“Well I’ll be goddamned if she ain’t got a temper! And enough spunk to waste all that food, too. An’ that’s too bad, because I might just make you go hungry tomorrow!”
I should have been warned by the change in his tone. Before I could prevent it, he moved with deceptive casualness, one hand snaking out to fasten around my wrists, pushing them above my head as his body came down over mine. Almost contemptuously, he looked down into my face, his weight holding me motionless.
“This once, because you’ve had a hard time of it and were tough enough to survive, I’m gonna let you get away with it. After today, ain’t gonna be no excuse that you’re tired, or scared, or hysterical. You ever throw anythin’ at me again an’ I’ll beat the tar outa you, an’ that’s a promise.”
I squirmed under him, hoping my eyes reflected all the hate and disgust he filled me with. He gave that mocking twitch of his lips that passed for a smile.
“There’s another thing you just got me to thinkin’ of, with all that wigglin’ around you’re doing…” Deliberately suggestive, he let his words trial off. My body stiffened with revulsion. “Hard to tell, with a woman like you, exactly what you’re thinkin’,” he said softly. I felt his breath fan my hot cheeks. Had he been about to kiss me?
Twisting my head away I said through stiff lips: “You don’t have to wonder then, because I’ll tell you! I was thinking how much I hate you, how much I despise you, what a bestial animal you are! I’m only glad that my father didn’t live to see what you turned into!”
I thought I heard his indrawn breath, and then with a brutal movement he caught my face by the chin and forced it around to his.
“So that’s what you think?”
“That’s what you are! A beast—a wild animal—a savage killer!”
I would have said more, for he had pushed me to it, but he didn’t give me the chance. With a swift movement he eased his weight off me a trifle, and with both hands, ripped the tattered remnants of my gown down the front.
I cried out, and beat at him with my fists, but as weak and exhausted as I was, my puny strength was no match for his.
Even now, as I tell it, I can feel my face begin to burn. He stripped me naked, twisting my body this way and that in spite of all my struggles.
And then, when he had had his way and I lay under him again, held down by his body and all too conscious of the rough feel of his clothing against my bare flesh, he—just lay there! Looking down at my face as if he enjoyed reading the humiliation and hatred there.
“You can do what you please!” I panted viciously. “You’ve proved you’re much stronger than I. You’ve proved you’re what I said you were! An animal! A beast who can only take a woman by force! It’s a habit with you, isn’t it?”
“You think I mean to rape you?” Amazingly his voice was quite calm. “You’re wrong about that, like you are about a lot of other things. Better take a good look at yourself in a glass tomorrow before you go jumpin’ to conclusions.” He smiled cruelly. “You’re quite a sight, Lady Rowena Dangerfield! The sun’s made you almost as dark as I am, an’ your nose is peelin’. To tell the truth, your face needs washin’ too. You need washing all over! An’ another thing, I’ve met your kind of woman before. All promise and prettiness on the outside, an’ nothin’ but cold inside.”
“You…!”
“I ain’t quite finished yet. Didn’t take your clothes off because I wanted you, just to show you what I could do, if I’d a mind to! An’ that gown you was wearin’ was hardly suitable for a squaw. I’ll get you some others tomorrow, an’ you start learnin’ your place.”
He rolled away from me and stood up, all in one easy motion. With a short, disgusted exclamation he flung me a blanket.
“Keep that around you an’ try to get some sleep. Ain’t gonna tie you, because there’s no place you can go. Adios for now.”
I was left shivering with shock, clutching the blanket to my shaking body as I watched him stride away towards the other fires without a backward glance.
In spite of the bitterness of my emotions, I must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. I was so weary that I only half-awoke when Lucas Cord came back to the crude little lean-to and lay beside me. I turned onto my stomach with a muffled exclamation, pulling the blanket more closely around myself, but he made no move to touch me and, shockingly, I slept again.
