After The Lies

by Mandessa Selby

  Since the end of the Civil War, her people had been saving every cent they earned in order to return to the United States and purchase land. Owning their own land, free and clear, without the fear of being part of the next Indian relocation was a dream the whole tribe had. They had learned that the white man did not honor the treaties they negotiated. Especially when the white man wanted something on Indian land.

  When would her people find peace? First, they had left Florida to escape slavery. Now they were persecuted for being Seminole. Her people needed land, enough property to provide for everyone. Owning land meant roots. Roots equaled a future. Callie and her people were desperate for a future, and would do anything to create their destiny.

  * * *

  Shaded by a towering cottonwood tree, Luc Delacroix stood in the dusty village square surrounded by sandy-colored adobe buildings shaded by the trees. His horse drank heavily at the stream which meandered down the center of the village. Two black and white spotted dogs lapped at the water, then scampered away nipping each other’s heels.

  Children played tag in the dirt, their laughter light and merry. They seemed to have no cares, no worries. Luc had never had a childhood where he’d been able to romp with such a sense of freedom. He envied them.

  A young woman in a colorful, flounced skirt and a high-necked blouse pranced by, catching his eye. Her gold hoop earrings sparkled in the sun complimenting her golden chestnut skin. She grinned at him with a toss of her head. Curly black hair flew about her shoulders in wild abandon. She was pretty and Luc felt a moment of tension. He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d left Washington D.C. and given up his mistress.

  Pretty Jennifer. Luc would miss her pliant body and seductive wiles, but duty had ordered him to Fort Duncan in Texas, and Jennifer was not the type to enjoy being in the middle of nowhere. They’d parted and Luc knew within hours she had a new protector.

  “Dear God,” Lieutenant Reginald Cooper muttered, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, leaving a smear of dirt across his skin. “There isn’t a decent place anywhere in this forsaken town for a drink and a bath.” Reggie’s usual charm and wit seemed to have abandoned him since they’d left Washington. His charm was his trademark, and dependent on a social setting in which he could shine.

  Luc laughed. “Reggie, you’re too far from home to expect the comforts of home to just be there for you. As though on command.”

  Reggie lifted a blond eyebrow. “I like my comfort. Unlike you, I didn’t volunteer. I was assigned this little enterprise.”

  “Snob. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Luc slapped his canvas gauntlets against his blue-clad thigh to rid them of the dust embedded in the seams. If anything, it was the dust that bothered him the most. The finely grained dust seeped into every pore, the seams of his uniform, and no matter how clean Luc kept his clothes and his quarters, there was always a feathering of powder on everything.

  Reggie snorted and said, “At Bull Run.”

  Luc didn’t reply. Bull Run had been the first battle for both of them during the Civil War and Luc knew that the idealism he had carried with him had also been sacrificed during the fighting. How could they have been so silly to think that war was romantic? War was dirty and bloody, and the screams of the dying fueled Luc’s nightmares.

  Luc had known Reggie since that battle. In the beginning, he had been less cynical. But in the aftermath of the war, Luc had watched Reggie grow a bitter shell about him. Coupled with his brother’s death was the loss of the ancestral fortune and home that had devastated his family, and Reggie couldn’t seem to recover. He sent home as much of his pay check as he could afford to help his widowed mother and two sisters, but the amount was a pittance of what they were used to. And now one sister was engaged to be married and expected Reggie to foot the bill for a lavish society wedding. Luc understood Reggie’s discontent. “Then consider this a new beginning.”

  Reggie shaded his eyes with his hand. “I wish I had your confidence.”

  Despite his brave words, Luc still searched for a new beginning, too. His father, who had fought for the South, had disowned him because of his determination to fight on the side of the Union. Once the war was over, Luc had stayed in the Army. He enjoyed military life, much to his amazement, a decision that further alienated him from his father.

  Luc had no regrets, even though he had to keep his race a secret, otherwise he would be hounded out of the service. One drop of black blood made him black forever. The North, for all its bombastic rhetoric about saving the Africans from the savagery of slavery, was just as blind to the humanity of the black man as the South had been.

