He should have known that despite her time in the East, the daughter of Michael and Elizabeth Burke would have no illusions about life in New Mexico.
“I struggle with the violence here, Gabe,” Cait admitted. “I thought I wanted to get away from it. Philadelphia was so civilized and peaceful. I loved school,” she continued, a note of sadness in her voice. “But I belong here,” she added passionately. “Nelson Mackie would have had to kill me as well as my Da to get this ranch, Gabe,” she said fiercely.
“Hush, Cait,” Gabe said, kissing her gently. “It’s all over. Mackie’s dead and Chavez…well, he might well be your uncle!”
“Whoever he is,” whispered Cait, “I am grateful, for he saved the two men I love most in the world.”
* * * *
Juan did not open his eyes again until after noon the next day and when he did, Elizabeth was back by his side. She was sitting there sewing, a small rosewood sewing box on the table beside her. Juan was so weak that even watching the flashing of her silver needle made him dizzy and he had to close his eyes for a moment.
Every time he breathed it felt like someone was sticking hundreds of those needles in his side. But he was obviously alive and in the Burkes’ house. But that little rosewood box? He’d seen it before, which was puzzling, since he’d never been inside the Burkes’. He opened his eyes again, this time focusing on the box with the velvet mound that was used as a pincushion. His ma’s sewing box had looked just like that. The thought drifted into his mind like smoke and he tried to hold onto it, but like smoke, it drifted right out again.
“You are awake, Señor Chavez?” asked Mrs. Burke in a soft voice. “Do you know where you are?”
Juan nodded. “Si, señora. Your husband and Hart?” he asked in a voice so weak it was hardly a whisper.
“They are safe thanks to you,” said Elizabeth with a smile.
Juan tried to pull himself up, but Elizabeth was beside him immediately. “No, no, señor. You’ve had a high fever and lost a lot of blood. Please lie still.”
Juan nodded, sinking back, gratefully obeying her order.
“Let me get you some fresh water.” Elizabeth stuck her needle in the velvet and left it on her chair.
He wanted to hold it. For some reason unknown to him he needed to hold that sewing box in his hand to convince himself that it wasn’t his mother’s. Of course, it wasn’t his mother’s. How would Elizabeth Burke come into possession of a sewing box that the Comancheros must have destroyed years ago?
This time, he didn’t try to get up, but slid over to the edge of the sofa, reaching toward the chair seat. He finally grasped the little box, but he was shaking so hard that it fell out of his hand, hitting the floor and spilling spools of thread.
“Mierde,” he muttered. He was white with the effort and when Elizabeth returned with the water, his eyes were shut again.
“Be careful, señora. The box…” he whispered.
The box? What box? Perhaps he was delirious again? “What box, Señor Chavez?”
“The sewing box.” Then Elizabeth realized it was not on the chair but on the floor beside the sofa. She put down the mug and knelt down, scooping the spools of thread and the few pins that had fallen out. “Oh, dear,” she said softly.
Juan’s eyes opened. “What is it, señora?”
“The box…it is broken.” Her voice caught as she picked up the top that had split in half.
“I am so sorry, Señora Burke,” he said, struggling to sit up. “It is my fault…I dropped it.”
Elizabeth knelt there looking up at him. “It was my mother’s sewing box….”
“It reminded me of my mother’s sewing box….”
They both spoke at the same time and then fell silent.
Elizabeth spoke first. “You were out of your head with fever last night, Señor Chavez.” Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice steady, although her heart was beating wildly. “You spoke in Spanish of a Señor Tomas, who was obviously very cruel to you.”
Chavez frowned. “I did? Well, Señor Tomas, he did have his own way of persuading.”
“Perhaps that is where you learned yours?”
Juan gave her a bitter smile. “I know it must be hard to have me here, señora. Believe me, I will be gone as soon as I….”
“No, no, señor, that is not what I meant,” she responded and he gave her a puzzled look. “I only meant that children learn to do what is done to them. If they are treated kindly, they treat others so. If cruelly…well, they often grow up to bully others.” When Chavez remained silent, Elizabeth continued. “You spoke of your mother last night too, but not in Spanish. And of your father. You saw them killed?”