By the time I had spent two days in the Apache camp I had managed to regain some remnants of my pride and common sense. It was not as if I had any choice in the matter. I was a captive, a slave, but I was in a much better position than any of the other miserable wretches who had been taken prisoner by the Apache. I was neither continually beaten, nor left to sleep out in the open like one of the dogs. I was not literally worked to death, nor tormented by both the women and the children of the camp.
I wasn’t Lucas Cord’s wife, although he came to lie by me every night, in the small wickiup that Little Bird, his brother’s wife, had helped me build. I was not his mistress, although I think that only he and I knew that. He had made it clear that as a woman I held no attraction for him. I learned soon enough that I was merely an instrument of his revenge against Todd Shannon, and that by becoming engaged to the man he hated, I had made myself his enemy too. I was to be a pawn of some kind, but he would tell me nothing beyond the mocking statement he had thrown out that first morning, when he woke me by flinging a blouse and skirt at me. They were typical of the garments that all the Apache women wore. And apparently that was all they wore!
“What do you mean to do with me?” I had demanded. “I have a right to know!”
I was sitting up, clutching the blanket closely around myself, and his eyes seemed to strip me of its protection.
“Guess that’s up to you,” he drawled, in his infuriatingly husky voice. “Got a few days’ business left around here, an’ then I’m going home to visit my family. Now you,” and his voice had hardened, “can choose whether you’re goin’ as a guest, or a servant. Always did promise my mother a white woman for a servant. She thought a lot of your pa, same as I did, but seein’ as you’ve let Todd Shannon convince you we’re all thieves an’ murderers…”
“My father saved your life!” I flung at him. “And he saved your mother’s life! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“You beggin’ me to let you go for Todd Shannon’s sake, or your pa’s, or your own? You remindin’ me of a debt I owe? Well, I owed that debt to Mr. Guy Dangerfield. I thought his daughter would be more like him, but you ain’t. You’re whatever they made you—your grandfather, your ma—that fine London society. Came to New Mexico to visit, didn’t you? See how the natives live. You didn’t care to see under the surface they showed you…” He broke off, his face dark with suppressed anger. “Ah, shit! What’s the point? You’re lookin’ at me, hatin’ me, and you don’t see any further than that. Well, you got your choice. We’ll talk about the rest later.”
He talked of offering me a choice, but for the time being, I had no choice. After that one occasion Lucas Cord hardly spoke to me, except to give some order. I felt he was only waiting for me to rebel, to disobey, or perhaps to throw something at him; I would not give him the satisfaction of having an excuse to beat me in front of the whole camp, nor to prove to me all over again how ambiguous my position here was. I compressed my lips and did what I was told, although I knew he realized I was being sarcastic on occasion.
Little Bird, who was Julio’s wife and the daughter of a chief, was hardly communicative, although she spoke some Spanish. I suppose my position puzzled her too.
She showed me how a wickiup was built, and which roots and herbs to gather. I was taught how to tan a hide and how to light a fire, how to cook food their way. I learned, and I did as I was told.
The Apache society was an example of society in the Middle Ages. The men, all-powerful, were warriors; the women were subservient and did all the work. A warrior went out hunting or raiding, and saw to his weapons himself. His woman s
aw to everything else. As in every other primitive society, there were taboos. A man must not look on the face of his mother-in-law, or converse with her. A man usually lived with his wife’s family. A woman never spoke out in the presence of males, unless she was asked for her opinion.
I saw Jewel on a couple of occasions, but at a distance. I learned that she had been bought by the comanchero Delgado. She still wore the ragged remnants of the garments she had worn when we were first captured, and she did not seem too unhappy, although she was subdued and silent, just as I was.
When Lucas went out on a hunting trip with the men on the second day, he dressed just as they did, in a breechclout with knee-high moccasins. I noticed that they carried a bow and arrows as well as rifles.
I hated him. What had he meant by saying I might be a guest or a servant when he went to visit his family? When would he leave the camp? There were times when I wondered what the reactions of my friends might have been, when they learned what had happened.
