Recognition came to her abruptly, and his name left her lips like a plea. “Tsa-yo-ga!”
A white man near them whooped drunkenly and fired his pistol. The gun blast spooked one of the soldier’s horses and it careened into the prisoners, bucking wildly. One of its iron-shod hooves lashed into the chest of the frail old man, Tsa-yo-ga.
Katherine darted into the melee and caught him as he slumped to the ground, blood already bubbling from his mouth and nose. His pack slid off and he fell sideways against her, his blood spattering her gray dress.
She cradled his head in her lap and bent over him to block the sun from his eyes. “Tsa-yo-ga,” she whispered tearfully. His turban had fallen off, and coarse gray hair tumbled about his face and shoulders. She stroked bloody strands of it back from his mouth. “I’ll save you as you saved me once.”
His eyes flickered, and the proud mouth drew up a bit at the corners. “Me-li!”
“Me-li’s daughter,” she said hoarsely.
“Ah. So many … years.” The words gurgled from his throat. “Today. This is very bad.”
“I’ll take care of you.”
His lips moved weakly. “Is this one the daughter Me-li named She Sees Dreams?”
“It is she, yes.” She brushed her tears from his wizened face. “And this one will always be grateful that her e-du-tsi saved her from the rattlesnake.”
His eyelids fluttered. He whispered, “Ah! Glory! I remember!”
The old eyes focused directly on hers, and life faded from them. Katherine cupped the ancient face between her hands and began a soft chant in Cherokee.
Rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders. “Fool woman! The old coot’s dead!”
She gasped. Justis’s hands. His voice. Vicious. He put a boot on Tsa-yo-ga’s body and shoved it from her lap. Then he twisted her around to face him, yanked her up angrily, and grabbed the back of her bonnet.
“I’m damned if your crazy ways will shame me!”
He pulled her head to his shoulder and held it there brutally, nearly suffocating her as he swept his other arm behind her legs. She clawed at his shoulders and face as he jerked her close to his body and picked her up. She screamed with rage, but the sound was muffled against his shoulder.
Angry mutters came from the spectators. “Don’t blame her for showing Christian charity,” Katherine heard one say.
Justis gave a terse answer and carried her through the line of people, walking very fast. His hold on her was painfully tight. She tried to gulp air into her lungs and made a sound of sheer loathing.
Finally he reached the pine thicket and climbed into the buggy. He sat down, breathing in shallow bursts as he held her in his lap, his hand still mashing her face against his shoulder. She fought wildly and he squeezed her until she gasped in weak surrender.
“Why?” she wailed.
He anchored a hand in her bonnet and the hair bundled underneath, then drew her head back. Between ragged breaths he said, “The soldiers coming. Had to do something, quick. Hide your face from them. Sorry. Sorry I hurt you.”
Stunned, she saw the red welts her fingernails had left in his jaw. His left earlobe was bleeding. She crumpled with misery and put her arms around his neck. “Justis, oh, Justis.”
They held each other tightly. Katherine listened to the continued sounds of the Cherokee procession. Shame choked her. She should be with her people, not here crying silently in a white man’s embrace, her head resting against his bloody jaw. When she heard the soldiers close the stockade’s heavy wooden gates, she knew her future was sealed inside them.
AMARINTHA PARNELL WAS a mystery Justis had never been able to figure out. When he’d met her, six years before, she had been just barely past the gawky stage that follows childhood, but even then she’d had the look of a grown woman in her eyes.
Those eyes—they were an odd shade of blue, dark and wounded, the color of a bruise. He didn’t understand why they repelled him, because it was no secret that other men in town found Amarintha and her odd eyes fascinating.
In a way, he did too. She was soft and fashionably plump, and her affinity for wearing pink gave her the appeal of a strawberry pudding. She had a beautiful, fine-boned little face, and its maze of freckles only drew attention to its charms. One of her admirers had confided to Justis during an inebriated moment playing cards at the saloon that Amarintha looked like a white cat with a calico mask.