Juan closed his eyes, once again seeing that blood red rose opening and opening in his father’s chest.
“Si, señora,” he whispered. “I have a few memories that occasionally come back to me.”
“You also spoke of someone called Lizzie?” She was too afraid to be more direct.
“Si, Lizzie was my sister.”
“So you have a sister,” said Elizabeth softly.
“No, señora, the Comancheros killed her, too.”
“Did you see it happen?” asked Elizabeth so quietly he had to strain to hear her. He closed his eyes again and turned his head away. Why did she ask him these questions and bring it back so clearly? All the fragments fell into place like the pieces of a kaleidoscope and he could remember everything about that morning. His father singing that song they were all tired of. His mother climbing down from the wagon, asking Lizzie to go for water. She didn’t want to go for water. And she didn’t like him calling her Lizzie and when he did, she stuck her tongue out at him and he was just waiting for her to come back from the creek so he could really get her into trouble when his father’s song had been cut off.
“Did you see your sister killed, Juan?” Elizabeth Burke’s voice was coming from very far away.
“No, but if they hadn’t killed her they would have brought her along to be sold, too.”
“What if she was down by the creek and they didn’t even know she was there?”
It took him a minute to realize it was Mrs. Burke’s voice asking the question, and not his own, inside his head. How could she know Lizzie had gone for water? Had he spoken of that in his delirium?
Mrs. Burke put her hand on his and when he turned back to look at her, he was surprised to see tears pouring down her cheeks. “You said my sewing box reminded you of your mother’s, Jonathan.” He didn’t immediately take in what she had called him, but nodded a yes.
“And I said it was my mother’s.”
“What did you call me?” he asked sharply.
“Jonathan. Jonathan Rush.”
His hand tightened convulsively. “That is my old name,” he whispered.
“They didn’t kill me, Jonathan,” said Elizabeth. “I was hidden by the creek bank, though I saw it all. I saw them take you, but I couldn’t do anything,” she told him, her voice breaking. “I am so sorry.”
“No, no…you can’t be Lizzie,” he said wonderingly.
“I’m afraid I am,” she confessed with a watery smile.
“But how…?” He shook his head as if to clear it.
“How did I come to be Mrs. Michael Burke? It is a long story, Jonathan, for another time. I stayed by the wagon all day and night and the next morning a troop of cavalry rescued me. I wanted them to go after you, but they said it was too late, that you’d been killed or sold. I guess it was easier for me to believe you dead, because the thought of your being alive somewhere would have tormented me. And the last thing I ever did, was to stick my tongue out at you,” she said, putting her head down on the sofa and sobbing.
He hadn’t really believed her until then, despite all she’d said. “Oh, Lizzie,” he said, his voice filled with wonder and pain.
She lifted her head. “I always hated it when you called me that, Jonathan,” she said with a heartbroken smile.
It was all too much fo
r him. His head was spinning and his mouth was dry and he felt himself losing consciousness at the same time he felt the gentle touch of his sister’s hand.
Chapter Thirty-eight
When Michael came in for dinner, he went straight to the parlor and saw his wife sitting beside Chavez as though she’d never left. The man’s eyes were closed and he was very pale and Michael had a moment or two of worry until he saw Chavez’s chest moving up and down. He walked over to Elizabeth and put his arm around her.
“It is Jonathan,” she said softly, without looking up.
“Now, a ghra, ye don’t know that.”
“But I do, Michael. He was awake this morning. He wanted to hold my sewing box because it reminded him of his mother’s.”
“Dia!” exclaimed Michael. “That’s your mother’s sewing box.”
“The only thing I have of hers except for a few pieces of jewelry. Chavez had a sister, Michael, whom he called Lizzie. He thought she’d been killed. He’d forgotten that she was down by the creek fetching water.”
“I can’t believe it, Elizabeth!”