  Though his decision to remain in the Army, determined to find his place on the frontier, had been more rewarding than he’d ever suspected, he paid for it with a hidden guilt that surfaced periodically and left him feeling ashamed. He betrayed his own race by hiding his origins.

  Reggie turned and loosened the saddle girth on his tired horse. The animal stood, head down, blowing small puffs of dust with each breath through distended nostrils. The unrelenting heat brutalized both animal and man.

  Reggie placed his hat back on his head, hiding the blond curls that had drawn the attention of two little girls who gazed at his hair in awe. “We should have stayed in Washington,” Reggie said. “General Lewis took quite a shine to you, Luc. He’d have taken us with him to London where we could be dancing the night away with titled English beauties desperate for rich American husbands.”

  Luc grinned. The idea had appeal. He loved London, but he’d chosen a different path and Reggie had followed him. “I’ve already done that.”

  “Now who’s being the snob?” Reggie laughed and slapped Luc’s shoulder.

  Another billowing of dust rose in a cloud about his hands as Luc slid his gauntlets through his belt. He slapped at the shoulders of his uniform and rubbed at the gold insignia on his collar.

  Reggie nudged his arm. “Look there. Those must be your darkies.”

  Three young men exited the front of a shabby mercantile store. They wore shapeless pants and brightly colored shirts with their long hair loose under their hats. They stared intently at Luc and Reggie, curiosity deep in their black eyes.

  Luc tensed at Reggie’s prejudice. Though he felt a kinship to those young men, he could never reveal it. The position he’d carved out for himself in the army had become too important for him to give up, despite the guilt. He liked the privileges of the white man. As the years went on, he found the lie easier to say. His conscience bothered him less and less.

  When he was alone, he counted his successes. He fought bravely, led wisely, garnered the respect of his peers, superiors, and his men. Wasn’t that what he had always wanted? What more did he want?

  Commanding the Black soldiers, now called Buffalo Soldiers by the Indians, most of his career, he’d been able to prove their worth to the Army. But in his gut he knew if the world didn’t consider him white, he would have never been given the chance in the first place.

  He studied the group of men. Although young, they had hard, ruthless eyes and tough bodies. He liked that. He had no time to be a nursemaid. The type of man he’d been sent to recruit as a scout was an integral part of the Army’s plan to stop the Comanche Indians from preying on the settlers moving west. He could make excellent soldiers out of these men.

  Even before he’d left Fort Duncan, the rumors of ‘Delacroix’s Darkies’ had begun to make the rounds. Luc smiled at the thought. The Negro-Seminoles he had already recruited and trained had proved themselves more than capable of doing the job from the moment they’d been enlisted. He had hated to see them posted to other forts where they face faced hostility from the white officers they served under, and betrayal from the white government who employed them.

  Though considered some of the best trackers in the country, the skills of the Negro-Seminole scouts were treated with contempt by too many of the officers. Yet the army needed the Negro-Seminoles
if they were going to win the war against the Comanche, no matter how much the officers and bureaucrats scorned them.

  A tall, imposing man with skin the color of burnished mahogany, stepped onto the street. Clad in the clothing of a Seminole chief, his bright-colored patchwork shirt stood out against the duller red of the turban twisted about his head and the elaborate beaded belt about his waist. Feathers had been tucked into the folds of the turban and bobbed as he walked toward Luc. The three men who’d been standing in front of the general store fell into step behind their chief as he approached.

  “I’m Lieutenant Delacroix.” Luc held his hand out to the chief.

  The chief examined Luc from head to foot in a slow, deliberate manner that left Luc feeling as though the other man could see beneath his skin to the secrets he had buried so deeply. Only when the chief had finished his scrutiny did he hold out his hand to Luc in a gesture of friendship.

  “Welcome to our village.” The chief ’s voice rumbled with a timbre that insured respect. “I am William Nightowl, chief of Panther Clan. What is your business?”

