Schofield's hand dropped stiffly to his side, and he stared intently at the knife in Zuniga's hand. "I'll take that weapon," he said curtly. Dismounting, he held out his hand.
Zuniga shook his head. "No."
"I said I'll take that knife."
"And I said no."
A muscle worked in Schofield's jaw. He had no right to take the knife, but he couldn't back down now. Not in front of his men. Not in front of Zuniga.
"Hobart!"
"Sir!"
"Disarm him."
"Yes, sir!"
In a move that had obviously been executed before, three men dismounted and moved toward Zuniga, their sidearms drawn and cocked their faces determined. They were all young men, well disciplined and eager to prove themselves capable of handling any situation.
Corporal Hobart stopped directly in front of Zuniga and held out his left hand.
Zuniga ignored the corporal and the two men standing behind him. His eyes never left Schofield's face as, with lightning speed, he reversed the knife in his hand and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the blade sailing through the air to land in the dirt between Mike Schofield's feet.
Startled, Schofield cursed loudly as he took a hasty step backward, and he felt his neck burn as a few of the older men snickered. A stern look silenced the laughter.
With as much dignity as he could muster, Schofield bent down and plucked the knife from the dirt. It was a deadly-looking weapon, the blade long and straight, sharp as a razor. The handle was made of bone, wrapped with hide.
''Hobart, Ryan, search the lodge," Mike ordered brusquely. "The rest of you, scout around out here."
Without a word, Zuniga turned on his heel and followed the two soldiers into the lodge. Short Bear and Nachi were awake now. Short Bear was standing at the rear of the lodge, the crutch under one arm. He threw Zuniga a worried look.
"It is all right," Zuniga said, his eyes warning the boy not to do anything foolish.
Nachi sat cross-legged on his blankets, his aged face impassive, his black eyes smoldering with fury as the enemy prowled around his lodge making crude jokes. Stupid pinda-lick-o-ye, he mused. Stupid white men. They never learned. Many times in the past they had come to his lodge searching for Zuniga's weapons, but they never found anything. When would they give up? When would they realize that his grandson was too smart to hide the forbidden weapons inside the lodge where they would be easily discovered?
Closing his eyes, the old man let his mind wander back in time, back to the old days when he had ridden the war trails, when his arrows had sliced into the white man's flesh. Ah, those had been the good times, the shining times. With a little sigh, he fell asleep, his chin dropping to his chest. In his dreams, he was a young man again, full of strength and vigor.
Zuniga stood near the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, while the two white men searched the lodge, poking into jars and pots, peering under his bedroll, rifling through Nachi's meager belongings as they made derisive comments about the Indians and their primitive way of life.
"There's nothing here," Hobart muttered as he lifted a pile of robes. "You'd think the sergeant would give up."
"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "Let's get out of here. This place stinks."
A low rumble of anger welled in Short Bear's throat. How could Zuniga stand there and say nothing while the white men rummaged through their belongings and made tasteless jokes about their home, their women? He met his cousin's eyes, silently pleading for Zuniga to do something, but Zuniga only shook his head.
"Shit, let's go," Hobart growled. "If I have to stay in here much longer, I'm gonna puke."
The two white men ducked outside, and Zuniga followed them, first warning Short Bear to stay inside.
"Well?" Schofield asked impatiently. "Did you find anything?"
Ryan shook his head. "Clean as a whistle."
Zuniga met Schofield's accusing glance with an insolent grin. The soldiers had searched Nachi's lodge more than a dozen times in the past six months, but they never found a thing. His rifle and his handgun were safely buried in the middle of the horse corral, safely wrapped in an oilskin together with several boxes of ammunition. His bow and arrows were hung in a tree, virtually invisible unless you knew where to look.
Mike Schofield held Zuniga's gaze. Damn the man! He was nothing but trouble. Everyone knew he was a liar and a thief, yet no one could catch him in anything the least bit underhanded. But he would, Mike vowed. By damn, one day he'd catch the bastard red-handed, and then they'd see who had the last laugh!
Face grim, Schofield swung into the saddle. "Mount up," he ordered tersely. Back stiff as a ramrod, he gigged his big bay horse into a trot and rode away from the old man's lodge.
10
The first inkling Loralee had that something was sorely amiss came on a cool morning in late November when she vomited her breakfast. She passed it off as an upset stomach caused by overeating at the weekly dance at the fort the night before and thought no more about it, until it happened again the next morning. And the next. Stricken, she realized that she had not had her monthly flow since the first of October. Over six weeks ago.
She flew to her mirror, shook her head in disbelief as she studied her reflection in the glass. Her breasts seemed larger, tender to the touch. Her belly was gently rounded instead of flat. Or was it merely her imagination?
"No!" She shook her head, refusing to believe what she knew to be true. She was pregnant.
Guilt and remorse dropped over her like a dark shadow. What a fool she had been to think she could flaunt the laws of God and man and not have to pay the price. Still, it had never occurred to her that she might get pregnant. That was something that happened to other people.
She spent a sleepless night pacing the floor, wondering what to do. She was pregnant, and Shad Zuniga was the father. She would never be able to live down the scandal. She would lose her job, her good name, everything she had worked so hard to achieve. And all because she had been unable to control her desire for a man who did not want her.
