer and it was Kopakashe, her face peaceful as she hugged the pillow under her head, her long hair lying in sharp contrast to the white linen sheets.

Was this what I had agreed to? Had I promised Kopakashe that we would share a bed, share our bodies with one another? Weariness overcame me. I was so tired. If only she and I could understand each other and not have to rely on translators. What was lost in the process? What subtleties, nuances?

I slept on the settee and was haunted with dreams that vanished upon awakening but left me uneasy. The world seemed somehow off-kilter, off its axis. Nothing was right.

That Sunday morning, my father, Joe and Hoss left for church with the promise that Mr. and Mrs. Rowe would be informed of our decision to send Kopakashe to school. I looked at Kopakashe who silently sat on the settee, only showing a slight reaction to the name, Rowe. She watched me the whole time to see if I was leaving with my family but I made it a point to go no further than the door to see them off.

Even though Kopakashe must have known I hadn't shared the bed, she dutifully ate breakfast while my father lectured Joe and Hoss about fighting, his finger wagging in their directions, swinging back and forth form one son to the other. He reluctantly admitted that Hoss did need to defend Darla but to start a brawl, well, that was another thing; Judd Brinson could have been dealt with another way. Joe and Hoss kept exchanging glances and I silently ate while Kopakashe looked puzzled. I was thankful Kopakashe didn't understand English. I can only imagine the questions she would have asked.

The day was sunny so, after my family left, I took Kopakashe outside. She was wearing the blouse and skirt from the dance, looking like a small child playing dress-up in her mother's oversized clothing. I suppose, since she disrobed in my room the night before, she put them back on to come downstairs.

"C'mon," I said, grinning, putting out my hand. Kopakashe smiled back, joy lighting up her face, and took my hand with hers. That she could be so happy just to be with me, amazed me. I don't know if she still believed I was a "spirit bear" in human form – for some reason I doubted it – but she liked being with me. It may have been only because she knew me the longest and had to depend on me. But then I didn't know what went through her mind.

We followed a path I had made as a child when I would escape the house over an upsetting situation, running so fast that my lungs felt they would burst and the stitch in my side was almost crippling – I had to leave my sadness behind. Once Marie, Joe's mother, was with us, I escaped almost daily – every chance I could. I found her silly and coquettish and vain – always primping and adjusting her blonde curls. I told her once that vanity was a sin and she turned and looked at me, surprised. And my father gave me the back of his hand.

It was a narrow path – pounded out with only my feet - and most of it had been overcome with grasses, but I instinctively knew the way. After about twenty minutes of walking, it emptied into an open meadow; the trees still hadn't encroached on it. A small stream, bubbling and coursing about rocks and the little bends of the landscape, cut through one end. And the whole area was covered in a variety of wildflowers – spiderwort that hadn't yet closed from the afternoon sun, blood-red poppies, white-flowering yarrow, purple lupine and yellow columbines.

Kopakashe was delighted and skipped among the flowers, finally falling down among them. I laughed and realized I had been smiling the whole time I watched her. I was glad she was happy. I wanted today to be happy for both of us; I felt it would mitigate my later guilt.

I went and sat down beside her and she sat up, plucking a columbine and tucking it behind my ear. She said something and laughed. I laughed as well. The bees carried on their business, not paying us any mind and on occasion, a butterfly would dance about us.

"You know, if I were going to build a house, I always felt I would build it here." She watched me as if she understood everything I said. "I used to sit here when I was upset or had been punished – my pa had to apply his razor strop to my backside quite a few times growing up. But I wouldn't cry in front of him – wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I'd run out to this place, tears pouring, and then I'd throw myself down in the grass and sob – at least when I was young. When I was older and he'd punish me, I'd feel this rage in my chest that built and built and threatened to explode inside me. Then once I was here, I'd sit or lie on my belly and look at the beauty around me - no matter what season, this place is beautiful - and plan where I'd build my house. See, I'd have the front windows looking this way, the far stream behind the house. Now, over there—" I pointed and she looked, "I'd put the barn so nothing would disturb this carpet of beauty. What do you think? 'Course, I'd have to make a road through those trees but that wouldn't be too much trouble. Take it out about a mile or two and join it to the main road to town."

And I talked. I lay back down among the tall grasses and she lay beside me. I told her about my mother's death, the trip west with my father, about Inger, Hoss' mother and how she was killed by an arrow. And I talked about Jean DeMarigny and his widow Marie De Vaille, who became my second stepmother and Joe's mother. And I told her about college, what it had been like and what I had studied.

