Desert Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  He smiled and nodded at the other two riders and dismounted. He walked around Frost, picking up and examining each hoof carefully, keeping up a quiet conversation with her. He stood in front and putting his hand on either side of the mare’s cheeks, he breathed into her nostrils and then remounted.

  The second lieutenant snorted. “Do you think that sort of hocus-pocus will win a race, Sergeant?”

  Antonio only looked curiously at both men and mounted his bay in one graceful movement. The dust had settled ahead of them and he knew that the starter would flash the signal any minute.

  When the mirror flashed, Michael let the other two take the lead. Luckily he had thought to tie his handkerchief around his neck and he pulled it up to keep from choking on the dust. He let Frost sit right behind the blood bay while the second lieutenant kept a lead of two lengths for the first half mile.

  Shortly after that, however, the chestnut began to slow. It was almost imperceptible, but by the three-quarter mark the bay had overtaken him and Michael was alongside of him. With one-quarter mile to go, the lieutenant was definitely out of the race and it would be between Frost and the blood bay.

  Frost hung right where Michael wanted her, now a half length behind the bay. They knew each other very well, the mare and he, and Michael knew he had no worries about Frost’s ability to finish the race and finish strong.

  But the bay was showing no signs of tiring, so it would all come down to the last eighth of a mile and who had a last burst of speed left. Michael was sure Frost did, but did the bay?

  He let Frost narrow the distance until they were alongside. The post was going wild, but to Michael it seemed as though the screaming was way in the distance, so hard was he concentrating on Frost’s responses.

  “All right, me girl, run!” he shouted, and he could feel the power in the mare’s hind legs as she pulled up nose to nose with the bay. They were almost at the finish line and Michael knew it could be a tie, depending on the bay’s responses. He gave one last wild shout and Frost pulled in front by a nose as they crossed the line.

  “Did you see that! Did you see that!” Mahoney was hoarse from shouting. “Did you see our sergeant?” The boy was pounding Spratt on the back so hard he almost knocked him over.

  Elwell heard him and the grin that split his face became even wider. Our sergeant, indeed. And tomorrow he’ll go back to being the stubborn little bastard he is! But by God, the boy was right to be proud. Master Sergeant Michael Joseph Burke was one hell of a rider.

  * * * *

  When Michael dismounted, he was immediately surrounded by soldiers clapping him on the shoulder and thanking him for keeping their pay in their pockets. When he finally was able to break away, he looked around for the other two riders. The second lieutenant had dismounted and was leading his obviously blown horse down to the stables. Michael waved and shouted, “Good riding, sir. Your horse would have been the winner in a shorter race.” The officer grimaced, but gave him a wave back.

  Michael looked around for the blood bay. He was being led away by a young boy while his rider walked next to him, watching his front leg carefully. He motioned the boy to stop and knelt down to examine the bay’s left leg.

  Michael gave Frost’s reins to Elwell, who had just broken through the crowd. “Josh…Private Elwell, could ye hold my horse for me? I’ll be right back.”

  “The leg’s a little warm, is it?” he asked when he reached the Navajo, not knowing whether the man spoke English or not.

  The man looked up. “A little. His leg was swollen last week and I am worried I pushed him too soon.”

  “Then maybe I was lucky,” said Michael with a friendly smile. “With a completely sound leg, your bay might have beat us.”

  “I make no excuses, soldier. Your mare is a very good horse,” Antonio replied quietly.

  “She is, isn’t she,” said Michael with an infectious smile.

  The bilagaana was not bragging, thought Antonio. He was just naturally rejoicing in a fine mount. This man knew how to win without being offensive. “She is a very interesting-looking mare. What do you call her?”

  “Frost.”

  Antonio nodded his approval. “A good name for a horse that color. Where did you find her?”

  “She is an Appaloosa…a horse of the Palouse River. Bred by the Nez Perces.”

  “An Indian horse then? Won in battle?”

  “Of a sort. I won her in another horse race, in Nebraska. But not from a Nez Perce. From a soldier who traded for her.”

  “I don’t suppose you would be interested in a trade?” Antonio asked with a smile.