She wept bitter tears, her fists pounding the pillow in frustration. What would people say? What would Mike say? She would have to leave the reservation before anyone found out. She could not bear the shame.
The tears came harder as she thought of leaving the children. She had grown to love them dearly. Why did this have to happen now, when she was finally making real progress, when they were beginning to enjoy the knowledge she was imparting? Oh, it wasn't fair!
Mike watched her closely for several days, wondering what was bothering her. At first, he attributed her long silences to some problem she was having at school, but when her melancholy mood lasted more than a week, he began to worry.
"What is it, Loralee?" he asked one night as they were walking in the moonlight. "What's troubling you?"
"Nothing, Mike." She hated to lie to him, but how could she tell him the truth?
"Loralee, look at me."
"I'm fine, Mike. Really."
"Like hell!" He grabbed her arm and forced her to stop walking and look at him. "What is it?"
His voice was soft and caring. His eyes were kind, sympathetic. How could she tell him what she had done? How could she bear to see the affection in his face turn to disgust?
"Loralee?"
"Oh, Mike," she whispered, and burst into tears.
"Loralee, honey, what is it?" He took her in his arms, and felt her body tremble with the force of her sobs.
Loralee cried for several minutes, unleashing all the unhappiness of the past few days in a torrent of cleansing tears. She didn't want to tell Mike what was troubling her, but she didn't want to move out of the circle of his arms either. It felt so good to be held, to know that he loved her even though she couldn't love him in return.
When her tears subsided, she took a deep breath, then drew away from him. "I'm pregnant, Mike," she said flatly.
Mike stared at Loralee, wondering if he had heard right. "Pregnant?"
She
nodded.
"How?" he asked. "Who?"
"Zuniga."
Mike's face went white with rage. "That bastard!" he hissed. "I'll kill him,"
"I'm as much to blame as he is." They were the hardest words she had ever spoken.
Mike shook his head, not wanting to believe her.
Two large tears of shame rolled down Loralee's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mike. Good night."
Turning on her heel, she lifted her skirts and ran home as fast as her legs would carry her. Tears blurred her vision, and she stumbled in the darkness, skinning her knee as she tripped over a large rock.
She sat where she had fallen, the tears falling faster and faster. She had lost Zuniga, and now she had lost Mike, and there was no one to blame but herself.
"Loralee," Mike's voice called to her out of the darkness, and then she felt his hand on her arm. Gently he helped her to her feet.
"Leave me alone, Mike. Please, just go away and leave me alone."
"Does Zuniga know about the baby?"
"No."
"Why haven't you told him?"
"He hates me."
"Why?"
"He just does. Oh, Mike, what am I going to do? I don't want to leave the reservation. The children need me, and they're learning so much now" She broke off as another wave of tears washed down her cheeks.
"Loralee, don't cry. Please don't cry." She sounded so unhappy and looked so forlorn that his heart went out to her. Whatever had happened, he was certain it hadn't been her fault.
"I've made such a mess of everything."
"Are you in love with Zuniga?"
"No."
"No?"
"No," Loralee repeated firmly.
"Okay, I believe you." But he didn't, not really.
With a sigh, Mike took Loralee by the arm and escorted her back to her house. Inside, he brewed her a cup of tea, wiped the blood from her skinned knee, and bandaged the shallow cut. And all the while a thought took root in the back of his mind.
Loralee sipped the tea slowly, her eyes on Mike's face. What was he thinking?
With the air of a man who had just made up his mind, Mike sat down at the table across from Loralee and took her hand in his.
"Marry me, Loralee."
"Marry you?"
Mike nodded. "You need a husband right away," he said, keeping his voice light, "and I need a wife. We were made for each other."
"But I don't love you."
Mike shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said, serious once more. "I love you, and I'll try to be a good father to your baby. What do you say?"
"I don't know what to say."
"Say yes, and I'll get started on the paper work tomorrow morning."
It sounded so simple. Marry Mike, and all her problems would be solved. She would have a name for her baby. She could keep teaching the Indian children. Her reputation would be saved. She would have someone to take care of her.
"It can be a marriage in name only, if that's how you want it," Mike offered. "And who knows, maybe one day you'll learn to love me, too, and we'll have a real marriage."
"But, Mike, it seems so unfair to you."
"Not really. I'll be getting a live-in cook and housekeeper and family all in one."
It sounded so easy.
"Say yes, Loralee," he coaxed, squeezing her hand. "You won't be sorry."
She lowered her head for a long moment, and when she raised it her eyes were still wet.
"All right, Mike, I'll marry you if you're sure it's what you want."
"I'm sure. No more tears now." Rising, he came around the table, bent and kissed her cheek. "I'll talk to the colonel and the chaplain first thing in the morning. Don't you worry, I'll handle everything. You go on to bed and get some rest. You look all done in."
"I am. Thank you, Mike."
He gave her a warm smile. "Dream of me, will you?"
"I'll try."
With a nod, he picked up his hat and left the house, whistling softly.
