Business, my darling, she replied, smiling. She stared at him lovingly. He looked nothing like her. He was his father, from his dark hair to his deep-set brown eyes and olive complexion. He was going to be tall like Cy, too, she guessed.
Cy. Meredith sighed heavily and turned away. Shed loved him so much, with all the passion of her young life. Hed taken her chastity and her heart, and in return hed given her grief and shame. His mother had done her part to break up what might have been an honest love affair. God knew, hed always felt guilty about her. Probably hed have felt even more guilt if hed known that she was only eighteen to his twenty-eight. Shed lied and told him she was twenty. Hed said even then that it was like robbing the cradle. But his passion for her had been a helpless, deeply resented one that had cost him his stoic self-control time and time again. She often thought that hed hated her for that, for making him vulnerable.
His mother had hated her, certainly. The fact that Meredith had been living with her great-aunt and uncle on the Crow reservationand the fact that her great-uncle was a respected elder at thathad been a scandalous shock to Mrs. Myrna Granger Harden. Myrna belonged to the social set and made no secret of her snobbery. That her son had dared to embarrass her by dating the niece of one of his employees had haunted her, especially when shed already hand-picked a wife for himone Lois Newly, a local debutante whose people had property in Alberta, Canada, and could trace their ancestry back to royal England. Myrna had never even bothered to ask Meredith if she was Indian. Shed taken it for granted, when actually Meredith was only related to Uncle Raven-Walking by marriage.
There were dark-skinned people in Cys background. Myrna swore they were French, but Meredith had once heard someone mention that Cys ancestors contained a full-blooded Sioux on his fathers side. Many Plains people had mixed ancestry, but most of them werent as prejudiced and snobbish as Myrna Harden.
Blake Garrett Tennison would someday have to be told the truth about his parentage, Meredith thought worriedly. She didnt relish that at all. For now, he accepted that the tall, fair man who used to laugh and bring him things was his real father. In most senses, he was. Henry had spoiled Meredith shamefully, attended LaMaze classes with her, treated her pregnancy as if hed been responsible for it, and showered her with luxuries when little Blake was born. He stayed with her through the delivery, and he cried when the child was placed
in his arms. Oh, yes, Henry really was Blakes father in so many ways. Hed earned the right.
She often wondered why Cy had apparently never considered the possibility of Meredith becoming pregnant during their brief affair. Presumably his women were usually on the Pill, because hed never even asked if she was. Not that hed been in any condition to ask, the first time or the others. She dreamed about him sometimes, about the fierce pleasure hed taught her to share with him. But she never told Henry about the dreams or compared him with Cy. It wouldnt have been fair. Henry was a gentle, skillful lover, but shed never attained the heights with him that Cy had taken her to so effortlessly.
Blake cuddled his plush toy alligator. Isnt Barry the Alligator nice? he asked. Mr. Smith let me pet Tiny. He says you should let me have an iguana, too, Mommy. They make very nice pets.
She laughed gently at Blakes adult-sounding speech. He was almost six, and he already had a tremendous grasp of language. He would be ready to start first grade next year. This year he attended private kindergarten until one each afternoon, and he was learning fast. Meredith knew that Cy had never married. She allowed herself to wonder for one long instant what Myrna Harden would think of her grandson. It was unlikely that the elderly woman would covet him, of course, since he was Merediths. And a grandchild would tarnish the youthful image she tried so hard to project.
Cant I have an iguana? Blake persisted.
You can pet Tiny, when Mr. Smith lets you.
Doesnt Mr. Smith have a first name? he asked, frowning.
She laughed. Nobody has the nerve to ask, she whispered.
He laughed, too, his young voice delightfully carefree. Had she ever been that happy, she wondered, even as a child? The premature death of her parents had left scars. Thank God there had been Aunt Mary and Uncle Raven-Walking to look after her. Theyd loved her, even if nobody else ever had.
Blake sighed. I wish I could go with you.
One day soon, she promised. Then Ill take you to the Crow reservation and you can meet some of your Indian cousins.
Real Indians? he asked.
Real Indians. I want you to be proud of your ancestry, Blake, she said seriously, smiling at him. One of your distant relatives actually scouted for General Custer before the battle of the Little Bighorn.
Wow! he said, all eyes. He frowned. Who was General Custer, Mommy?
Never mind. She shook her head. Time enough for that when youre older. Now, I have to pack.