I don't know why I talked so much but it was as if I couldn't stop. I told Kopakashe things I had never shared with anyone. I considered that it was because she didn't understand me and therefore, couldn't judge me as I hadn't always behaved honorably. But when I thought on it, it was because I wanted to tell her. I wanted Kopaksahe to know who I was so she could determine if I was worth her seeming devotion. But it couldn't happen.

Finally, I was talked out and it seemed a weight had lifted; talking had been a catharsis of sorts, revealing my darkest thoughts and admitting my sins. I was the penitent and she the confessor. We lay in silence for quite a while and I felt myself becoming drowsy. The breeze blew lightly across my skin and I closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep because I felt Kopakashe's small hand lightly shaking me and I jerked awake. The sun was lower in the sky and I calculated we had been out there for at least four hours. It was time we returned to the house.

~ 0 ~

I saw the Rowe's beat-up buggy in the yard. I paused for a moment and Kopakashe asked me something. I didn't look at her, just pulled her forward to the house. When we stepped inside, Mr. Rowe stood, still holding his coffee cup, and smiled. Mrs. Rowe smiled as well and approached us, putting out both hands to take Kopakashe's, but she put them behind her.

"It's all right. C'mon." She and I sat on the settee.

"We were wondering where you were," my father said. He seemed relieved; I imagine he hd been offering scenarios for our long absence. "Coffee?"

"No," I said. Kopakashe moved closer to me.

Mrs. Rowe sat down beside us after picking up a wrapped parcel.

"These are for you." She held them out to Kopakahse who stared at the brown paper parcel tied with butcher's twine. "Go ahead, take them." Then she said something in Indian dialect and Kopakashe looked at me.

"What did you say to her?"

"I told her it was a new dress, a white woman's dress and that you wanted her to wear it."

"But that's not true – I never said that."

"Well, wouldn't you like to see her in it?" Mrs. Rowe looked injured – not comprehending why I was angry.

"Not particularly and don't put words in my mouth. Do I need to doubt your version of conversations you two have? Basically, you lied to her."

"No, I didn't," Mrs. Rowe said, a shocked look on her face. And my father cleared his throat as a form of reprimand to me, but those days when my father ruled me were long gone.

"Adam," Mr. Rowe said stiffly, "a lie is meant to deceive. Isn't it your wish that Kopakashe…" She shot a sharp look to him at the mention of her name. He took a deep breath, exchanging looks with his wife and then continued, directing his gaze back at me. "Isn't it your wish is that she become integrated into our culture, that she learn our ways and live a peaceful, Christian life? If so, isn't it your wish that she dress like a white woman, not a heathen? It was our understanding you did. My wife is only expressing what we both believed was in your heart. If you've changed your mind, please let us know. We aren't here to cause conflict but to help a lost, damned soul."

"First," I said, fighting to keep my tone under control, "there's a difference between being integrated and indoctrinated. And as for being damned, well, she's a better person than most of the Christians I know."

"Adam," Mr. Rowe continued, "it's the belief and acceptance…"

"Look, I said, putting up my hand to stifle the sermon that I knew was coming, "I don't want to debate theology but this Indian school may not be the best thing…" I looked at Kopakashe sitting in our house; she obviously didn't fit in. Staying here wouldn't benefit her. And yet, the thought of her leaving… "No, I haven't changed my mind. I'm sorry, Mrs. Rowe, about calling you a liar. I hope you'll forgive me – I didn't understand and I know that translating is never an exact art. All I ask is that you don't attribute any words or thoughts to me that don't come out of my mouth."

"Of course, Adam. What I'm going to tell her is that we are taking her to New Mexico to a school where she will learn English and be given clothing and hats that white women wear. She'll make many friends and learn the wonderful ways of our Father in heaven. I'll also tell her that it's your wish she come with us. Is that acceptable?"

I hesitated. I felt like a man who's placed the barrel of his .45 in his mouth and hesitates pulling the trigger. The man may want to die but there's a certain finality about it that would have to be considered.

"Yes. That's acceptable."

Mrs. Rowe talked and as she did, Kopakashe would turn to look at me, expressionless. I hoped I knew what Mrs. Rowe was saying, that she hadn't deceived me for a "greater" purpose, and I felt the weight of Kopakashe's future lie heavy on me. I feared it would plague me the rest of my life like a fog blurs what's ahead. I left the room, going out on the porch; I couldn't stay.

