After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

  “Yes! He terrified me! He was going to take me with him.” Tía shuddered, remembering her fear.

  “If he hurts Steve…” Andrea stopped, too weak to continue. Once, a long time ago, Mama had fought with Papa, and he had pushed her into the bedroom. Andrea had listened at the door to what had sounded like a fight. Ever since that night she had feared her father.

  “He knows everything.”

  “What did you tell him about Steve?”

  “Only that he was in Tombstone.”

  Fear and helplessness warred for supremacy in Andrea. It wouldn’t matter what anyone said now. If Papa wanted to kill Steve, no one could stop him. He was a madman, “It doesn’t matter. Go see about Judy.”

  Tía checked Judy’s room and rushed back to the parlor. “She’s not there. I’m going to look for her.” She ran to the bunkhouse, where two dozen men still lounged on the long porch.

  “Have you seen Judy?” A chorus of replies, all negative, greeted her. “Help me look for her, please!”

  Grumbling but excited, the men spread out. Tía ran to Johnny’s cabin, but it was empty. Everything was as it had been earlier when she’d stood so uncertainly on the small porch, fighting with him. She glanced in the open door of the Mexican women’s quarters, then, hearing the clamor of men’s voices as they spread into the far corners of the enclosure, she remembered the barn.

  Tía ran across the compound to the barn. Panting with exertion, she tugged the sagging door open enough to slip inside. The air was still and warm. The barn was dimly lit by a lantern that hung on a support post. The door had been open. Alarmed, Tía stopped. Steve always kept the doors closed and the lanterns out after dark. Frightened, she started to back outside, then stopped. Maybe Judy had left it ajar…

  “Judy?…” Her voice sounded hollow.

  “Over here.”

  Tía jumped. Her eyes scanned the darkness outside the cone of light, groping for the source of that low voice.

  In the shadows at the outermost edge of a dim lantern’s light, she saw Grant Foreman, kneeling beside a crumpled form in a yellow gown. Tía rushed to his side.

  “She’s dead,” he said, not looking at Tía.

  “Oh, noooo.” Holding her stomach, Tía doubled over and moaned. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the dimness, she could see Grant’s stunned face. Judy couldn’t die. Tía’s mind rejected the possibility. Her trembling hand reached out to touch Judy, to deny the truth of his statement.

  “She’s dead,” Grant said quietly.

  Tía’s hand pressed against Judy’s throat. A tiny pulse throbbed beneath her fingertips. Eyes widening, she took Grant’s cold hand and forced it against Judy’s throat. “She’s alive! Feel it?”

  “Thank God!” he gasped. Forgetting his own injury, Grant gathered Judy into his arms and stood up. Blackness almost filled his head, but he dragged in air as fast as he could. Gradually his head cleared. Tía ran and tugged the door open, and Grant followed her out into the cooler night air.

  “We found her!” Tía shouted, running ahead of him toward the casa grande. “We found her!”

  For a few minutes pandemonium reigned as Carmen and Cruz—crossing themselves, muttering prayers—gathered the needed supplies to deal with the evening’s third emergency.

  Silently cursing his own wound, which had weakened him, Grant staggered in and laid Judy on the long couch. Kneeling beside her, he carefully parted Judy’s blood-soaked hair to peer at her scalp.

  “Why doesn’t she wake up?” Tía asked anxiously.

  Andrea stepped close and placed her hand on Judy’s forehead. “Concussion, maybe. Where was she?”

  “In the barn. Do you think Morgan Todd…did this?” she asked, pointing to Judy. “And that’s why Johnny…”

  Sharply, Andrea looked at Tía. “I thought you said Johnny was with you.”

  “He was, but he could have found her and then gone after Mr. Todd.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Johnny run past Morgan, across the whole compound to the barn?”

  Organized at last, Carmen and Cruz waved them aside. They worked over Judy quietly and efficiently. Grant sagged into one of the Morris chairs. Tía paced. Andrea finished her letter to Steve, placed it in an envelope, and then walked quickly to the bunkhouse.