  “Trade Frost? She’s too much me friend. Even if she were slower, I’d not trade.” Michael hesitated. “Em, me name is Michael. Sergeant Michael Burke.”

  Antonio knew that the bilagaana custom was to give your name to strangers. Since Antonio wasn’t his war name, but only a name given him by the Mexicans, he didn’t mind telling it, but he identified himself first by relationship, in the Diné way. “I am Manuelito’s nephew. Antonio.”

  “You are the headman’s nephew then? That is why you speak English so well.”

  “Not so well,” Antonio said modestly.

  “Very well,” insisted Michael. “I hope we will meet again. Not just in a race.”

  “I would be interested in getting to know a bilagaana soldier who takes care not to disturb a Diné shrine.”

  It took Michael a moment to realize what Antonio was talking about. “You mean to say, there I was, washing meself with not a care in the world and all the while I was being watched? And how did ye know it was me?”

  “The Diné keep a close watch on the soldiers. And your horse is distinctive, as we’ve just agreed,” Antonio added with a grin.

  Antonio was amused to see the bilagaana soldier flush. “ ‘Tis glad I am it was me horses ye were paying attention to and not me arse!”

  There had been another observer, Antonio remembered. But he wouldn’t embarrass the man further by telling him that one of the officers’ wives had seen him too!

  Chapter Six

  On race days, there was always a dance in the evening so that winners could celebrate and losers commiserate. This one was open to all the noncommissioned officers and their wives as well, while the enlisted men caroused in the mess hall.

  “You look lovely tonight, Elizabeth,” said Thomas to his wife when she emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing her second-best dress, a dark blue lawn shirtwaist with a white lace collar and pearl buttons up the front.

  Elizabeth blushed. She usually did not spend much time in front of the mirror, but tonight for some reason she found herself experimenting with her hair, trying it up on top of her head, then loose with a dark blue velvet ribbon, before she finally just twisted it into her usual knot at the base of her neck.

  Thomas put his arms around her waist and pulled her up to him for a kiss, which she returned eagerly. The smell of his bay rum and the familiar taste of cigar and coffee were reassuring. She didn’t know where her restlessness was coming from, but she felt a wave of affection and gratitude for the steady love and security Thomas had been offering her for years.

  “Now you be sure I get to waltz with you, Lizzie,” he teased her as he placed her shawl over her shoulders.

  She reached up and patted him on the cheek. “As if you didn’t always get a waltz, Thomas!”

  * * * *

  There hadn’t been many respectable women at Camp Supply and Michael hadn’t been to a dance in over a year. He certainly hoped he would remember the steps, he worried as he pulled on his gloves and smoothed his jacket.

  When he arrived the music had already started and he was surprised to see Joshua Elwell with the musicians. So Elwell was a fiddler, was he, thought Michael. And a good one too. He would have to hum a few tunes to the man and see if he could teach him a couple of reels.

  Although it was a mixed dance, Michael noticed that the noncommissioned officers and their wives were clustered toge
ther and only Lieutenant Thomas Woolcott was dancing with a master sergeant’s wife. Michael offered his hand to the quartermaster’s daughter, who ducked her head and blushed, but put her hand in his nevertheless. Miss Mary Baker was only seventeen and was very aware that she had just been asked to dance by one of the handsomest men in the room. It took her halfway through the schottische to recover her composure and show Michael that she was a fine dancer.

  “Thank you very much, Miss Baker,” he said when he returned her to her parents. “I was a lucky man indeed to capture you before a stampede starts over here,” he added, smiling down at her. “But sure, with such a fine-looking mother, it will be hard to tell who they’re stampeding after.” He winked at the quartermaster and his wife.

  “Go along with ye, Sergeant Burke,” said Mrs. Baker, who was originally from Kerry. “That fine Irish tongue will not get you anywhere with me!”

  Michael heard the musicians striking up a waltz and gazed around the room. He wasn’t about to waltz with an impressionable young girl. He wasn’t full of himself, mind you, but was quite conscious of his ability to charm women and didn’t need to raise the hopes of a seventeen-year-old by dancing with her twice in a row. He realized that the commander’s wife was chatting with one of her friends while her husband was off in the corner deep in conversation with two officers. He bowed to the Bakers and strolled over.