I sat out front and Darla came to mind. After the Rowes and Kopakashe left, I'd try to regain order in my life. Yes, I concluded, once Kopakshe was out of my life, Darla could be won over again - if I had even lost her. After all, she was there at the dance, she saw the situation. And I considered the tenor of an alternate situation; what if it was Darla who was being sent away?

What if her parents decided to send her to her aunt who lived in either Philadelphia or Baltimore…or was it St. Louis? I was never interested enough to bother remembering. But if Darla were, if she were boarding the stage, being spirited away, would I go after her and pull her off the coach and into my arms, covering her lovely face with kisses? If I couldn't, would my feelings mimic those of my father's when he sailed away from my mother, leaving her waving tearfully on the wharf? Would my heart break into small pieces? I pictured Darla, in all her beauty and charm and thought of the kisses we had shared, the caresses and soft words – the unspoken promises of her body. Could I spend my days with her, go home to her, anticipating the night with desire? And if I was denied Darla, would my heart break?

I sat out there, I suppose, about an hour. Long enough for Hoss to get home from town. He joined me on the porch.

"Where's Joe?" I wasn't really interested but Hoss sensed my mood and hadn't said anything, just offered his solidarity.

"Oh, Meggie invited him to supper. Seems with those stitches, he's not only a good-lookin' boy but a little bit of a badden. You know how them young, gigglin' girls are. They like them roguish types."

I had to chuckle at that and the probable dinner conversation, how Joe would entertain Meggie, her young brother and sister and both her parents with the embellishments he would add; Joe was quite the storyteller.

"See the Rowes are here. They takin' her away?'

"Yeah."

"Guess it's for the best. Can't see us dealin' with a little Indian squaw who thinks she's your wife." Hoss waited but I said nothing. "Course, iffen you wanted to make it legal…I mean she's old enough. Coralee Robinson was what - 14 I think, when she and Jason married? And then Doris Canfield, well 'member how Pastor Higgins refused to marry 'em 'cause she was only 12? They had to go searchin' for a minister to hitch 'em."

"If you're trying to make me feel better about tossing Kopakashe to the wolves, it's not working,"

"Well, leastways, you can find a bit of comfort with Darla, that is iffen she don't scalp you 'stead of Kopakashe doin' it. Darla is a pretty one, isn't she?"

"Yes."

We sat in silence and Hoss leaned back in the chair, resting against the wall on only the two back legs. It's a tribute to the carpenter and the quality of the wood that the back legs didn't snap under his bulk.

Another half hour or so went by and I became increasingly uneasy. I should go check and see what was happening and just about when I was ready to, the front door opened and the Rowes, my father and Kopakashe came out. She wore a pink cotton dress that almost fit her and her hair was pulled into a small chignon at the nape of her neck. She could have passed for a white woman except for the sharp angle of her cheekbones and the blackness of her eyes with their slight exotic tilt. Her face was as smooth as the time she sat on the bed, waiting to die. She wouldn't look at me and I can't blame her. I had betrayed her, at least in her eyes.

"You're going now?" I stood, my hands hanging useless by my side. Hoss stood as well.

"We felt," my father said, "that the sooner they left, the sooner they would arrive in Albuquerque."

"You don't plan on going all that way in that buggy?" I don't know why I felt so angry; now my hands were closed in fists and it seemed I struggled for breath as I had so many years ago running blindly down the secret path.

"Of course not, Adam. The Rowes know what they're doing. You needn't worry."

"Don't patronize me, Pa – I'm just concerned. That's rough travel."

Mr. Rowe, his voice which thundered from the pulpit, now became like syrup. "We have the itinerary planned. And we trust in the Lord to deliver us safely."

I said nothing more. My father helped Kopakashe into the buggy and added her small bag of belongings in the boot. I knew that the Rowes or the people at the school, would burn her doeskin dress and moccasins and confiscate her jewelry. They planned to change who she was and remake her in their own image.

It became more difficult to breathe. "You okay, Adam?" Hoss asked. But he sounded far away.

"Godspeed," My father said as Mr. Rowe took up the reins. He stepped back as the buggy made a circle in the yard.

I could hear my blood pounding in my ears – I felt as if underwater. And then Kopakshe turned and looked at me. And at that moment, I knew what to do next to save my soul.

Because my heart shattered like glass.

~ Finis ~