Desert Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  Elizabeth only nodded. She couldn’t speak; she had many questions, but somehow didn’t need to ask them. She felt deep inside her a feeling of great loss and emptiness. Yet, at the same time, something had changed for her. It was as though when the Navajo girl had lain down, the girl Elizabeth had also. Now that girl was gone and a new Elizabeth had taken her place. She couldn’t speak about it; she had no words to explain it. But something had happened to change her that she knew would change her life.

  * * * *

  After the kinaalda returned to the hogan, a few of the women began cutting the remainder of the aalkan and handing out pieces. Michael came over to her and handed her a piece.

  “You had better eat some of this, Elizabeth. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

  Michael Burke was speaking to her in normal tones, a fact for which she was grateful. She did not want to think about, she could not think about being held in his arms. It was a moment out of time. One she would treasure, but one that would not likely be repeated. She nibbled at the cake and watched as people began to gather their things and make their preparations for departure.

  When she realized she still had on Serena’s moccasins, she walked up to where she had left her pack and boots and took them off. Her boots felt stiff and the left one put pressure on her sore heel, but the strips of makeshift bandage held and she was able to walk in them without too much difficulty. She picked up her pack and the moccasins and went down to where Sergeant Burke was holding the horses. Antonio and Serena were with him and Elizabeth held the moccasins out with a smile.

  “Thank you, Serena. I could never have finished that race in my boots.”

  Serena put one hand up in a quick gesture of protest. “You keep the moccasins, my friend. If you don’t race in them, they won’t rub your heel that much,” she added with a smile.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth for a ritual protest and then just said a simple thank you.

  Serena looked as though she had something else to say but didn’t quite know how. Finally she said, “I just want to tell you I am sorry for how your life has changed, my friend.” It was the only reference anyone had made to Thomas. Given how he died, Elizabeth had not wanted to make her friends uncomfortable, but at the same time had wondered why they had expressed no sympathy. Antonio saw the puzzled look on her face. “The Diné do not talk about the dead, but this does not mean we do not understand your pain.”

  They said their good-byes and Sergeant Burke gave her a leg up and then mounted Frost in one easy movement.

  “There will be racing next week. I hope ye’re coming, Antonio, so Frost can beat your bay!”

  “Don’t be too sure, Sergeant!”

  Michael brushed Frost with his heels and they moved off, both looking back and waving to the Navajo couple. Antonio and Serena watched them go and then Serena turned to her husband.

  “What do you think, husband?”

  “About what?”

  “About Sergeant Burke and Mrs. Woolcott, of course.”

  “Why, they have become our good friends, I think.”

  Serena gave her husband a disgusted look and then he smiled.

  “Do you mean what do I think about Sergeant Burke holding Mrs. Woolcott in his arms?”

  “Yes, husband,” his wife replied with exaggerated patience.

  “I think I feel sorry for them both. The bilagaana soldiers feel very strongly about the difference between their officers and other men.”

  “The bilagaana feel strongly about all differences,” said Serena caustically. “But I am not so sure that Elizabeth does. And she needs someone like Sergeant Burke.”

  “She might need a new husband, but I doubt she is ready for one,” said Antonio thoughtfully. “I suspect Michael will suffer more from this feeling that might be between them.”

  “Trust me, there is this feeling between them!”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Michael and Elizabeth rode in silence for the first few hours. Neither had gotten much sleep the night before and they were too tired to talk, as well as preoccupied with their own thoughts. Michael was trying to conjure up memories of passionate moments with Mary Ann and failing miserably. Elizabeth was trying to understand what had happened when Michael held her.

  They had reached the valley and were only an hour or so from the fort when Michael looked over at her and saw that she was swaying in her saddle.

  “Elizabeth,” he said sharply.

  Elizabeth’s head jerked up. “I just dozed off for a minute, Michael. I am fine.”