The year she’d turned fourteen she had cornered Justis at a Fourth-of-July barbecue and said firmly that she intended to marry him on her sixteenth birthday. He’d kissed her just to see what kind of steel lay behind the girlish sass. It had only been a teasing peck on the lips, that kiss, but something akin to horror had risen in her eyes. She’d backed away and spat on him, and then, to his complete bewilderment, she’d smiled as if nothing were wrong.
He’d known then that he’d never get near Amarintha again, no matter how enticing her soft pink sweetness seemed. There was craziness in her, some kind of torment.
In the years since then plenty of men and boys had courted her, and to Justis’s great relief she seemed interested in all of them. Her sixteenth birthday had come two years ago, but she never said another word to him about marrying. Still, she always made it clear that he was her favorite.
He’d kept her at arm’s length all this time, and he couldn’t understand why she didn’t marry someone else. He’d heard rumors that the judge chased off any man who got too cozy with Amarintha, but that kind of wild tale was probably the result of the old lion’s reputation for meanness.
Justis grimaced as he rode to the judge’s house. He hoped Parnell could be persuaded to help with Katherine’s problem.
He tied Watchman to the split-rail fence that surrounded the yard. The judge’s white clapboard house was situated just off the square under a pair of huge oak trees, sad evidence that the town’s namesake ridge had been covered with such kingly trees until a few years before.
Amarintha opened the door before he finished knocking. She removed a frilly white cap from her red curls and brushed her hands over a white and pink work dress. “Goodness, I was cleaning house. But how nice to have a visitor.”
“You’re lookin’ mighty good today.” He tried not to sound impatient. “Is the judge in?”
She smiled widely. “No. He’s ridden over to Auraria.” She grabbed his hand. “Do come visit, though.” Justis let her lead him into the parlor. She took his hat and waved delicately toward an upholstered chair. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”
“No, I’ll come back later—”
“I’ve been planning to talk to you,” she said, and the smile vanished. She wrung her hands and gave him a sweet, pleading look. “I’m concerned about your activities of late. I don’t want you to suffer any ill treatment because of them.”
He studied her shrewdly as she settled on a footstool, twisting his hat between her pink fingers. “You’re kind to worry about me.”
“Oh, I do worry, I do! Please sit down for a moment.”
He lowered himself into the armchair. “I know folks are talkin’ about Miss Blue Song and me. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass the word that she’s a lady and that I’ve treated her that way. There’s nothing between us but friendship.”
“But, Justis, why are you sending supplies to the stockade every day? Lots of us are trying to help the poor Indians, but you—you’re practically turning into one of them!”
“Miss Blue Song is buying those supplies with her own gold.”
“But that’s the problem. People say that you’re just encouraging trouble, giving her that gold. It’s not rightfully hers. The state says so.”
“Then it’s my gold, and I can use it any way I please.”
“Justis, folks say that if you let one Cherokee parade around like she’s going to stay here, then the other poor wretches will think they can stay too.”
“Anybody got the gumption to tell me that to my face?”
“No. But they’re
after Captain Taylor to arrest her.”
“Why are you warning me? I’ve seen the way you look at her when you come in the store. You’d like to see her get carted off.”
“Why, I feel sorry for her. I don’t want to see her humiliated by a public arrest.”
Justis leaned forward and took his hat from her. His eyes narrowed. “What’s your bargain, Amarintha? What do you really want?”
“I just want you to get the respect you deserve from folks here in town. You’ll lose that if you associate too closely with Miss Blue Song. Though she’s certainly a fine lady who deserves a fine home—in the Indian territory out west.”
She paused, looked down demurely, and added, “But if you insist on helping her, I’ll understand.”
“Good. I want to ask the judge to swing it where she can visit the stockade without gettin’ in trouble. I’ve written the governor about exempting her, but he hasn’t sent an answer yet. Meantime, she can do good for her people. She’s got some doctorin’ skills.”
“But the army has a doctor for them. I heard so.”
His mouth curled in disgust. “One doctor to serve hundreds. They’ve been in the stockade only a week, and a dozen have died.”
“I thought Indians were a hardy race.”
“They are. If they weren’t, even more would be gone by now. Katie—Miss Blue Song is frantic about it.”