“Neither can I, but it’s true. And it all makes sense, Michael. He was treated cruelly as a slave. He’d seen his family massacred. He had none of the love I had. No wonder he ended up El Lobo.”
“Not everyone who has a hard time becomes hard,” Michael reminded her mildly.
“Oh, I am not trying to excuse him, Michael. I’m sure he has done some awful things. But he was such a little boy, Michael. Only seven,” she said, beginning to cry again. “Oh dear, I’ve been crying off and on all day,” she said with an apologetic smile.
“And I am sure you haven’t had anything to eat and Cait has prepared a good dinner for us,” he said, lifting her to her feet.
“I hate to leave him, Michael.”
“He’ll not be going anywhere for a while, a ghra.”
* * * *
The next time Juan awoke, it was later that evening. He shifted slightly and then groaned. In addition to the throbbing on his side, he was stiff and sore all over, but this time he was determined to pull himself up.
“Are ye awake, boyo?” Michael Burke was standing over him, holding a kerosene lamp. “Are ye sure ye want to sit up?”
“Si, señor,” Juan muttered.
“Then let me help ye.” Michael’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he lifted Juan up and propped another pillow behind his head. “There ye are, not quite perpendicular, but vertical enough to get some broth down yer throat, if ye’re hungry?”
Juan was surprised to find that he was and nodded his head.
“I’ll get some for ye, then.”
But it was not Michael Burke who returned with a small earthenware cup, but Sadie Hart.
“Mr. Burke?”
“Seeing to the horses, Señor Chavez. I offered to bring you this.” She set the cup down and tied a napkin around Juan’s neck. He became very conscious that he had nothing on above the waist but the silly bib and the strips of bandage around his chest. He tried to pull a sheet up around him and Sadie had to turn her face to hide her smile.
“Here, I think this is cooled off enough,” she said, turning back and holding a spoonful of soup to his lips. They both felt so awkward that the first few swallows left more on his chin than in his mouth and Sadie wiped him off with the bib. They did better with the rest, however, and when the cup was empty, Juan whispered, “I didn’t realize I was so hungry. Is there any more?”
“No more, for now,” said Sadie. “The doctor said go slowly. But I can get you some water.”
Chavez insisted on holding the glass himself until he realized that his hands were shaking so much that the water was spilling down his chest. “A good thing I tied that around your neck,” said Sadie matter-of-factly as she covered his hand with hers and helped him with the water. “That’s enough now,” she said after he drained the glass. “I’ll get you more later, before you go to sleep.”
“I have been sleeping all day, señorita,” he said as she leaned over to untie the napkin. As her breast brushed his chest, he smiled at the irony that he was so weak he couldn’t even take in the pleasurable sensation, much less take advantage of it. Not that she would want him to, after all that had happened.
“I need to tell you something, Sadie,” he whispered as she straightened up. “I wish to tell you I am sorry.”
“For what, Señor Chavez?” she asked, her voice steady but her hands shaking. She tried to steady them by folding the makeshift bib as though it had just come back from the laundry.
“I…your brother was right, Sadie.”
Sadie’s heart sank and she prayed she wouldn’t disgrace herself by crying.
“Señor Mackie had wanted me to push him into a fight. I made sure that he caught me kissing you under protest. I was rough with you, I think?”
“But never before that, Juan. Are you apologizing for all the other times, too?” Sadie didn’t know why she was being such a glutton for pain. It hurt enough to hear him confirm Gabe’s judgment. Did she really want to know that nothing between them had been real?
Juan had intended to say yes and set her free. Whoever he was: Juan Chavez, Jonathan Rush, he was not the right man for Sadie Hart. She deserved much better. But when he looked up and saw the pain in her eyes, he whispered, “Nunca jamas, querida.” He hesitated a little before saying, “It is true that Señor Mackie wanted me to pursue you. But I didn’t need his orders after that first time I met you. Everything we did together….” Sadie lowered her eyes and blushed at the memory of their lovemaking.
“My heart was in everything, mi amor.”