  But a few minutes later she was swaying again and Michael reached out for her mare’s reins and pulled both horses up.

  “Elizabeth, I’m afraid I can’t let ye stop to catch up on yer sleep. I want to make the fort by sundown. And I have no coffee left to boil. I gave it all to Antonio. Ye’re going to have to ride with me or I’m afraid ye’ll drop right off yer horse.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t awake enough to protest. She slipped off her mare and let Michael lift her up on Frost. He swung up behind her.

  “There now, at least ye can’t fall,” he said as he reached around her to hold the reins in both his hands.

  She tried to sit forward, but she soon found herself drifting off and then jerking awake again from her uncomfortable position.

  “If ye’ll just lean back against me, Elizabeth, ye can sleep and be more comfortable.”

  I know I will be, she thought, so drunk with exhaustion that she nearly said it aloud. And that is what I am afraid of. It would feel so good…it did feel so good when she let herself lean against his broad chest and let herself feel his arms around her.

  “There ye go,” he whispered.

  She was asleep in minutes and Michael kept the horses down to a brisk walk. At this pace, they would just make the fort before dark, but Elizabeth was not up to a trot or canter in her state, so what could he do?

  It was sweet torture, this closeness. He could feel her hair against his cheek when he bent to look down at her. Nestled against him like a child, she was. Except she was no child. She was an officer’s widow, for sweet Jesus’ sake, and he had better remember it. The trouble was, his mind could remember it, but his body…well, that was another thing entirely.

  He could smell a combination of cologne and her own scent and it made him want to lean down and nuzzle her neck and drink it in. She was turned a little against him and he could feel the curve of her breast. He wanted to drop one rein and cup his hand tenderly around it.

  Thank God the saddle was between them, he thought. His prick was as stiff as Moses’ rod and God knows what would happen if they were rubbing against one another. He thought of the priest at home, thundering from the pulpit about the sins of the flesh. He tried to picture the fires of hell, but the only fire he had in his mind was that of his own fierce desire.

  He remembered how she had looked as she was running back to camp with Serena’s niece. Her hair had been windblown, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes shining with a sense of her own accomplishment.

  He had fallen in love with her in that moment. He had found her attractive all along, of course, even though he had disliked her at first, the prim and proper Boston lady.

  Then he had gotten to know her better and had enjoyed her company. His liking had turned to admiration and sympathy and respect. And now, God help him, love.

  He loved an officer’s widow. A woman who had suffered a recent terrible loss. The bittersweet realization was almost more than he could bear. He had found the one woman for him and she was not for him, could never be for him.

  And it was ridiculous to feel this way to boot. Elizabeth had been a happily married woman. She would be missing her husband terribly. She might have lost her distaste for Sergeant Michael Burke. She might even consider him a friend. But she most certainly did not want him or love him.

  Michael had never imagined himself to be this sort of man: the kind that loved hopelessly and forever. He had thought he would one day find a sweet wom
an to settle down with, one he could love calmly and peacefully. Mrs. Elizabeth Woolcott had destroyed that possibility for him, damn her. She wasn’t the static, sweet dream of a woman he had had in mind. She was someone who had grown and changed, even since he’d known her. She had opened her heart to Serena, to the Diné, and to her own possibilities. He couldn’t help himself. Dear God, but he loved her.

  * * * *

  They reached the fort just as dark was falling and Michael rode straight to the Grays’ quarters. Elizabeth, who was still asleep against him, stirred a little when Frost’s regular motion stopped. Michael was just trying to figure out how to dismount without her falling when the door to the colonel’s quarters opened and a black-and-white bundle of fur ran out, wriggling and barking, and almost somersaulted over the railing to get to his mistress. The noise awoke Elizabeth and she opened her eyes and looked dazedly around her.

  God bless the wee bugger, thought Michael as Colonel Gray tried to calm the dog down. At least he had directed the colonel’s attention away from Elizabeth’s arrival in Michael’s arms.

