‘The government won’t let the tribes keep their land when there are good honest folk willing to make a living.’ Aloysius thumped the table with his fist for emphasis. ‘Why, those savages shouldn’t have any rights at all. If there is money to be made, we’re the ones who should be making it. I still think back to the June of 1876 when we heard of General Custer’s slaughter at the Battle of Little Big Horn and, to this day, I can see no good reason for any Indian to be accorded land or rights.’
Clarence waited as his old friend calmed. ‘And how will the Indians make a living? I seem to recall them being here first.’ Purple was not quite the word for the colour Aloysius’s face had turned but it was close. Clarence was aware he shouldn’t taunt his friend, not when he knew first hand of Aloysius’s obsession with his abducted niece. He was, however, one for giving his word and keeping it. The Indians had been assigned lands by the government of the day, lands where they could hopefully make a living and live quietly. Clarence considered this a fair result. After all, they may well be savages but one could hardly act like they didn’t exist. ‘My apologies, Aloysius, we have differing views on this subject.’
‘A place for everyone, eh, Clarence? Yes, yes, but as far as I’m concerned the only good Indian is a dead Indian.’
‘Well, in the meantime we have the problem of your son to address. Might I suggest we promote the Harbison lad to store manager and perhaps Edmund should join the newspaper? He’s not been the same since Jenny’s death.’
Aloysius was not immune to Clarence’s placating tone. Gathering up the newspapers, he sat back at the desk, his gaze wandering absently over the framed headlines from the earliest editions of the newspaper. Edmund, Aloysius’s youngest son, had been slow to mature and even slower to marry. With his wife dying in childbirth along with their hoped-for first child a year earlier, it was time the lad selected a new bride and got down to the business of successful breeding. ‘He needs a wife. There’s nothing like children to keep a man at the office. God knows, Annie and I managed three girls and two sons, which was enough to keep my nose to the mill.’
‘So you’ll speak to him?’ Clarence confirmed.
‘I daren’t send him out to the plantation or the farm. He’d be just as likely to give half the cotton and wheat we produce away.’ Aloysius poured two whiskeys from the cut-glass decanter on his desk and slid a tumbler across to his old friend. ‘What? You’ve got that look in your eye, Clarence, like you’re intending on a lecture.’ Aloysius took a sip of the strong spirit.
‘I was thinking about the past, specifically your family’s,’ Clarence swallowed the whiskey in a single gulp. ‘I know how much you hate the Indians.’
‘Apaches, I hate the god-damn Apaches, and I’ve every right. Twenty-three years, Clarence, and not a single word,’ he replied, clutching the glass.
‘Until today.’
Aloysius sat forward in his chair, a lock of greying hair fell across his brow. ‘What are you talking about?’
Clarence withdrew an envelope from his coat and held it across the desk. ‘The letter came to my office,’ he stated by way of explanation. ‘Geronimo has surrendered.’
Aloysius stared at his old friend as if the contents could be discerned from the intelligent eyes opposite him.
Clarence sat the letter on the desk. ‘A Captain Henry Lawton and First Lieutenant Charles B. Gatewood have led an expedition that has brought Geronimo and his followers back to the reservation.’
Aloysius reached for the envelope, flicked open the broken seal and unfolded the paper. ‘Why didn’t you tell me of this immediately?’
‘Because wanting something doesn’t mean it will happen,’ Clarence replied. ‘There was a white woman with the Apaches.’
Aloysius stood, his chair falling backwards to land with a loud thud on the timber floor. He scanned the contents of the letter.
‘The similarities are strong,’ Clarence said evenly, ‘but obviously we cannot be assured that the woman mentioned is –’
Aloysius tapped at the letter. ‘They say she is blonde-haired, striking in appearance,’ his eyes grew misty, ‘and aged in her thirties.’
‘The details are compelling, I admit, but I urge you, my friend, not to get your hopes up,’ Clarence replied carefully.
‘It’s her. It’s Philomena.’ Aloysius’s voice grew tight with emotion.
‘I know how long you have prayed for this moment, Aloysius, but the probability that this woman is indeed your niece remains slight.’
The single sheet of paper trembled between Aloysius’s fingers. ‘They have found my dead brother’s daughter.’ He looked to the ceiling. ‘God be praised.’
‘If it is her,’ Clarence cautioned, ‘if it is indeed your niece, as your friend I can only advise you to temper your happiness until you learn the true nature of her state.’
Aloysius frowned. ‘What rubbish are you speaking of, Clarence?’
‘It is over twenty years since her abduction.’
‘And I have never stopped thinking of the child. She is my brother’s blood.’
‘She has been raised by savages,’ Clarence countered. ‘Please, dear friend, I share your joy if indeed the woman is Philomena, but I also urge you to prepare yourself.’
Aloysius folded the letter, returned it to the envelope and tucked it inside his suit coat. ‘I have been preparing for this moment for twenty-three years, Clarence. My niece was born a Wade and no Indian, Geronimo or not, can ever take that away from her.’
No, Clarence thought, they can’t take a name but they can take other things.
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Version 1.0
Sunset Ridge
ePub ISBN 9781864712797
Copyright © Nicole Alexander, 2013
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
A Bantam book
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First published by Bantam in 2013
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Alexander, Nicole L., author
Sunset ridge/Nicole Alexander
ISBN 9781864712797 (ebook)
A823.4
Picture of girl’s face © Corbis
Cover design by Luke Causby, Blue Cork
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Sunset Ridge Page 47