  A crowd began to gather around them. Women, wearing knee-length skirts with elegant embroidery and ruffles, hugged little children to their sides. Luc wanted privacy and he had an assembly instead.

  “Chief Nightowl, we wish to speak to you about recruiting some of your men for the Army Scouts to fight the Comanche.” Luc had been to two other villages on his recruiting quest and this was the last one. The other villages had not been cooperative and he’d come away with nothing to show for his efforts.

  The chief gave an expansive gesture. “You are welcome in my home. Come. Do not worry about your animals. My sons will care for them.” He led the way toward a one story adobe structure set back from the square with a large garden on one side and an oak tree shading it.

  Inside, Chief Nightowl motioned for Luc and Reggie to sit on two sturdy stick chairs. The chief sat across from them. A handsome woman with sparkling eyes brought cups and poured water into them. Then she served oranges before fading into the shadows.

  “I have heard from our sister villages to the south that you are here to take away all my young men.” Nightowl eyed Luc.

  “I’m offering jobs at a fair wage and forty acres of land to any man willing to join the Buffalo Soldiers and fight against the Comanche.”

  Stroking his chin, Nightowl seemed to ponder Luc’s words. While Luc waited patiently, Reggie moved restlessly. For all his bravado, Reggie had no talent for diplomacy. He hungered for action. Tapping his finger on the table, Reggie radiated discomfort. Given the choice, Luc would have left Reggie in Washington and brought someone more sympathetic to the Seminole. But Reggie had been assigned to him and now Luc was stuck with him.

  “This is true? Forty acres of land.” A light shone in the chief ’s dark eyes. “Where is this land?”

  Luc stirred. Nothing had been written down, only discussed in vague promises. “I don’t know where. My chief did not discuss all the terms with me.” Luc took a sip of water, hoping he was making some sort of headway.

  Chief Nightowl’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you will keep your word when the time is right?”

  Luc could only repeat what he had been told. “My chief has guaranteed you will be rewarded in land.”

  While Nightowl thought, Luc felt his heart sink. He could see that the chief had heard similar promises before. Why should he believe Luc now? Hell, Luc had seen the government renege on written treaties with all the signers in agreement. Promises and handshakes had little value outside the bureaucratic enclave who felt no obligation to the native peoples who had inhabited the land long before the white man had arrived. Luc had no way to reassure the chief, only the hope that his superiors would honor their word ... this time.

  Luc’s first priority was to get recruits. With the stream of settlers coming west over the Overland Trail, protection against the Indians was paramount. The Comanches, the fiercest of them all, escalated their violence daily. Something had to be done. The more scouts he had, the better the chances of eradicating the threat. “I realize the Seminole are brother to the Comanche.”

  Nightowl shook his head. “The Comanche are brother to no one.”

  “Then it would serve your interests to help us.”

  “If I allow my young men to leave, who will protect my village? Who will help with the harvest?”

  “The Mexican government has given permission to my chief to patrol the entire Rio Grande Valley to ensure your safety.”

  The chief laughed, a skeptical look in his dark, intelligent eyes. “Your white armies will now protect the Negro-Seminoles?”

  Luc didn’t miss the man’s sarcasm. “You have my word.” What was he saying? He doubted the government even knew these people were here.

  “What about the word of your chief?”

  Reggie slapped the table. “We speak for them.”

  Chief Nightowl glanced at Reggie, but said nothing. Then he turned his eyes back to Luc. “I will talk to my young men.” Chief Nightowl stood.

  Outside, a commotion started. Luc heard the bawling of cattle. He stepped out, Reggie behind him, into the hot afternoon sun and saw a small herd of twenty cattle being driven through the village square by a man on a horse and a boy on a mule. Two other men, tethered to a horse by long ropes, staggered after them.

  Luc heard whispers of rustlers, and a little boy pointed at the men being pulled along behind the horses of the others. One of the rustlers stepped into a pile of cow dung and screamed a rough curse word. The boy who held his rope jerked it and the man fell to his knees. He scrambled to get to his feet again, looking more afraid than before. The boy didn’t slow his mule one step.