“Why do you think my father can keep the army from arresting her?”
“Come on, Amarintha. Everybody knows that the judge is tight with Cap’n Taylor.”
She tilted her chin up and smiled at him under half-shut eyes. “I have more influence with the captain than my father does. I’ll be glad to talk to him about Miss Blue Song’s plight.” She hesitated, still smiling.
“What do you want in return?”
“Just for you to take me to the dance at Mrs. Warner’s this Saturday.”
Justis smiled but cursed her silently. “That’d be my pleasure.”
“And promise me that you’ll not be seen with Miss Blue Song anymore. Either in public or by visiting her at the hotel. Not at all.” Her gaze fluttered over his incredulous expression. “It’s for your own good,” she assured him.
KATHERINE STACKED BOXES of quinine tablets on a shelf in the store’s back room. The quinine, along with liniments, salves, and various other medical supplies, had arrived by wagon just an hour earlier.
She’d run out to the loading dock and excitedly helped the teamster carry the precious packages inside. “I can accomplish a great deal with these medicines,” she’d told Rebecca. “If Justis can just get permission for the army to leave me alone.”
Now she carefully arranged the supplies so they’d be ready to pack at a moment’s notice. Out in the store Rebecca called, “Noah’s returned.”
Katherine glanced out of the storeroom as Noah trotted toward her. He came to a breathless halt, his brow furrowed with concentration.
“I told Mr. Justis you said the medicines had got here. I told him you says thank you for ordering ’em. I told him you missed him something awful the past three days and wondered where in tarnation he’d got off to.”
She gasped. “That’s not what I said. I said for you to ask him when he was coming to dinner at the hotel.”
“Uh-huh. He says he cain’t come. They cut into a new vein at the mine and he’s up to his, up to his—he cain’t come any day soon. And Miss Amarintha was there, and she said—”
“Noah, quit jabbering,” Rebecca interrupted. She handed him a piece of molasses candy. “Scoot back to the hotel and help Cookie clean rooms.”
Katherine stopped him. “Miss Amarintha was at the mine?”
“Yes’m. She come by to visit Mr. Justis. They’re goin’ to a dance on Saturday.”
Rebecca burst into activity, darting a sympathetic look at Katherine and shooing Noah with both hands. “Take yourself to the hotel this second, you chatterbox. Before I swat your behind.”
He escaped out the door, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Katherine returned to the storeroom and slammed a box of quinine tablets on the shelf. Damn the man. Damn him for making her care.
CHAPTER 7
THE AFTERNOON of the dance Katherine went to Sam and Rebecca, who were playing cards in the small parlor of their private rooms.
“You can keep no secrets from me,” she told them. “Because I’ve won Cookie’s friendship, and Cookie knows all.”
Sam eyed her askance. “Tell me how you persuaded that cranky creature to bestow her favor on you.”
“She had a spell of stomach trouble. I gave her a cathartic for it.”
He snorted. “So that’s the secret. Cookie trades friendship for a happy bowel.”
Rebecca blushed and covered her face. “Sam!” Her voice vibrated with restrained laughter.
Katherine gazed at them both reproachfully. “She says you’ve been invited to Mrs. Warner’s dance but you’re not going, on my account. You must go. Please.”
Rebecca shook her head. “ ’Tis just a dance. There are lots around here in the springtime.”
Katherine wouldn’t relent. “Go. You’re very dear to feel sorry for me, but don’t sit home to keep me company. I don’t expect to be included in the social life hereabouts, not ever. Besides, how could I go in good conscience while my people are suffering at the stockade? I’m ashamed of my freedom and good fortune as it is.” She hesitated. “I’m not hurt by Mr. Gallatin’s actions.”
Rebecca’s eyes teared. “I’ll never forgive Justis for deserting you!”
Katherine looked at her proudly. “He hasn’t deserted me. He’s fulfilling his duty without personal involvement, which is exactly what I asked him to do.”
“You can’t tell me that you wish it weren’t so!”
Katherine faltered, unnerved by Rebecca’s bluntness. “I might as well wish to be blond and blue-eyed,” she said finally. “And I’d never do that. So why mourn something that can’t come true?”
