A Promise of Thunder

during January and February. By March green tufts of grass began pushing through the melting snow and rain nourished the earth with its life-giving abundance. It was the beginning of a new cycle, but to Storm, January and February were the longest two months of her life.
    She never realized how much she had come to depend on Grady until he left and she was faced with empty days and desolate nights. He had always appeared to her as bigger than life,a man who feared nothing, except perhaps his own private demons, and faced the challenges of life with fierce purpose. As the first week of March slid by, Storm began to fear that Grady never intended to return, that her impossible demands had forced him to flee. Being made a widow had been a painful shock, but being abandoned brought another kind of pain—that of rejection.
    If he came back to her, she’d lie with him willingly, she silently vowed, gladly, sharing her life with him and caring for his child as if he were her own.
    She’d make Grady love her.
    They would forge a living out of this raw land and learn to live together and love one another. One day Buddy and Summer Sky would become pleasant memories from their pasts.
    Foolish dreamer
, her mind taunted.
Grady is gone and you’ll never see him again. You have the land; be satisfied with that.
    The land offered little comfort on cold nights when she yearned to feel Grady beside her, willing and eager to share his warmth with her. Why couldn’t she be satisfied with the small part of him he gave her instead of wanting all those things he didn’t offer?
    On one of her trips into Guthrie, Storm learned that Nat Turner had mysteriously left town in December, and she wondered if Grady had had anything to do with his going. Knowing him, she supposed he had. She was grateful she no longer had to deal with the scoundrel.She would thank Grady, if she ever saw him again.
    Grady returned unexpectantly one exceptionally warm day in early March. Storm was turning over clods of dirt with a shovel in preparation for planting a backyard vegetable garden when she looked up and saw him standing so close she could reach out and touch him. Never would she become accustomed to the silent way in which he moved. His massive frame was clad in buckskins and moccasins; his ebony hair was longer than ever and his face more gaunt. His high cheekbones had hollows beneath them she hadn’t noticed before, and the dark circles beneath his eyes made them appear more vivid a blue than she remembered. His intense gaze searched her face, then roamed over her figure. What he saw must have disappointed him for he scowled.
    “You came back,” she murmured.
    For a moment he looked bewildered. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
    “I—didn’t know.”
    Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Storm caught a movement. A small body came hurtling toward them, running as fast as his small legs could carry him. “Papa, Papa, is this my new home?”
    Grady’s expression softened as he gazed down at his exuberant son. Little Buffalo was the picture of his father, but without the blue eyes. His skin was golden brown, his eyes dark, his hair blacker even than Grady’s. There was anobleness about the child that proclaimed his proud Indian heritage. One day he would be every bit as handsome and imposing as his father. Storm looked for signs of Summer Sky in the boy and found it in the softness around his chin, the midnight darkness of his eyes.
    “This is our homestead, Little Buffalo, and this is your new mother. From now on you will speak only English so that she can understand you. Greet Storm properly, son. She will be caring for you in future.”
    Little Buffalo’s face grew hostile as he regarded Storm in an insulting manner. “I don’t want a new mother, Papa. I am perfectly happy with Laughing Brook. Why can’t she be my mother?”
    “Because Laughing Brook belongs on the reservation with her family,” Grady explained patiently, “and Storm is my wife. Therefore, she will be your mother.”
    Little Buffalo kicked viciously at a clod of dirt with his moccasined toe, then peered up at Storm resentfully. “Why did you marry
her?
Laughing Brook is much prettier.”
    “Little Buffalo!”
    “It’s all right, Grady,” Storm said, realizing that winning over Grady’s son wasn’t going to be easy. She dropped to her knees, until she was on the same level with the child. “I don’t want to take your real mother’s place, Little Buffalo,