  “Michael,” Elizabeth murmured without thinking. Michael hoped he was the only one to hear her. It was a natural, really, since they had been together for over thirty-six hours, but the colonel might not understand that.

  When Colonel Gray lifted her down from the horse, Elizabeth stumbled and put her hand against Frost’s shoulder to steady herself.

  “You look exhausted, Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Gray, who had come out behind her husband.

  “I am, Janet, although evidently I slept all the way home.” As she said it, she seemed to realize just where she had slept and with a little embarrassment she said quickly, “Thanks to Sergeant Burke, I didn’t fall off my mare.”

  Orion was alternating between groveling at her feet and planting his paws in her lap to reach up and lick her face.

  “I’d better get you inside before he knocks you over,” said the colonel, pushing the dog away. “Thanks for taking such good care of Mrs. Woolcott, Sergeant Burke,” he called over his shoulder to Michael. “We’ll be looking forward to hearing about your adventures.”

  Michael lifted his hand to acknowledge the thank you and then let it fall again. Elizabeth was not conscious of him. And why should she be, boyo, he told himself. I am just the mick sergeant who did the job the army ordered.

  He dismounted and led Frost to the stables, where he brushed her down and watered her. The mare drank slowly but steadily, lifting her head occasionally and turning her dripping muzzle toward Michael and blowing a contented sound out her nostrils.

  Michael was almost asleep himself, leaning against her, when Elwell came up behind him.

  “Welcome back, Sergeant. I imagine escort duty was more pleasant than gathering wood? You brought the lady back safely, I see.”

  “Sure and ye startled me, Josh,” said Michael. “I’m dead on me feet. I’ll be glad to be back to collecting wood tomorrow.”

  “You disappoint me, Michael. I’d have thought escorting a lady much more your style,” Elwell teased. “Mary Ann missed you last night, by the way. She’ll be looking forward to tonight.”

  Michael groaned. “Not a chance, Josh. All I’m able to do is get meself to mess and then to bed. Will ye tell her that?”

  Elwell slapped Michael on his back. “Indeed I will, Michael, but she’ll miss you.”

  Any other time, he would have wanted a woman. Not just for sex, not as tired as he was tonight. But for the feeling of coming home to someone, even a whore. That wasn’t fair, he knew. Mary Ann was not really a whore. Her profession was laundering, not dance hall girl. She gave her favors selectively, even though she accepted money for them. But tonight it would have made him feel even lonelier to be with someone else. Mary Ann opening her door to him, inviting him in to a warm, lantern-lit room would only have reminded him of the woman he wanted and couldn’t have.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Elizabeth slept through most of the next morning. When she finally awoke, it was almost noon and she could hear Orion barking from the line she had put up in the back of the Grays’ quarters. She threw her flannel wrapper around her and rushed out, afraid that her neighbors were ready to descend on her for the dog’s noise.

  “Hush, Orion, hush.” The dog dropped back on his haunches and looked up at her with such an expression of idiotic delight on his face that she laughed out loud.

  “I wasn’t gone for that long, you foolish dog,” she scolded as she untied him. Once again, he was down and squirming at her feet one moment and trying to lick her face the next.

  “Come inside with me. Heel, sir,” she said firmly, and he followed her into the kitchen.

  When the dog whimpered, she said with mock sympathy, “Poor Orion. No one here to see that you were properly fed!” She crumbled some bread into a bowl and added milk and an egg and put it down for the hungry dog. “That will have to hold you for now.”