Poor Mark! How he must blame himself! And Mrs. Poynter and the colonel. Much worse, when Todd found out what had happened. He would blame everyone else, of course. But I lived in the present, because I had to. I would not speak unless I had to. I looked down whenever there were males present.
It was not too difficult to adapt; I had adapted before to more hostile environments. My put-on meekness of manner was exaggerated, and Lucas Cord knew it. When Little Bird was not present I saw his brother look at me, and I could sense that he still wanted me. Good, I thought. It might be another weapon I could use against Lucas Cord. Perhaps, for money, Julio would set me free.
Two weeks passed—and a third. Only the trained, controlled strength of my mind, my will, enabled me to remain submissive and calm on the surface. I would not be conquered. He had a reason for “rescuing” me. I would find it out and use it against him.
I found out we were to leave in the morning when Little Bird instructed me on preparations for the long journey. As usual, she would not say more than was necessary, but I received the impression that she was no more eager than I to embark on this particular trip. She and Julio and their two small children, a girl and a boy, still strapped to his cradleboard, would accompany us. We would have to cross the Jornado del Muerto again, I gathered, from the quantity of water we would have to carry with us. We would skirt the Canada de Alamosa, the centuries-old home of the Eastern Chiricahua Apaches, and travel from there to the Black Range.
Was that where this mysterious secret valley was located? She would not give me a direct answer, but turned her head away. I had the impression there was something she would have liked to tell me, but her respect for her husband and his brother prevented her from doing so.
We were to take mules as well as horses, the former loaded down with silver. The Apaches knew its value, I had learned, but only vaguely. They would trade the silver and gold they stole for rifles and ammunition, bolts of cloth and trinkets, cooking pots and tools, things of more tangible value to them. The comancheros, who knew the real value of the precious metal, would trade for it and sell it in Mexico.
I had my only chance to speak with Jewel just before we left, when the mules and the horses were already loaded. I thought she looked wistful, as she stood some distance behind her new owner, and with a defiant glance at Lucas I went up to her.
“Jewel! I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to talk with you before. Are you all right? Do they treat you kindly?”
She shrugged. “Guess you know as well as I do how it is! But ’Gado ain’t unkind, and he seems to like me. ’Least, he’s been talkin’ like he don’t aim to get rid of me down in Mexico right away. Who knows?” She gave me a philosophical look. “He’s not as bad as some ‘protectors’ I’ve had. Don’t beat on me an’ give me to other men.” She gave me a surreptitious, hasty embrace. “It’s you I bin worryin’ about. You didn’t seem like the type… but then he’s young, ain’t he? An’ not half bad-looking. Be sensible, Rowena. Only way a female can survive is by bein’ smarter than a man, an’ learnin’ how to roll with the punches.”
That was our farewell, for we had no chance to say any more to each other. Little Bird pulled me by the arm, and I caught Lucas Cord’s strange, green-fired glance upon me. With the men leading the way, we left the small, concealed canyon on foot, leading the horses.
Eighteen
We traveled very slowly and cautiously, sometimes continuing our journey at night, although I could tell that Little Bird was terrified by this. Apaches would seldom travel at night, because they believed that evil spirits lurked abroad then, but Julio, in spite of all his Apache ways, was like his brother in scoffing at such superstition.
I learned that Little Bird was expecting another child, and although she never complained or fell back, it became clear to me that the long hours of walking with a baby strapped to her back were a strain on her. I offered to carry the child myself, and though she glanced at me gratefully, her look was strange. The little girl rode on one of the horses, her small face solemn and unsmiling. The baby, like most Apache infants, never cried.
His name was Coyote Walking, and he had round, curious black eyes and a fringe of straight black hair. I would think he was watching me sometimes, and wonder if he would grow up like his uncles. Still, he was an infant, and although I had never been able to feel anything more than awkwardness around children, I grew fond of him, and of the little girl too.
