Night Wind's Woman

by tiffy

  ʺI will pray where I will. What our Blessed Lord grants is up to Him. Where is Orlena? Is she well?ʺ he asked as they walked inside.

  A sardonic smile tugged at Joaquíinʹs lips as he replied, ʺShe is quite well this morning, I believe.ʺ

  ʺGood. Then let me see her. Our parting last year was most painful for us both,ʺ

  the priest said. He hoped Joaquínʹs acceptance of his mediation augured well.

  The look of wounded fury he saw in Morenaʹs eyes did not.

  ʺPerhaps we should let the good father and your wife have a private reunion, Joaquín,ʺ Morena suggested.

  Joaquínʹs face darkened as he imagined all the things Orlena could tell Bartolome in his absence. Of course, there were other things he felt certain she would confess to no one, not even a priest!

  ʺI must go after these children, but first I will bring Orlena down to see her old friend,ʺ he said to Morena. ʺAre the children being held at the usual place in Chihuahua City?ʺ he asked Bartolome.

  The priest nodded and Joaquin darted ahead, up the stairs to get his wife.

  Orlena stood at the top of the steps as Joaquín came striding up to meet her.

  Dressed in an open white shirt and dusty riding pants, he looked as elegant as any lord, his every movement graceful. She could not read the expression on his face as he approached her. She had bathed, dressed, and then worked up her courage to ask him what he planned to do with her. Now all the rehearsed speeches fled her mind as she felt his cool green eyes survey her from head to foot.

  ʺThe dress favors you, Lioness,ʺ he said quietly.

  Nervously, she ran one hand down the soft, clinging doeskin. ʺThank you. II do prefer this to Morenaʹs clothes.ʺ

  Realizing that the admission cost her dearly, he nodded and simply replied, ʹʹI have been saving them for you.ʺ He did not add that he had brought them to the City of Mexico as a special present, which he withheld after he overheard her and Ignacio discuss ridding her of the inconvenience of her husband.

  ʺI heard voices downstairsʺ

  ʺThat is why I must speak with you. I have to go away, perhaps for several days.

  Bartolome is here and wishes to see you. Morena will offer you sanctuary while I am gone. Do not think to enlist the priest in helping you escape me.ʺ

  Her heart became leaden in her breast. So he was already repenting their one night together. ʺI see. Well, I am at least rescued from Ignacioʹs trap.ʺ

  ʺDo not hurt Bartolome by involving him in our personal war, Lioness,ʺ he warned again.

  ʺAs if I could talk him into letting me escape you now that he has his dearest prayers answered!ʺ she said with stung pride.

  His eyes were glacial as he replied, ʺYou could convince the College of Cardinals that the Pope was Satan, I do believe.ʺ

  ʺI will never hurt Bartolome!ʺ I have never willingly hurt you!

  Joaquín sensed something painful that she held back. Not wanting to leave her, he impulsively reached for her. His fingers dug into the soft doeskin, kneading her back, then tangling in her long golden hair as he tipped her face up and kissed her.

  Orlena was at first startled, then warmed by his touch. She opened to him, returning the kiss, wrapping her arms about him and forgetting all else until he pushed her roughly away from him. ʺI must go now. Morena will explain everything.ʺ

  ʺI can well imagine how she will relish the task,ʺ Orlena replied beneath her breath as she followed him down the stairs toward the sound of the Franciscanʹs beloved voice.

  Seeing Orlena in the Apache clothes that she knew Joaquín had brought especially for her fanned the fires of jealousy in Morena. Even worse, the garments looked beautiful on her, as if she belonged in them. Morena watched the warm reunion between Orlena and the priest who had been her co‐worker for the past year, anger and hurt growing apace. What was it about the Spaniard that bewitched all men?

  ʺJoaquín, you must go if you are to have time to gather the men in the city and stop the soldiers from selling the children.ʺ Morena focused on discussing their plans.

  The details of such an operation were familiar to all three of them, but fascinating to Orlena. She listened as they made the arrangements. With one quelling look in her direction, Joaquín said his good‐byes and left the house, heading for the stables where Warpaint awaited. He had not kissed her good‐byeunless she counted the rough, brief kiss on the stairs. Looking over at Morena, Orlena knew the casta had noted his abrupt parting with satisfaction.

