Gray Elk came and stood near the porch steps, not on them. The old man had a particular consideration for the territories of others that Cole had noticed from their first meeting. May I? Gray Elk indicated the step. Please, he sat heavily.
The way of old men who have been many things and carry all of them in the body. They were quiet together for a while. She was always like this, Gray Elk said, from very young. Before her mother died, before River Wolf taught her warrior skills. He looked at his hands.
She would go still and watch something, an animal, a fire, a cloud. And when she looked away, she knew everything about it, everything it meant. Everything it was about to do. He paused. I did not know what to do with a daughter like that.
Cole said nothing. I thought if she married Gray Elk stopped. The traditions of my people have purpose. I did not want to see that purpose applied to my daughter the way it was applied. He was quiet a moment, but I also did not fight it.
I told myself the right man would find what was valuable in her, that it was only a matter of time. And instead, Cole said carefully, instead they found what frightened them. The old man's voice was even. A man who has adjudicated this before and reached the same verdict. I watched it happen one by one and told myself there was nothing I could do.
He stopped. I was wrong. Across the yard, Kaya was visible helping distribute blankets, talking to one of the younger warriors in Apache, moving with the ease of someone who has stopped dividing herself into the version she's allowed to be. I gave her to you, Gray Elk said, because I was out of choices. Because you needed a route and I needed to preserve honor, and it seemed the only arrangement that could work.
He paused. It was not generous. I want you to know that I know that. She knows it, too, Cole said. Yes, she does.
Gray Elk looked at her, and she forgives me for it, which is more than I deserve. He turned to Cole. She is happy here, not a question. I hope so, Cole said. That's what I'm working toward.
Gray Elk looked at him for a moment. You said you love her. Yes, has she heard you say it? Cole thought about the kitchen, the table, the coffee, The word partners. He'd said things about respect, about partnership, about not wanting her to be smaller.
All true. All meant, but love, that specific word. Not directly, Cole said. Gray Elk nodded, like this was the answer he'd expected. "She has never been told that she is loved well," the old man said.
"Her mother loved her perfectly. Then her mother was gone. Since then," he paused, "River Wolf loves her. I love her, but we have not always shown her love without conditions attached." His voice carried the specific weight of a man being honest about himself.