  Stepping onto the porch, she stopped at the door. In various stages of undress, men scrambled for their pants, shirts, shoes. Turning her back, Andrea counted to twenty and then stepped inside. She wasted few words in telling them what she needed and how dangerous the mission could be, but immediately a slender young towhead stepped forward.

  “I’ll go, Miss Burkhart,” he said, hastily buttoning the shirt he had just pulled on, his southern drawl quite pronounced.

  He looked too young for such a dangerous mission. “What’s your name?”

  “Snake Peterson, ma’am.”

  “You realize this may be dangerous.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sheepishly Snake scratched his head. “But you see, ma’am, I got this gal in Tombstone, and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of her in nigh onto three weeks. I’d ride through Chatto and Geronimo both, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. They don’t call me Snake for nothin’. I kin slip right through, no problem at all, ma’am.”

  Andrea joined in the laughter. “Hell!” Dap called out. “They call you snake ’cause you’re always slippin’ outa work!”

  That caused another uproar. When the room quieted, Andrea smiled at Snake. “Thank you, Snake. I’m very grateful to you. Please give this letter to Steve, and you may stay in Tombstone until you can safely come back with him. Warn him that it may not be soon.”

  “Thank you, ma’am!” Snake gathered up his hat and a gunbelt and bolted for the door. Yipping his excitement, he ran all the way to the barn.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The women were all clustered around Judy. Tía glanced up. Seeing Andrea, she left the group to meet her sister at the door.

  “How’s Judy?” Andrea asked.

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t move or blink or anything. She just lies there. Carmen and Cruz have tended every bruise and cut, but none of them seems bad enough to keep her out like this.”

  “That’s the way a concussion acts. It swells on the inside instead of the outside.”

  “How’s Morgan? Will he live?”

  Andrea sighed. “I don’t know. He was bleeding heavily, and the man who was supposed to be taking care of him looked as scared as I felt. I hope he knows what he’s doing…”

  “Can’t we do something? Take him to the fort?”

  “I heard Rutledge tell one of the men it was too risky.”

  “I thought Apaches didn’t attack at night.”

  “Maybe that’s an old wives’ tale.”

  “Probably.” Tía sighed. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “Pray.”

  The women took turns sitting beside Judy’s still form. Grant Foreman paced with Andrea until Tía asked him to walk her down to see how Morgan was faring. Grant found a lantern.

  His face shiny with sweat, Morgan lay on a blanket. When Tía knelt beside him, he opened his eyes. They were dark and glazed. Taking a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket, she wiped Morgan’s face. Grant set the lantern on the ground nearby.

  “They aren’t doing anything for him,” she whispered angrily to Grant, flashing a wrathful look at the man who was standing guard over the sleeping soldiers.

  Morgan smiled weakly. “They can’t…it doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I’m dying…”

  “You’re not dying!” Tía said fiercely. “We’re taking you to the fort in the morning. There’s a doctor there. He’ll fix you.”

  Morgan shook his head. “No. I won’t make it till morning. Doesn’t matter anyhow. I don’t mind dying. I just wish to hell it didn’t hurt so goddamned bad, even if I do deserve it.”

  “Did you hurt Judy?”

  Morgan’s eyes closed. Grimacing, he swallowed. “I killed her.
”

  “No. She’s alive.”

  His eyes opened, and he searched her face for deception. Finding none, he cried out, “Thank God!”

  “What happened, Mr. Todd? Can you tell me?”

  “I came back…to ask her to marry me, but I caught her going into Johnny’s cabin. We argued. She ran, and I caught her…she hit me in the eye. I was so furious that I started hitting her hard…and couldn’t stop…I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  He stopped. Pressing his hands to his stomach, he shivered with the pain that tore through him.

  “It’s okay. Don’t talk.”

  “I thought I killed her. I blamed Brago, because we fought over him. I went after him. I guess he got me first.”

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Who else?”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No.” Shivering, he gritted his teeth. Tía lifted the lantern high enough to see. The bandage they had wound around his middle was soaked through with blood.

  “Grant, I’m going to stay here with him. Go up to the house and bring more blankets and a pan of water with a washcloth.”