  The rustlers ought to be scared. Luc knew cattle rustlers in Mexico were hung without benefit of trial. His momentary sympathy evaporated when one spat at him.

  The man and the boy halted their animals near Chief Nightowl. The boy grinned. “Caught them, sir, just like I said. Wasn’t hard, they left enough sign for a blind man to follow.”

  Luc examined the two trackers. The older man was grizzled and hardened, his face a network of wrinkles and leathery skin, but the boy’s face was still delicate, unformed. He must be around fourteen, yet Luc could see that the boy was capable of a man’s job despite his lack of age. Damn, the man was too old for recruitment, the boy too young.

  Luc turned his attention back to the other men who clustered around the two, congratulating them. Cocky, the boy preened. The other young men grinned while asking about the bounty. Desert life was stamped deeply on their youthful faces. They had lived a hard existence, and though the Army would be just as difficult, Luc had faith that they would be great soldiers.

  The boy faced him. Their eyes connected. Luc felt a jolt race through him. His mouth went dry. The kid smiled. Luc turned away. What the hell had just happened?

  Chapter Two

  Luc saddled his horse, ready to return to Fort Duncan with the five new recruits. He’d hoped for more men, but Chief Nightowl had been adamant. No more than five able-bodied young men could be spared.

  The others were needed in the village.

  “Lieutenant Delacroix!” A clear, high voice called from outside the ramshackle lean-to that served as the stable.

  Luc turned to find the boy, who’d paraded his captured rustlers through the town, standing in a shaft of sunlight that cast his face into dark shadows yet illuminated his dark curly hair. A strange, disturbing sensation crept through Luc’s body. He pushed it away. He didn’t have the time for the odd feelings swirling inside him. “What can I do for you, young man?”

  “I’ve come to join the Scouts, sir.” An excited glint lit the boy’s cinnamon-brown eyes.

  Luc bit back a laugh. This boy was too young and Luc regretted that he couldn’t accept the offer. “The army is no place for children.”

  “I ain’t no--” He stopped, pressing dainty lips tightly together.

  “How old are you, boy?”r />
  He lifted a softly rounded chin. “I’m...fourteen. I work hard, and I’m the best tracker in the village.”

  Luc laughed. Short and scrawny, with a too-pretty face to be male, the boy had a voice that hadn’t broken yet. Luc had already seen too many boys die in the war and knew he couldn’t stomach the loss of one more. “Go back to your mama. You can sign up when you’re older.” He cinched the saddle and guided his gelding out of the stable into the morning sun.

  The boy put a small hand on Luc’s arm. “But sir ...”

  The hairs on the nape of Luc’s neck rose. He studied the brown hand on the dark blue sleeve of his uniform. The boy’s nails were clean and groomed, the hand delicately formed. Stunned, Luc stared at the boy’s upturned childish face. Luc waited a second for the curious sensation to pass. “Sorry, son, but you’re just too young.” Luc nodded at Reggie, who tightened the saddle cinch, jerking at the strap. His horse tended to hold its breath while being saddled and once Reggie had mounted, it would let it out and then the saddle cinch would be loose. Reggie, finally satisfied, swung into the saddle.

  Luc gazed regretfully at the young boy. “I know you can do a man’s job, son, but the Army is no place for a child.” Luc swung into the saddle and turned his horse toward the lane that lead out of the village. He glanced back once to see the boy standing in the center of the lane, hands on his hips, scowling.

  Luc glanced quickly away. He didn’t understand the strange reaction he had just experienced. Nor did he understand the sense of regret as he rode away.

  * * *

  Callie stared after the soldiers as they cantered out of the village, the chosen five following. She choked on the desert dust, her temper rising.

  That man had no reason to turn her down. She was a good as any man they’d chosen. She didn’t like the way he’d looked down his nose at her, like she was nothing but dirt. He was probably laughing at her now.