  ʺI will leave you two to converse while I see to food and medicine for our secret guests,ʺ Morena said, then called back over her shoulder, ʺI will instruct the servants to prepare a midday meal for you, Father.ʺ She ignored Orlena.

  Fray Bartolome noted with no surprise the veiled hostility between the two women. He had long known of the liaison between Joaquín and the widow. After his bitter parting with his wife last year, Joaquín had resumed his relationship with Morena. Still, it saddened the priest that Joaquin was using her in his revenge against Orlena. Both women were being punished for sins they had not committed. Taking Orlenaʹs hand, he drew her toward the kitchen. While they ate, she could explain what had happened since Joaquín had gone south to rescue her from Ignacio.

  After they had settled in for a simple meal of tortillas and beans, they sipped their rich hot chocolate as Orlena told him about the way in which Joaquín had found her m the garden agreeing to Ignacioʹs blackmail. She held back none of the hurtful details about the ensuing journey north, culminating with her humiliation by Morena. She finished simply by saying, ʺSo you see, Father, although he has saved me from my brother, he has not done it for love, but simply to thwart his enemies. Now he counts me among them,ʺ she added in a choked whisper.

  Bartolome stroked his beard and considered. ʺSo, Ignacio would dissolve your marriage. It was performed under highly irregular circumstances, without a dispensation for the collateral line of affinity, and it was not consummated . . .ʺ

  Sensing her discomfiture as she lowered her head, he asked, ʺI take it you have left out one essential fact?ʺ

  ʺAt least Ignacio can no longer use that as grounds for setting aside our vows!ʺ

  she said hotly.

  Fray Bartolome patted her hand. ʺJoaquín loves you, Orlena, no matter how bitter he is or what he thinks you have done. He would not have answered Santiagoʹs plea and come for you if he did not care.ʺ

  ʺHe did it for his brother, not for me,ʺ she replied stubbornly.

  Sighing, Bartolome decided that for now all he could do was change the subject.

  When Joaquín returned, they would have another discussion about Orlena.

  ʺHow does your brother fare in the City of Mexico? I feared for him under Ignacioʹs influence.ʺ

  She smiled. ʺNo, we have at least been blessed that way. Our motherʹs cousin, Don Bernal, is well placed on the viceroyʹs staff. He has no children and wants an heir. He is seeing to Santiagoʹs education. Since he and Ignacio have always hated each other, I urged him to go live with Bernal.ʺ

  ʺIt has been lonely for you this past year, has it not?ʺ The Franciscanʹs eyes were softened with compassion.

  ʺFar more for me than for my husband, it would seem,ʺ she said with faint irony.

  ʺTell me of these rescues of children from the mines.ʺ She wished not to dwell on her marriage.

  ʺWe mostly wrest them from their Spanish captors before they are sold in Chihuahua City. Not all are children. Sometimes peaceful Indians are enslaved for debt or other falsified charges. We do what we can. Adults and older children we attempt to return to their tribes, or if that is not possible, we find places for them to live and work. The Rancho Girón is very large and has need of many hands. The younger children are taught the skills with which to enter the civilized world. I have three of my Franciscan brothers from the mission helping me with the school. It is not far from here.ʺ

  ʺAll of this must cost dearly. You and Morena and Joaquín have a whole group of
spies across the northern provinces reporting on captured Indians. Do they also tell Joaquín when rich gold shipments are being sent to the mint?ʺ she asked shrewdly, with a teasing light in her eyes. ʺWhile we were traveling north, my husband had a great deal of money to see us safely along our way.ʺ

  Bartolome, for once in Orlenaʹs memory, looked abashed. ʺI prayed much over accepting stolen gold to pay for the school and the relocation of the freed captives. But when I remembered how Joaquín had come to me as a boy, I saw this idea of his as a far better way for him to spend his time than killing Spanish soldiers. The school may yet be a link between the Indians and the Spanish, Orlena.ʺ

  ʺI would love to see itand to meet these children. Perhaps I could help. That is, if Joaquín would allow it,ʺ she added sadly.