  The desert had cooled enough and the ranch was high enough that after midnight the nights were almost as cool as the days were hot. He was shivering as much from cold as shock. Stupid men! While Grant was gone, she held Morgan’s hand and wiped the dampness from his face. The perspiration was from pain, not heat. Grant returned, and she covered Morgan with the blankets and used the wet cloth to moisten his dry mouth.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Try to sleep. You must conserve your strength.” Morgan Todd must not die, because if he died they would surely hang Johnny.

  Rutledge walked over and stood above her. Tía came to her feet.

  “How is he?” he asked. His tone was tinged with anger, as if she were defying him.

  “He’s bleeding to death, that’s how he is.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, that’s too bad,” he said a little more kindly. Cursing the meagerness of the flickering lantern’s light, Tía peered into the captain’s face. An idea came to her. Judy had said Rutledge was always trying to talk to her, asking her questions, following her around. Maybe he was secretly in love with Judy. It was worth a try.

  “Too bad we can’t make it to the fort. A doctor might be able to save Judy.”

  “Judy?” Startled, Rutledge leaned close. “What’s wrong with Judy?”

  “We don’t know. She’s in a coma. We don’t know how to help her.”

  “A coma? How did it happen? Was it Morgan Todd or Johnny Brago? By God, I’ll—”

  “No…no!” She hadn’t meant to lie, but his sudden anger frightened her into it. “She fell out of the hayloft.” She prayed he couldn’t read her guilt on her face. But Rutledge had already turned away and was striding toward the casa grande.

  “Todd got a bargain in you,” Johnny said softly.

  Tía’s heart leaped into her throat. Johnny! Oh, no! He had been there the whole time, listening to her and Morgan Todd. Since she’d lied to protect him, now Johnny probably thought he’d been right all along in his suspicions about her and Todd.

  Another thought took precedence over her feelings for Johnny. At the casa grande, they’d tell Rutledge the truth. Why had she lied? Rutledge wouldn’t have killed Morgan on the spot.

  Then she remembered that fortunately they didn’t know the truth. No one outside herself and Grant knew that Morgan Todd was the one who had beaten Judy. By the time everyone found out, Morgan would be in Fort Bowie where he could get medical help, Judy would be conscious, and Johnny would be safe.

  “How’s Judy?” he asked.

  Tía walked to Johnny’s side and dropped to her knees. Johnny was lying in a bedroll, one arm under his head. Even as a prisoner he managed to look relaxed. In the dim lantern light his eyes were flat black and as unresponsive as a brick wall.

  “She’s in a coma. At first we thought she was dead. She was hit pretty hard.”

  “Why did you lie to the captain?”

  “I don’t know,” Tía groaned. “I was afraid he would kill Mr. Todd and you’d get the blame.”

  Johnny shook his head. “Thanks for the thought, but if he killed Morgan, most likely he’d get the blame. I’d be off the hook, Morgan would be out of his misery, and I’d be free and a sight happier.” The lantern flickered in the wind and almost went out.

  Johnny was mad. Tía wouldn’t have been able to tell by his words, which even mad were carefully chosen not to embarrass her, but she knew. Frustrated, she scowled into the darkness. “Well, I don’t want anybody to kill anybody!”

  “Especially not your lover…”

  “He’s not my lover! You should know that by now.”

  The sentry walked over and stopped beside them. “The captain don’t allow no consorting with the prisoner, ma’am.”

  Tía had the urge to plead with the man, but his face was almost as closed against her as Johnny’s. Defeated by Johnny’s stubbornness and too tired to argue with either of them, she stood up and stalked back to the house.

  Judy was still unconscious. Everyone else was running around packing. Andrea stopped to explain. “We’re taking Judy to the fort.”

  Tía started to ask a question, but a shout from outside interrupted her. Andrea rushed to the front door.

  “Rider coming in!” Voices along the path from the front gate picked up the message. Tía and Andrea rushed out the front door and ran as fast as they could, covering the distance to the front gate in record time.