Sometimes I would feel Lucas Cord’s eyes on me, never giving anything away, and sometimes Julio’s. What had Lucas told him of me? What did he think? I would not, I had willed myself not to think. It was easier that way, when we had to trudge what seemed endless miles across burning white sands in order not to overtax the horses, and then set up camp at the end of it, while the men rested. It was easier to keep my mind a blank and my body rigid and unyielding when Lucas came to lie by me at night. We did not talk at such times, and invariably he turned his back on me. Sometimes I thought Little Bird looked at me in a puzzled and almost pitying way, although she never said anything. She was kind to me, and spoke enough Spanish to make herself understood. She tried to teach me the Apache words for various objects, although I found it difficult to master the guttural sounds they used.
Lucas Cord was still a stranger to me. There were times when I felt a stranger to myself. I was on an arduous, ridiculous journey—the hunted now, instead of being on the side of the hunter. I knew there had to be other people not too far away. White settlers, soldiers. Surely Todd would have had half the territory out searching for me? And yet we saw no one until we had reached the foothills that reached up hungrily, it seemed, toward those towering peaks and ridges that formed the Black Range, legendary hideout of the Apaches.
Little Bird seemed almost animated when we entered an Apache ranchería. Her father, who was a relative of Victorio himself, lived here. We were enveloped by her family. Only her mother, out of politeness, carefully hid herself from her son-in-law. I realized again that the Apaches loved children as little Coyote Walking and his sister were immediately surrounded by affectionate, admiring relatives. I received many veiled, curious glances, but with the innate politeness that the Apaches displayed to guests, no one asked any questions, nor did my presence meet with any disapproval. Little Bird, in her own environment, went out of her way to make me feel welcome, and the only awkward moment I had was when the medicine man of the tribe, an extremely old man with lank gray hair escaping from under his ceremonial headdress, fixed his eyes sharply upon me, where I sat discreetly in the shadows with the other women.
I know he asked Lucas something, and the answer he received made him look at me even more penetratingly, although he did not say a word to me at the time. We were to spend a night here, and I remember feeling relieved at the prospect. The site of the ranchería was beautiful. A tiny plateau, protected on three sides by steep cliffs, it was high enough to be richly green, shaded by pine and aspen trees. A small stream, gushing down like a miniature waterfall from
the cliff, ran through the center of it. It had been the home of the Apaches for a long time, although Little Bird told me, in a moment of rare confidence, that they had to move away in the winter, the time they called Ghost Face. Still they had planted corn here, and other herbs and shrubs they used for food. It might have been a pleasant, peaceful place if I did not remember that the war chief Victorio had stayed here on occasion, and from here bloody raids had been made on stagecoaches and unsuspecting white settlers.
But I told myself firmly that I would not think of that. I was here as a guest of sorts, and the Apaches on their home grounds were a different people from the Apache warriors who went to war with painted faces.
The men had gone to the ceremonial sweat lodge—a kind of Turkish bath—and late in the evening some of the women, Little Bird and I among them, went to bathe in a secluded, tree-shaded portion of the stream. I could almost have imagined we were in the bathing pool of the maharajah’s harem at Jhanpur, from the giggling and teasing chatter. The women washed their hair with a form of soap they made from the yucca cactus, and combed it through with makeshift combs fashioned from bone or cactus spines.
My hair, as always, hung sleek and heavy when it was wet. I combed it with the comb that Little Bird loaned me, her manner more friendly than usual, and let it hang loose until it was dry, tying a narrow strip of buckskin around my forehead to keep the loose strands out of my eyes.
“Look in the still water,” Little Bird told me, and giggled. I had not looked in a mirror since I was captured, and my reflection in the small pool made me stare in disbelief. I could hardly recognize myself! I might have been an Apache woman, except for my blue eyes, and in the rapidly fading light even they looked dark. My skin had tanned in the sun and turned almost brown. I had stopped peeling from sunburn. In the high-necked, long-sleeved blouse of an Apache squaw, my hair parted in the center, I looked like a brown-skinned Amazon.
The Wildest Heart Page 25