Only 04 - Only Love

at you. Skin and bones and hair, that’s all.”
    “I’m winter lean. I’ll fatten come summer, just like all the other creatures.”
    “And if you don’t?”
    “I will.”
    “Blast it, gal. You’re too bullheaded by half.”
    “That’s why I’ll survive,” Shannon said. “Sheer stubbornness. Here. Drink your tea.”
    Cherokee waved off the cup. “I helped you the last two winters, but—”
    “I know,” Shannon interrupted. “I’m grateful. I brought your salt and as soon as the deer come back, I’ll repay the—”
    “Damnation, that ain’t what I meant!” Cherokee blazed. “Now you listen to me, gal!”
    Cherokee’s anger was unexpected. Shannon closed her mouth and listened.
    “Some men is better than others,” Cherokee conceded reluctantly. “Lots better. Leastwise, that’s what Betsy and Clementine say when they come to get their childbane potion from me.”
    Shannon closed her eyes. She knew the prostitutes sometimes came to “the half-breed shaman” for medicines; Shannon just hadn’t known what kind of medicines, until now.
    “I see,” Shannon said weakly.
    “Doubt it,” Cherokee retorted, “but we’re sneaking right up on it. Now, what we got to do is find you a man what wouldn’t shame a rabid skunk. This here Whip feller fills the bill.”
    Shannon started to object.
    “Shut your mouth, gal,” Cherokee interrupted, holding out the parcel. “This here piece of frippery was given to my mother by some fool man. She gave it to me. I’m giving it to you.”
    Before Shannon could say anything, Cherokee was unwrapping the tissue with reverent hands. The paper was worn nearly to transparency with age and gentle handling.
    But even the tissue wasn’t as delicate as the creamy silk and lace inside. Shannon’s breath came in with a rushing sound of surprise and pleasure as she saw the subtle sheen of satin.
    Cherokee smiled gently.
    “Pretty, ain’t it?” Cherokee said. “First time I saw you, I thought of this here chemise.”
    “I can’t take it.”
    “You ain’t taking it. I’m giving it to you.”
    “But—”
    “Hell, it don’t fit me,” Cherokee interrupted impatiently. “Never has. I’m too big. Never fit Ma, neither. Never been worn by no one.”
    Hesitantly Shannon touched the chemise. The cloth was as soft as a cloud. Even the deep lace that edged the garment was silky and supple.
    “Go on, take it,” Cherokee said.
    “I can’t.”
    “Sure you can.”
    Cherokee wrapped the chemise once more and held it out to Shannon.
    “You just put it in that deep front pocket of Silent John’s old jacket,” Cherokee said. “It will ride safe till you get home.”
    “But—”
    “Gal, I ain’t drinking so much as a drop of that there tea unless you take this.”
    Slowly Shannon took the package in her free hand.
    “Go on, now,” Cherokee said, taking the cup of medicinal tea. “Put it away.”
    Not until Shannon had eased the package into the pocket of her jacket did Cherokee drink the tea.
    “I don’t know how to thank you,” Shannon said hesitantly.
    “No need. I’ll feel better knowing you have it. High time it was put to its real use.”
    Shannon flushed.
    “No, not as a whore’s decoration,” Cherokee said, laughing. “As a satin snare for a man. Whip, for instance. There’s a man worth—”
    “No.”
    “Yes,” Cherokee retorted. “He gets one look at you in that little bit of satin and lace and he’ll forget all about hitting the trail alone. You’ll be married before you can say aye, yes, or maybe—”
    “No,” Shannon interrupted.
    Cherokee sighed. “Gal, you don’t—”
    “No,” Shannon said again, cutting across the old woman’s words. “It’s your turn to listen. My mother and I lived on the kindness of my uncle until I was thirteen and Mama died of lung fever. My uncle died shortly after. Then his wife worked me like a slave.”
    Cherokee nodded without surprise.
    “I was indentured to a tailor,” Shannon said. “I couldn’t leave the shop, ever. I worked there, ate there, and slept there. When the tailor got drunk, which was about twice a month, I fought him off with the shears I kept beneath my pillow.”
    Again Cherokee nodded, unsurprised.
    “One day my mother’s uncle came to town,” Shannon continued in a flat voice. “A letter I wrote to him when Mama was dying had finally reached him and he came to fetch me. He got Mama’s silk scarf and gold wedding ring back from my aunt. He put the ring