Grandfather had promised the editorial would make him proud of her and she would be a real journalist. A reporter who could make big money selling her stories to
“Are you going to give the article to me or do I need to hogtie you to get it?” Another arresting smile appeared.
Kara handed both envelopes to Quin and returned to her chair. Facing him, she fidgeted in anticipation. She visualized the pleasure on his face after he read the story.
Grandfather said it would put the
Quin placed the thinner envelope in his desk drawer. “Bonus for the Masterson story,” he said. Carefully he unsealed the thicker one.
Leaning back in his chair, he slowly, methodically read the editorial, occasionally peering up at her over his glasses.
Once finished, he returned to the first sheet. After rereading each page, he turned it face down on his desk and continued on. He read each word, almost too carefully. His jaw clenched tighter and tighter as he read further. His eyes became stormy, and his brow furrowed into a frown. Apparently, he wasn’t as enthralled with the story as she thought he’d be.
Quin laid the editorial on the desk. He removed his glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes. Opening his pocket watch, he checked the time and closed the gold cover.
Kaira fidgeted in the quietness, feeling a black cloud hovering overhead. The spirited editor’s attitude had changed, dampening the air with gloom.
He gathered the parchments in a bundle, folded them neatly, and tapped the edges on the desktop, apparently weighing his words carefully. “You didn’t write this.” Quin’s voice was uncompromising yet oddly gentle, quickly turning rigid. “I would have thought that coming from a publishing family you would know that plagiarism is the worst breach of ethics.” He set his jaw and continued to tap on the table. “Maybe presenting something old and contrived is acceptable in Boston, but it isn’t in Texas. At least not while I’m the editor.”
“I didn’t write the damn thing, Quin.”
Seemingly unaffected by her confession and her profanity, Quin asked, “Have you even read it?”
She thought she might cry. “No.”
“Then let me read an excerpt for you.” He took a deep breath before beginning. “‘For decades it has been the goal of the federal Indian policy for containment on the Indian. About six years ago, a group of social reformers and government officials met at Mohonk Lake, New York-’”
“My grandfather instructed me on the details. Even our nineteenth President, Rutherford Hayes, attended. The Friends of the Indian movement has opened dozens of off-reservation day schools and boarding schools for the sole purpose of reeducating the Indians and make them better citizens.”
“Do you realize that all of the participants were from the East and only two had ever laid eyes on an Indian?”
“No, but, Grandfather Renaulde said-”
“Malarkey! He’s like so many other Easterners who are scared out of his wits about the political power growing in the West. They want it stifled.”
“And you truly believe that?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Grandfather and Uncle Christian sat me down and went to great lengths to explain the movement thoroughly, focusing on how it would benefit the Indians.”
“Kaira, you are naive to their motives. Have you ever heard of yellow journalism?”
“I’m familiar with it. It’s sensationalism in order to drive up circulation.”
“I recognize that you’ve been shielded from the realities of life. You’ve been protected from the ugly things that have happened.” He waved the pages through the air. “This piece all by itself can open wounds that are still very fresh in this part of the country.” He put his hands on either edge of the desk and leaned forward. Defiantly, he said, “I refuse to publish it, so take the damn thing back to Boston and tell the great Renaulde where he can shove it…”
“Grandfather is an influential man. He’s running for the Senate and has powerful people backing him. He won’t let this go without ramifications.”
“Don’t tell me about how cruel your grandfather is.”
His words made her bristle. “I didn’t say he was cruel-”
“I’ve been down this path before, and I know how ruthless he can be. Right after Monk sold the newspaper to your family, they tried to push the same editorial nonsense down his throat. That’s why they fired him.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “And you kept him on. Grandfather allowed it?”
“Only after I convinced him that it was in their best financial interest to let me keep Monk. It wasn’t anything out of his pocket, after all, I had agreed to pay Monk’s wages.” Quin leaned closer. “Money seems to pique your grandfather’s interest. He and I haven’t been on the best of terms since.”
“I had no idea, but wouldn’t it be better to publish the damnable thing than to antagonize Grandfather again?”
“Do you think it’s right to force someone to change their heritage?”
“Say what you mean. To force the Indians to take on our customs? If it betters them, possibly.”
“This group professed to support the Indian and be their friend, and it’s doomed to fail.”
“I don’t believe my family would support any type of renegade movement. Quin, maybe you aren’t keeping an open mind.”
“An open mind? Have you ever heard of the Red River War? Battle of the Washita? Adobe Walls?”
He frowned, but didn’t stop. “Do you think the old Navajo who befriended Amanda Lemmons’s father years ago and who still has to come to her place in the dark of night has a problem with Colonel Ranald Mackenzie slaughtering over a thousand Indian ponies at the Battle of Palo Duro Canyon?”
As hard as she tried to weigh his words, she could only stare at Quin. Slowly the pieces fell together. Her grandfather had used her, hoping she’d influence Quin into running the editorial. Fighting for words that refused to form, she shook her head.
“No, you wouldn’t. But I can assure you that folks around here remember. Remember being terrorized, having their cattle butchered, their homes burnt to the ground. Some of our town’s folks watched their whole family die because of the disagreements between the Indian and the government.”
“I had no idea, Quin. Honestly.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“Now, do you think I’d jeopardize my reputation and turn against my friends and neighbors by publishing an editorial on how much headway the government is making on molding the Indian into something they don’t want to be? And the Indians aren’t the least bit fooled by what the government is trying to do.”
“To make them into someone they aren’t?”
Quin slipped the pages back in the envelope. Retrieving the second one, he pulled to his feet and handed both to Kaira. “I’ve got to get over to the hotel to see Hank Harris, but I won’t be gone long.” He walked toward the door, grabbed his hat, then turned back in her direction. “I know this is distressing and makes you sad.” He tilted back his Stetson with his thumb, as though making sure she could see his eyes. “That’s why I don’t want what’s in the second packet. It’s a bonus for the Masterson interview. Renaulde used you, and I’ll never accept his blood money.”
“You know Grandfather will fire you, and you need the money.”
“No, it’s little more than a bribe, and it could never make me happy. Monk and I can live without this job. We’ve done it before and we can do it again. He’ll be happier out at the ranch, anyway. I’ve saved up enough to take care of us until I can find something else.”
“You need to restock the ranch. The money means nothing to Grandfather, so take it.” She shoved the white parcel in his direction.
Quin stepped forward, stopping in front of her. Studying her, he casually lifted her chin with his thumb, bringing her eyes up to meet his. “I know Texas isn’t the life you are accustomed to. So go on back to Boston. I can’t hold you here.” He lightly kissed her lips. Taking her hand, still clutching the envelope, he lifted it to her breast. Covering her hand with his, he whispered huskily, “Take this with you. Return it to your family.”
He turned and walked out in silence, taking part of her heart with him.
Kaira fought nausea. Tears rolled down her face. Quin was right. Grandfather had used them both, planning to