Loralee stared after him. What had she gotten herself into? How could she marry a man she didn't love? And yet, what else could she do? Mike was kind and good and sweet, and she did care for him. Perhaps everything would work out for the best after all.
11
Zuniga passed the sacred pipe to Nachi, who took four puffs and passed it on to Red Dog, the chief of the tribe. A small fire burned in a deep pit. Branches had been laid over the surface of the pit to disperse the smoke.
The men smoked in silence. Zuniga glanced from face to face. Did his own countenance reflect the same hopeless expression as those he saw? Six Bears raised the pipe toward heaven. He was the paper chief of the tribe, the one who had been appointed by the Agency. He had no power over the people, but he was respected because he had once been a great warrior in his own right. There were five other men gathered around the firepit. They were the men who policed the tribe, who settled disputes and listened to the problems, complaints, and concerns of the People.
Zuniga grinned into the darkness. He was the only man present under the age of fifty, and he was here because he refused to bend to the white man's rule. The young men of the tribe looked up to him. He was their leader, their spokesman. The soldiers and the Indian Agent would have been surprised to discover that Zuniga knew as much about what went on within the bounds of the reservation as they did, and even more surprised to learn that what he said and thought was listened to with interest and respect.
This night the head men of the tribe were discussing Crow Dog's youngest daughter. She had reached the age of puberty and desired to participate in the ancient puberty ceremony. It was a good thing, when a girl became a woman. The puberty ceremony, or Sunrise Ceremony, would be held in two days. It was decided to hold the ceremony at night, when there was little chance of interference by the whites.
The men discussed a few other tribal matters, then the fire was extinguished and the men disappeared into the darkness.
Zuniga and Nachi stayed where they were. Nachi brought out his old clay pipe and lighted it with a coal from the ashes. He took several deep puffs, then passed the pipe to his grandson.
''What has become of the white woman?" the old man asked after a lengthy silence.
"Nothing."
"Why do you no longer meet with her at the schoolhouse?"
"I have learned to read and write. It is enough."
The old man nodded thoughtfully. "Something is not right between you."
Zuniga glanced at Nachi with affection. "Do you now read my mind, Grandfather, that I can have no secrets from you?"
Nachi laughed. "I have known you since the day you were born. I know when you are troubled."
Zuniga nodded. He was troubled. Troubled and lonesome.
"Was it not good between you?"
"Grandfather?"
"Did she not please you when you made love to her?"
"She pleased me well enough."
"But?"
"She was ashamed of what we had done. Ashamed because she had let an Indian defile her. I will not have a woman who feels shame when I touch her."
"Perhaps she was only ashamed because the two of you were not married."
"What?"
"An Apache woman feels shame when she lies with a warrior outside of marriage, even if she is deeply in love with the man. Perhaps the white woman felt the same."
Zuniga stared at Nachi. It had never occurred to him that Loralee might feel that way. The Apache did not credit the whites with modesty or honor. It was well known that the whites had slept with their slaves before the Civil War, and that they had violated Indian women without a qualm. He had supposed that white women were of a similar nature. Was it possible that Loralee had valued her chastity? If so, he had wronged her terribly.
It was a thought that bothered him deeply.
"Come on," Mike coaxed. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
"I feel like we're trespassing on something sacred," Loralee answered as she followed Mike onto the reserv
ation.
"We're not trespassing. I have every right to be here."
Side by side, they stood in the shadows, watching as the tribe gathered around a particular lodge. Soon a young girl exited the wickiup and all the young people began to chase her. The girl ran northward for perhaps a hundred yards, then she turned and ran southeast, then east, and then north again, running the same distance in each direction.
When she returned to her own lodge, sacred pollen was sprinkled over her head. At the same time, a prayer was offered to the gods, asking for their ever-protecting care and guidance in the young girl's life. A new blanket was spread on the ground and the girl danced on the blanket while the people sang to her.
Loralee watched, fascinated, as the dancing went on for over an hour. She knew that the ceremony had once lasted for four days, but would now only last the night.
After the girl finished her dance, the Gans began to dance. These dancers represented the mountain spirits. They wore grotesque costumes and masks and carried wooden swords.
Later, the girl sat on a blanket with her eyes closed. For this brief time, she represented White Painted Lady and was thought to possess special powers. The girl was dressed in a buckskin dress that had been made especially for this occasion. It was covered with yellow ocher and decorated with suns and moons and stars. A small eagle feather was attached to each shoulder to enable the girl to run as light as a feather. A single white eagle feather was tied in her hair in the hope that she would live until her hair turned the same color as the feather.
It was a lovely ceremony, Loralee mused as the girl rose from her blanket and her parents and relatives began serving food to the guests. The Western Apache believed there was a time when White Painted Lady, also known as Changing Woman, lived all alone. After many years, she desired to have children, so she slept with the Sun, and soon after that she gave birth to Slayer of Monster's. Four days later, Changing Woman became pregnant by Water and gave birth to Born of Water, or Child of the Water. As the half-brothers matured, Changing Woman instructed them in how they should live and then they left home and, following their mother's advice, they cleansed the world of most of its evil.
Love Forevermore Page 12