Easy words to say, but they lay heavy in her chest as she left the room.
CHEERFUL LANTERN LIGHT filled the Warner barn along with cheerful music—the scratchy, high-pitched duet of the county’s best fiddlers. Judge Parnell stood in front of them, calling the steps to a square dance, his voice less stern but no less commanding than when he sentenced men in his courtroom. Justis stood in a shadowy corner, avoiding the whirl and stomp of the dancers, his hands shoved in the pockets of a long black coat.
Amarintha nestled against him, holding his arm. “Don’t glower so,” she said, sighing. “The world is set right. Your Indian friend can visit the stockade as much as she pleases. She’ll be safe. And you needn’t accompany her at all.”
She waited for a show of gratitude that never came. Finally she said in exasperation, “Justis Gallatin! You’ve always told me that you intend to be a respectable citizen, and I’m only trying to help!”
“I don’t like bein’ forced into it.” Disgust boiled inside him, and it was all he could do to be civil. “You’ve got a mighty selfish way of bein’ helpful.”
“Sometimes the only way to get sense into a stubborn mule is to hit him over the head!”
“And hope he doesn’t bite your hand off.”
She cried a little and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “All I intend is to save your reputation from ruin. You simply have to stay away from Miss Blue Song from now on.”
He slowly removed her hand from his arm. “We got a bargain. You just make sure you keep Cap’n Taylor happy. Save your sugar for that.”
She glared at him as he walked away. Justis stepped outside and strode through a moonlit June night, heading for the corral, where Watchman waited among the other guests’ horses and wagons. He needed to ride and think until he couldn’t think anymore, until he was so tired that he couldn’t see Katherine’s face or hear her voice inside his mind.
“Hullo! That you, Justis?”
He heard raucous laughter from the farm’s smokehouse and looked ov
er to find a man hanging on the open door, silhouetted by lantern light. Justis recognized him as the owner of a small mine north of town. The man swayed crazily.
“Set down, Billy, ’fore you fall down.”
Billy chortled. Then he plunged face forward onto the hard, grassy earth. Justis ambled over to him as several other men staggered out of the smokehouse and gazed down at their fallen comrade.
“Didn’t hurt a bit,” Billy said enthusiastically, rolling over on his back.
Justis studied the man’s bloodied nose and giddy smile. “What are you possum farts drinkin’?”
“Not drinking, friend.” Billy pointed up at a stranger in the group. “We’re having an ether frolic. Peddler here is selling the stuff.”
“What’s ether?” Justis eyed the peddler warily.
The man reared back and grinned. “Just a harmless product of nature, sir. Sulphuric ether. Why, even ladies have ether frolics. Perfectly moral and clean, it is. You just take a few whiffs of ether gas and you feel exhilarated. Soothes aches and pains too.”
Justis thought all of that sounded good, especially considering his bad mood. “What’s your charge?”
“A quarter for five minutes of sniffing. Dollar if you want your own bottle.”
Justis reached into his pocket, then flipped a small gold nugget to the man. “Gimme two bottles.”
KATHERINE WOKE FROM a light, troubled sleep, and her heart skipped. Someone was trying to unlatch her door.
She scrambled out of bed and fumbled in the darkness for her wrapper. There was no time to hunt for her scalpel or even light the lamp. In a streak of moonlight she saw a thin knife blade slip through the fine crack between the door and its facing. It flicked upward and popped the latch.
Her heart racing, she threw herself forward just as a hand grasped the facing, slamming her shoulder into the door so that it trapped the invading hand’s fingers. To her amazement, the intruder didn’t struggle or scream in pain.
“I bet that’s gonna hurt like a sonuvabitch tomorrow,” a drawling, unmistakable voice observed solemnly.
She swung the door open and watched in distress as Justis tucked his knife back into its scabbard, then raised his hand close to his face and studied it, his expression grave. Moonlight fell on his slowly blinking eyes and nonchalant frown. His hat was shoved back crookedly, and when he lowered his hand he gave her a lopsided smile.
The Beloved Woman Page 11