  Fray Bartolomeʹs mind was racing now. ʺYou can read and write, I recall much to my chagrinand you learned healing among the Lipan. There is a great need for you.ʺ

  ʺThese raidsthey are dangerous for my husband, are they not?ʺ

  Bartolome shrugged. ʺYes, but if we are to mend your relationship with him, we must show him the real Orlena. That will take time, and working with the Indians is a way to do this.ʺ

  ʺIt will not mend anything, Bartolome,ʺ Morena said from the door. Her cold words caused both of them to turn. ʺJoaquín plans to take her north with him to Texasto use her as bait in a trap for Conal!ʺ

  Orlenaʹs sharp intake of breath caused Morena a moment of bitter pleasure, but the priest quickly interrupted. ʺI will stop that, never fear,ʺ he thundered.

  Morena shrugged, then looked at her rival with open malice. ʺWhat he does now is less dangerous than seeking death in Texas. Only take this woman away from here and he will have no means with which to lure Conal. Make no mistake, Conal Quinn is death himself!ʺ

  Morenaʹs horrifying revelation about Joaquinʹs plans for her stunned Orlena. She had pleaded illness and left Fray Bartolome, spending the morning alone in her room. But the room itself evoked bittersweet memories of her husbandʹs touch and her response to him. She could not bear to remain in it.

  She had wanted his forgiveness. Forgiveness! Her cruel charade last year had saved his worthless life. He was the one who had set out to seduce and use her from the first time he learned of her relationship to Conal Quinn. Now he was conspiring to do so again. The part that hurt the most was her own stupidity in falling not once but yet a second time under his spell.

  After several hours alone gathering her shattered wits, she decided to talk with Bartolome. He had heard with his own ears from Morena the extent of Joaquínʹs treachery. Even if he had married them, the priest could not expect her to obey her husband and remain with him to be used in his revenge. She washed her face, braided her hair, and went in search of her friend.

  While Orlena was composing herself, Bartolome had done some earnest thinking and praying. Knowing Joaquín as he did, he did not doubt Morenaʹs words, even though she obviously hated her loverʹs wife and wanted her sent away.

  Somehow Joaquín must be deterred from this deadly plan, for it was not only his own life and soul he endangered; the two women who loved him would be destroyed along with him and Conal. He had hoped the school and all the ill and abused who were brought there for succor might provide a solution to his problem.

  When a pale but composed Orlena once more joined him, Fray Bartolome suggested riding out to see the Indian settlement. As they rode across the valley to where it was hidden far back in a blind canyon, Orlena was subdued and quiet. The priest watched her strained face. ʺWe will not let him go to Texas, you and I,ʺ he said softly to her.

  Orlena looked into the clear gray eyes she had grown to trust so implicitly.

  ʺHow can you stop him? He has saidso have youthat I am his wife. I must go where he wills or return to Ignacio.ʺ

  Bartolome looked at the lush bounty of autumn that surrounded them. Fertile beauty in the midst of bloody violence. At times the will of the Almighty was obscure indeed. ʺDo you truly wish to dissolve the bonds with Joaquin?ʺ he asked. His eyes never wavered from her face as he watched her struggle with her answer. He could see her swallow and force down tears.

  ʺNo,ʺ she replied in a tired, defeated voice. ʺYou know I do not, but if I cannot have his love, I will not be hishis creature, played with and used against Conal. I will not go to Texas with him,ʺ she said with steel in her voice. Her old Spanish pride reasserted itself.

  ʺGood,ʺ he replied simply.

  ʺYouyou will support me in this?ʺ she asked with a small flicker of hope on her face. Then the light in her amber eyes dulled. ʺBut how? You have tried to explain why I said what I did to him when Conal held us. He has refused to believe you all along. Now, after overhearing only the last of my conversation with Ignacio, he is even more convinced that I am an unfaithful wife. I am Spanish. For my white blood alone, he will never forgive me.ʺ

  ʺFor his own white blood, he will never forgive himself. Have you ever thought on that?ʺ Bartolome asked quietly.