  He would probably be made a fool of, he thought as he approached her. The dance might be mixed, but he would be willing to bet what he’d won that day that not too many sergeants asked the colonel’s wife to dance. Well, he would and be damned. She could only say no, and since she was a gracious woman from all he’d heard, she would at least say it nicely.

  “A lovely lady like yourself shouldn’t be sitting out a waltz, Mrs. Gray. May I have this dance?”

  Janet Gray looked up into Michael’s blue eyes. He said the words easily and with just the right combination of respect and charm but she knew that a refusal on her part to any noncom would hurt and humiliate. And why should she refuse, she thought as she smiled up at him. He was a good-looking young man and she was going to enjoy her waltz with him. And her Charles was off with his cronies in the corner.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Burke,” she said with a smile and offered him her hand.

  Michael moved as gracefully and expertly as she thought he would and when she saw Charles looking over at her with his eyebrows raised, she only gave him a little smile and went on chatting with Michael.

  “You rode a very exciting race today, Sergeant. I declare, you had all us ladies having palpitations at the finish-line, it was so close.”

  “Somehow I don’t think ye’re the sort of woman for palpitations, Mrs. Gray,” he said, smiling down at her. “Not the wife of Colonel Charles Gray who’s been stationed in the territory for five years.”

  “You are right, Sergeant,” she admitted. “I was making a poor attempt to flirt with you, but I suppose I am too old for that anyway,” she added with mock sadness.

  “And now ye are just trying to pull a compliment out of me, ma’am,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “But ye need no compliments from me, Mrs. Gray. Ye’re a very handsome woman.”

  “And you are a very bold young man, Sergeant Burke!”

  “Sure and ye wouldn’t be dancin’ with me otherwise, had I not summoned up me boldness and courage.”

  “You are incorrigible, but very enjoyable. And a very good rider,” she added more seriously, “It was clear to see that you and your mare have a real partnership.”

  “Thank ye, ma’am.”

  “I heard a rumor that you were ordered to race, Sergeant Burke. I am sorry if that were true and Lieutenant Cooper abused his authority over you.”

  Michael remained silent.

  “I see you are a discreet soldier, Sergeant Burke. Well, that is only to your credit.”

  When the waltz was over, Michael returned Mrs. Gray to her friends. The musicians were taking a break and he walked over to Elwell.

  “That was fine music ye were makin’, Joshua. I’m going to have to teach ye a few jigs and reels.”

  “I only know one Irish tune besides the ‘Garry Owen,’ Michael, a slow air,” said Joshua, picking up his fiddle and beginning to play softly.

  Michael remembered the tune well, and if he closed his eyes he would be home again, listening to his sister Cait hummin’ it with a faraway look in her eye. She’d been sixteen and Michael had teased her unmercifully, for she had fallen in love with young Donnelly to that tune at one of the ceilidhs. That was just before the hard times. Just before young Donnelly died, the week after their ma.

  The music was sweet and slow and sad and reached down into Michael’s soul, waking all the memories he’d held at bay for years. He wasn’t ready for them and he lapsed into his broadest brogue when he interrupted Elwell’s playing.

  “Josh, me boy, I’ll have to teach ye a few lively chunes, I can see. ‘Tis too sad ye’re makin’ me,” he said as he covered his eyes dramatically.

  Elwell laughed, but when he looked up he was surprised to see that Michael’s cheek was wet and that he was quickly wiping it even as he teased. Elwell stood up and joked back, not wanting to embarrass the man. “Let me cheer you up, Sergeant. I hear the punch has been treated by Dr. Osborne. For medicinal purposes, of course, but I need to treat your sudden melancholy.”

  Michael wasn’t much of a drinker, but one glass of punch enabled him to push down the memories and focus on the here and now. And when the music started up again, he danced almost every set.