“Am I, Juan?”
“Are you what, querida?”
“Am I your love?”
“Si, Sarah Ellen Hart. Mi amor sola. If I wasn’t so weak I would show you how I feel instead of telling you.” He sighed. “When I leave here I will carry you in my heart always.”
“When you leave…?”
“You deserve a better man, querida. Not El Lobo. Not someone who almost killed your brother.”
“But you didn’t, Juan.”
“I couldn’t,” he said simply.
“And you saved him again, at the Mackie ranch. Without you, both Gabe and Mr. Burke would be dead. That makes you a good enough man for me, Señor Lobo,” she said, trying to smile.
“Oh, Sadie, you can’t….”
“But I do,” she whispered. “I love you, Juan Chavez. Jonathan Rush,” she added softly. “Mrs. Burke told us who you are.”
“Ah, but Sadie, that should have convinced you. It is ironic, no, that I was hired to drive my sister off her ranch. Hired to kill her husband. I could have done it too. And I would never have known….”
“But I think you did, Juan. I think somewhere, in some way, your heart knew.”
“If it did, Sadie, it is only because you gave me back my heart. I have been without one for many years, querida,” he said, turning away so that she could not see the pain in his eyes.
She knelt down beside him. “Please don’t leave me, Juan. Leave here if you must, but take me with you.”
He turned back to her, about to protest when she put her fingers gently on his lips. “No, Juan, don’t say it.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. “I am too weak to fight you or kiss you, querida,” he replied with a rueful smile.
“I love you, Juan. I gave you my heart that day in the foothills.”
“All right, Sadie. When I leave, if you still wish to go, I will take you with me.” He covered her hand in his and held it tightly until he fell asleep.
* * * *
During the next week, Michael dealt with the sheriff and the town council. Mackie’s housekeeper had seen everything from inside the house and was able to give a full account of all that had happened, now that her employer was dead and unable to frighten her. Without Mackie behind him, the sheriff was persuaded to give up his intention to ‘see justice done.’
“Justice has been d
one, boyo,” Michael told him, “Nelson Mackie is dead because he pushed just a little too hard and because he was a murderin’ bastard.”
“But that Mexican should pay,” muttered the sheriff, who was furious that the source of his ‘retirement’ fund was now dead, all due to the sneaking son of a bitch, Chavez, who changed sides at the last minute.
“For what? He didn’t kill Eduardo, not that you gave a tinker’s damn about that murder,” said Michael, looking at him in disgust. “The men responsible are dead. And he saved my life, so Señor Chavez goes or stays a free man. And speakin’ of goin’, Sheriff, if I were you, I’d be thinkin’ of goin’ meself….”
* * * *
“The one person I have sympathy for in all this is Mrs. Mackie, Elizabeth,” said Michael at the dinner table that night. “She was not responsible for any of it and she loved the bastard, strange as that may seem.”
“I hear she has family in Kansas, Michael?”
“She does, a ghra, and once she sells the ranch, she’ll not have to worry about being dependent on their charity. She’s in a hurry to leave or so I’ve heard,” Michael continued after a moment’s silence. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was willing to sell off some of the smaller ranches Mackie bought up,” he added, looking pointedly at Gabe.
“The Garcia place is a fine piece of property, with plenty of grass and water,” said Gabe thoughtfully.
Cait had not missed her father’s hint about the Garcia place and Gabe’s interest. She hadn’t thought much beyond his declaration of love for her. There hadn’t been any time, what with the turmoil of the last ten days. Mackie’s death and the violence that had accompanied it made it hard to realize that their ranch was now safe and secure. It had been even harder to grasp that El Lobo was, in fact, her mother’s long lost brother and Cait’s uncle.
But things were finally beginning to feel closer to normal and the future beckoned to her and so the next day at breakfast, Cait looked across at Gabe and said: “I was wondering if I might ride Sky this morning.”
Gabe looked puzzled for a moment as though he was wondering why she needed his permission. It was hard to remember that the horse was his now.
Journey of the Heart Page 32