  She made herself a cup of tea and sliced a piece of bread for herself. Mrs. Gray must be on an errand somewhere, she thought. And although she was eager to tell the story of her adventures, she was happy to have some privacy. As she drew her legs underneath her, her left heel hit the chair rung and the pain brought back everything from the last two days. She sat there, hands around her mug, kaleidoscopic images not at all in sequence taking her back to the ceremony. She relived her race and her dream. She had experienced something profound, but had no name for it. She only knew that she felt different: more herself, Elizabeth Jane Woolcott, than she ever had. That felt very satisfying. At the same time, she felt a deep longing for something, she wasn’t sure what. A part of her longed for the woman in her dream. For Changing Woman, if it had indeed been she. For something that was missing in her life. Something…she could only call it something holy. She had thought holiness was only found in churches. A church was a holy place. A minister was a holy person. God was holy. At least that is what she had been taught. Yet she had also felt holiness approaching her in that dream in the guise of a woman. If she told that to anyone, he would think her sacrilegious. Divinity in a woman’s form? Yet that had been her experience. And that is what the Navajo believed.

  As she sat and drank her tea she wanted more than anything in the world to have her mother sitting opposite her. They would drink tea together and Elizabeth would tell her everything and ask her if she thought God could take a woman’s form. Then she would pull out her drawings and unroll them at the table and show her mother how much she had come to love this country. “I know I was a terrible traveler, Mother,” she would say. “I resisted every step of the way. But now it feels like home.” Her mother would smile and praise her drawings and tell her what a fine woman she had become.

  Elizabeth was crying. Except when Thomas died, she hadn’t cried for years for her mother or her father or herself. She had shut herself off from all memories until today, when somehow her mother had felt very present. She cried until she drained herself and when she finally stopped, she realized that opening to the old pain had finally brought her a sense of peace.

  Her eyes were swollen and her face sticky and salt-streaked. She filled the washbasin with water and as she washed, she glanced up into the oval mirror above the washstand. She had almost expected to see a fourteen-year-old girl, she realized as she calmly surveyed the woman’s face looking back at her. How had she remained fourteen for all these years? She wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a twenty-three-year-old woman.

  What had Thomas seen when he looked at her, she wondered. Had he seen the young Elizabeth whom he had rescued? Or the woman? Whom had he loved? And who had loved him these past six years?

  As she sat there, something her mother had once said came back to her: “What a terrible thing it is not to become a woman when one ceases to be a girl.” For the first time, she felt like a woman, and she cried again that she had not been able to give Thomas Woolcott what he so deserved.

  She had worked hard to make every posting a home. She never c
omplained about the hardships. She was a good hostess and kept the light of friendship burning in their home. And she had never turned away from him in their bed. Why did it all of a sudden not seem very much?

  She had given him a happy marriage. She had given him Miss Elizabeth Jane Rush. She had given him her mother’s daughter, who had learned what a wife’s role was. But she had never given him herself or her own desire. She had loved him with a grateful love. He had rescued her twice: once from Comancheros and then from a single woman’s existence, and she had loved him for that. And she had, as he had said, “let him love her.” Oh, but what an ungenerous love that seemed to her now.

  * * * *

  She told the Grays her story over dinner, and all during that next week the other officers’ wives approached her and asked for details. With the exception of the colonel’s wife, they all were both curious and resentful. They wanted to know everything about “heathen practices,” but after she gave them a very abbreviated account, they looked at her as though she were an oddity.

  “Imagine cooking in the dirt!” Mrs. Taggert said when Elizabeth told of the aalkan. “I surely hope you didn’t eat any of it, Mrs. Woolcott.”

  “It would have been impolite not to,” she answered in her best Boston manner. She wanted to slap the woman’s sanctimonious face and was very glad she had shared only a few details of the ceremony.

  She found herself wanting to talk to Michael. He had understood what an important experience it had been. He respected the Diné. And her. She wanted to complain about the post women, with their narrow-mindedness.

  But he was very elusive that week, Sergeant Burke. She couldn’t have sought him out directly, but she had tried to be at the stable with a treat for her mare at the time when he should have been returning with his men, and she missed him by a few minutes each time.

  Probably he had forgotten all about their shared experience, she thought. Probably he was spending his spare time with Mary Ann! Not that it was any of her business!