  ʺYes. But it only makes the problem worse. Everything that has stood between us comes back to his father.ʺ

  ʺWell, killing Conal Quinn will provide him no solution, of a surety. But I think there is another answer. What a man sees with his own eyes goes much further in convincing him of a truth than anything he is toldeven by a priest!ʺ

  With that cryptic remark he turned his attention to pointing out the richness of the fall crops and the various men and women who harvested them. As they rode north toward the narrow end of the agricultural valley, the landscape was vastly different than on the high, barren plains of Chihuahua City. A narrow, twisting river flowed swiftly, zigzagging its way across the valley floor, supporting tall stands of cottonwoods and lush green orchards.

  ʺMuch of this land is owned by the mission. It lay fallow, deserted since the Indian uprisings of the 1760ʹs, until we began to bring laborers into the fields.ʺ

  ʺThese people are ones you have relocated, former prisoners?ʺ Orlena asked.

  ʺMany, yes. Others have lived here for generations, the product of intermarriage between Spanish soldiers and traders with the Indian women of various tribes.

  But this valley is too close to the presidio for us to keep many escaped captives here. It is well concealed, but if too many strange pure‐blooded Indian faces appeared, questions would be raised and it would come to the attention of the Commandant General in Chihuahua City. No, only the small ones at the schoolwhich is very well hiddenremain here. Most are dispersed farther north to ranches and farms in New Mexico Province, some to Sonora.ʺ He paused, then said, ʺJoaquín has begun such a ranch in New Mexico, in the valley where Conal found you.ʺ

  She looked incredulously at him. ʺConal has spent the past year searching for him like a man possessed! He will use his soldiers to massacre everyone at that ranch!ʺ

  Fray Bartolome smiled serenely. ʺHe would find only a rico and his Indian workers if he should ever think to return therewhich so far, he has not. Another pupil of mine, the son of a cobbler in the City of Mexico, did not wish to follow in his fatherʹs humble trade. Nor did he have a vocation in the Church, although he was a fine student, almost as bright as Joaquín. He loves being patron in the absence of the real owner. There is much about Joaquínʹs life this past year that will surprise you.ʺ He gestured to the sharp turn in the narrow road they followed. If not familiar with the landmarks as Fray Bartolome was, a casual traveler would never find the isolated trail to the settlement.

  Orlena could hear the squeal of childrenʹs laughter after they rounded the bend.

  A series of long, low adobe buildings stretched like a small village across the open space between the narrow ravine walls of the blind canyon. Although rude and unadorned, the school, hospital, and houses were neat and clean with carefully tended vegetable gardens around the perimeter. Women in loose cotton skirts tended children, scrubbed clothing on the rocks by the side of a burbling stream, and performed other chores familiar to Orlena. This
rhythm of daily life was the same in villages across New Spain, whether Lipan or Spanish. Men hoed the fields, repaired harness, and picked huge baskets of glowing purple grapes, which they carried to one large building on the edge of the village, a small winery.

  ʺIt looks so peaceful and prosperous,ʺ Orlena said in awe as they dismounted and were quickly surrounded by a hoard of children, Indians and castas.

  Fray Bartolome hoisted two leggy boys up with effortless ease, but a small girl who shyly hung back watched the golden‐haired woman in doeskin with great curiosity. ʺThat is Ana. She is Lipan. Joaquín brought her here last spring. All her band had been killed in Texas, and she lay near death for a while.ʺ

  Imagining what their daughter would have looked like, had she lived, Orlena felt a lump rise in her throat. She knelt and stretched out her arms, saying in their Apache dialect, ʺMy name is Sun in Splendor, and I too am Lipan.ʺ

  Ana hesitated only a moment before slowly inching her way toward the vision before her. The lady was white, but dressed and spoke as one of her people. Ana had missed her mother and sisters so much. The moment she touched Orlenaʹs hand she found herself drawn into a sweet embrace. Ana returned the affection ardently, throwing small brown arms around Orlenaʹs neck.

  Bartolome watched the woman and child kneeling in the grass and smiled to himself. Bless you, O Lord, it will work! You can heal them all!

  Chapter 23

  Taking the prisoners from a handful of drunken soldiers had been a simple operation. Joaquín had a slash across his side from a soldierʹs saber, but he had felled the assassin before serious harm was done. Other than that tolerable wound, he was unharmed. If only such could be said of the captives they had freed, he thought with the painfully restrained fury that was his constant companion on each mission.

  One fourteen‐year‐old girl stared vacantly across the open road before them.