  When the last dance was announced, he looked around. He had been a paragon of courtesy and partnered almost every lady there. Except Mrs. Woolcott. There she was, only a few feet away. He didn’t think she liked him very much but damn it, he could show her an Irishman could be as light on his feet as any Mr. Cooper, who had been her last partner.

  He walked over and gave her his most formal bow. “May I have this waltz, Mrs. Woolcott?”

  How could she say no? It would have been a terrible insult, especially from an officer’s wife.

  Not that she wanted to say no. Not really. She had kept herself out of his way the whole evening, all the while very aware of his presence. All the while wondering what it would be like to have his arms around her waist.

  Now she would find out.

  At first, she wouldn’t let herself feel it. She kept her smile cool and polite and counted her steps to herself, though she didn’t need to, for she was a good dancer.

  But it was a lovely tune and the fiddle was carrying it and she let go of her control and lost herself in the music.

  Michael Burke was as good on the dance floor as he was on horseback, she thought. She could feel his gloved hand against the small of her back and the warmth it created seemed to be spreading up her spine. It frightened her, the effect that physical closeness with the man had on her. It seemed to create sensations she had never experienced before. She could put no name to them, but somehow she knew they were dangerous. Surely they were sensations a wife should feel only with her husband. She shivered.

  “Are ye cold, Mrs. Woolcott,” Michael asked. Someone had opened the doors and the night air had made her shiver, he thought.

  “No. Well, perhaps a little, Sergeant Burke.”

  She was very quiet, little Mrs. Woolcott, he thought. He couldn’t tell if it was shyness or distaste. He couldn’t guess what she was feeling, but for himself…well, he had to keep reminding himself that she was someone’s wife, for the feeling of having her in his arms was very sweet. Perhaps it had been Elwell’s playing that tune, perhaps it was the glass of punch, but Michael’s emotions were closer to the surface than usual. And she had such a small waist, Mrs. Woolcott. And her head barely came to his shoulder.

  He couldn’t think of a charming, teasing thing to say for the life of him to break the tension or whatever it was that was thick between them. Here he could chatter all night to the colonel’s lady, and a second l
ieutenant’s wife had him terrified.

  Her dark blond hair, shining with reddish glints, was swept softly over her ears and pulled back in a knot. There was a hint of jasmine in the air. He liked it, that she used scent sparingly. He hated it when women doused themselves with perfume. He looked down at her hand in his and grinned. The paint stains he had noticed before were faint, but still noticeable. He guessed it was the usual condition and he liked her all the more for having something in her life that was important enough to get a little dirty for.

  When the music stopped, he walked her over to where her husband was standing with a few other officers.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Woolcott,” he said with another very formal bow.

  “You are quite welcome, Sergeant. I enjoyed our waltz,” she replied with equal formality and turned to her husband.

  The officers and their wives left first and when the last of the couples were gone, Michael walked over to Elwell.

  “Ye did tell me, Josh, that Mrs. Casey had, em, a friend.”

  Josh grinned at him. “She does. Mary Ann.”

  “Are ye visiting Mrs. Casey tonight, Josh, and do ye think she might introduce me to Mary Ann?”

  Michael was very pleased to find out that Mary Ann was a buxom woman and obviously experienced, whether she was a widow or not. A night enjoying her company was just what he needed. It would, he hoped, chase every picture of Mrs. Woolcott right out of his head. He might be a long way from Ireland and his upbringing, but he had no intention of allowing his thoughts to wander to a very married woman, no matter how odd a partnership he thought it was.

  Chapter Seven

  The wood detail was wandering further and further in their search for fuel. Two days after the horse race, Michael led them north and they passed by the small canyon where he had bathed in the creek.

  “There’s probably a good supply of wood in there, Sergeant,” said Fisk as they rode by.

  “Could be, Private Fisk, but we’ll save it for the cold weather when we won’t want to be riding that far out from the fort,” Michael answered, telling a partial truth. His reasoning made sense to the men, however, and they rode on cheerfully as he hung a little behind them, remembering the shrine he had found and the pleasure of bathing in that canyon stream. He couldn’t explain it to himself, much less to his men, but he had a strong feeling about the place and he didn’t want to be riding the mules in and worrying about the men disturbing the shrine.