  As Tía panted to a stop, the gates swung open. One of the sentries yelled for the women to stay back, but it was too late. Tía had already seen. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream.

  Andrea turned away, reaching instinctively for her sister. Men ran forward to stop the runaway horse. Others clustered around the heaving animal, blocking the women’s view. The silence was broken only by the blowing of the brindled dun.

  “Is it?…”

  “Stand back!”

  “Reckon we don’t want to send any more messengers.”

  “What does it mean?” Andrea asked of Rutledge over Tía’s shoulder. “Is he…is he dead?”

  Rutledge nodded. “Come away.”

  Dap was less considerate. “Wal, I reckon he’s dead all right, ma’am. They sent us the hoss and the body, but them red devils kept his scalp. I almost volunteered to go myself. Sure glad I didn’t. I was that close to going, too.”

  Andrea doubled over, retching. Tía gathered her sister’s skirts and pulled them out of the way. After the spasms passed, she took Andrea’s arm and tried to get her to walk back to the house.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s not!” Tía whispered fiercely.

  “Oh, Mother of God! Forgive me! That poor boy! I didn’t know. I didn’t think…”

  “Andrea, you couldn’t know.”

  “I was only thinking of myself…and Steve…”

  “Please, Andrea, come inside.”

  “I sent him out there. I sent him…”

  Rutledge cleared his throat self-consciously. “Miss Marlowe is right, Miss Burkhart. You couldn’t have known. I hate to interfere when you’re feeling so bad, but we have to leave now. There is no time to lose. They must be south of here. They may be moving this way right now. There is no safety here now. We must be going.”

  Andrea straightened with an effort. “We’re no longer safe here?”

  “No, ma’am. Bill Burkhart was too ambitious when he built this wall. Built it too big. He wasn’t a military man, obviously. It would take two hundred men to defend this enclosure effectively. He’s been lucky. Fort Bowie always protected him from any major attack, but if Chatto and Geronimo come in force…together…” Rutledge shook his head. “You’ve got a quarter mile of wall to protect. The only thing in its favor is that it sits at the top of a ground swell, and there’s no cover to speak of outside the walls. Even so, it couldn’t be defended against a determined attack if the
y come in numbers. If you want to save the rest of your people, you’ll have them ready to move out in ten minutes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Almost full, the moon was so bright it cast an eerie, silvery luminescence over the gently rolling landscape. A chill wind had come up; it made dry, rustling sounds against the occasional squatty trees and bushes as the party bound for Fort Bowie passed.

  Tía rode in the back of the buckboard between Judy and Morgan. Judy was still unconscious, but Morgan was awake and in a great deal of pain. Every jolt of the wheels over the rutted path unleashed new waves of agony. He clamped his jaws tight and endured it as best he could.

  Solicitously Tía leaned over him, wiping streams of perspiration off his shiny face, only to have new moisture break.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she offered.

  “Shoot me,” he muttered.

  The wagon hit a chuckhole, and Morgan groaned. Johnny glanced sharply in Tía’s direction, making her wonder if she had made a noise as well. His horse’s reins tied securely to the tailgate, he and his guard rode behind the buckboard that carried Morgan and her.

  Even with his wrists manacled behind his back he rode with easy grace, his lean warrior’s body becoming one with his horse. In that moment she would have given anything to be able to read the expression in his eyes. She cursed the darkness. But…perhaps it was just as well.

  They traveled the three miles to the fort without incident. In the moonlight the fort looked deserted. It was not much bigger than the Burkhart compound, but the brick-and-mortar walls were twelve feet high and over a foot thick, with cannons mounted at strategic locations overlooking all sides.

  Inside, the structure was surrounded on three sides by stores and buildings, and the final part of the quad familiar to many forts displayed a cannon and the flag. According to Captain Rutledge, Fort Bowie’s barracks housed more than two hundred soldiers. The quad was so brightly lit by kerosene lamps that Tía could make out the general merchandise store, canteen, leather goods store, a shoe and bootery, and the post office. Sounds of hilarity and loud male voices rose from the canteen. The other stores were closed.