Desert Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  “Another herd of horses and mules today, Elizabeth, and Joshua grumbling about the bounty,” Michael said with an ironic smile as they drank their coffee that night. “ ‘Tis foolish, I know, but I keep looking for Antonio’s bay whenever they bring in horses.”

  They both sat in silence, each feeling helpless, when Elizabeth got up and went to the bookshelf.

  “Come, let us see what Mr. Dickens has in store for us tonight, Michael.”

  They had finished Nicholas Nickleby and had moved on to Bleak House and agreed it was a more powerful book, even though they would both sometimes find themselves annoyed at Esther’s narrative.

  “She is just too good,” Elizabeth had complained one night, dropping the book in her lap.

  Michael had smiled at her reaction. “Sure and I agree with you, but by having her tell a part of it, he keeps the story going.”

  They were coming close to the end of the book and Elizabeth had begun the Chapter entitled “Jo’s Will.” As she was pulled further and further into the scene of the little crossing sweeper’s death, she forgot Michael, herself, and everything in the power of Dickens’s words. Her voice was trembling as she read:

  “Art in heaven—is the light a-comin, sir?”

  “It is close at hand. ‘Hallowed be Thy name.’ “

  “ ‘Hallowed-be-Thy….’ “

  The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead! Dead, Your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, Right Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying all around us every day.

  Michael’s eyes had been half closed and his head had been resting on the back of his chair, but when Elizabeth finished reading Dickens’s words, he dropped his head into his hands. When he lifted it to look at her, his pupils were so black and large, his gaze so haunted and intent that she felt as if he were drawing her into his soul so that she could see what he was seeing: the faces of his family and friends who had been victims, like Jo, of a heartless world. For a moment, she stopped breathing. For a moment—for an eternity—everything stopped for her: her own heart was drawn into his, felt his pain and also the universal pain that Dickens evoked. When she came to herself again, when she could feel her own individual heartbeat, she knew. She loved Michael Burke. She had probably, without knowing it, loved him for some time.

  It was strange. The words were the same. “I love you, Thomas,” she had said many times. And it had been true. She had loved Thomas Woolcott. I love you, Michael, she said to herself, and oh, the difference. All of herself was open to him. The love went beyond the gratitude and affection she had felt for Thomas. There was no safety in this love. In that moment she felt she could die from it, yet was only fully alive because of it.

  She could say nothing, of course. He had married her out of friendship, not love. But there was desire between them, which they had kept banked like the fire at night. “I will only make love to you again when you ask me, Elizabeth,” he had said. “Don’t wait too long,” Mrs. Gray had told her.

  She stood up and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.

  “Michael, come to bed,” she murmured.

  He looked up at her, a question in his eyes. They both knew what he was asking.

  She couldn’t say it. Not here, not like this, so she only nodded slightly and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

  He quickly turned down the lamps and followed her into the bedroom. The moon was full and she had not drawn the curtains but stood in a river of silver light. Her hair was around her shoulders and here and there a golden strand glinted in the moonlight.

  “You look like a bean sighe,” said Michael hoarsely.

  “A what?”

  “A woman of the sighe. A faery woman.” He moved close to her and touched her hair gently. “ ‘Tis beautiful you art, mo muirneach.”

  She shook her head. “No, it is only the moonlight, Michael.”

  He reached out and began to unbutton her blouse, feeling her tremble as his hand brushed her breast.

  In a minute she stood there, her clothes in a pile around her feet.

  “Now you,” she said and started on his blouse.

  “First me boots, darlin’, or we’ll be in trouble,” he said, smiling.

  His legs and feet were swollen a little from the heat of the day and he thought he would never get his boots off.

  “So much for us enjoying the sight of each other in the moonlight, Elizabeth.” He laughed. “Get into bed, for this may take all night.” But she didn’t move.

  Finally, he got them off and he stood in front of her again. He was dying, but he let her unbutton him and unbuckle his belt and undress him. It seemed like forever, but at last they were facing each other, bodies bathed in the gentle light of the moon. He put his hands on her shoulders and let them slide down her arms, then he cupped her breasts in both hands. “Día, but you are lovely.”

  “And you, Michael.” She let one finger trace down his chest, brushing the black curls lightly, then she stopped at his belly.

  Michael let his hands move downward slowly as though measuring her waist with them, and her hips. He bent his head then and teased one of her nipples with his tongue and she arched a little against him. His hand reached down and parted her with his fingers. Then, before she realized what he was doing, he knelt down in front of her and was seeking her out with his tongue. Her legs opened to welcome him without her even thinking, and she rested her hands on his shoulders. Elizabeth had never imagined anything like this before. She was embarrassed and frightened but the agonizing pleasure it brought her took her beyond any everyday feeling, and as he stroked her with his tongue, she buried her hands in his hair.

  Elizabeth couldn’t stand. She sank slowly down to her knees and he followed her down. When he lifted his head for a moment, she moaned in disappointment.

  “I want to make you comfortable, muirneach,” he whispered. “Come, lay back over here.” He pillowed her head on her own skirt and petticoats and crouched over her. She reached down and felt his satiny shaft poised over her and pulled herself up so she was positioned beneath him.

  “Now?”

  “Please, Michael.”

  He entered her gently and cradled her head with his hands as he moved slowly. Día, but he loved this woman, he thought. He wanted to tell her, to cry out his feeling for her. But he couldn’t burden her with that and so he concentrated on telling her another way. The way of bodies moving together as one, of hearts racing, seed spilling into her just at the moment when she let her whole self flow down on him.

  They both uttered wordless cries, nuzzling one another, nibbling one another as though they were horses.

  “Oh, Michael, I love”—Elizabeth stopped herself—“the way you make me feel.”

  “And how is that?” he whispered.

  “Like I am not myself,” she answered. “But I don’t know who I am.”

  I know who you are, he thought. Mo muirneach. My beloved. He lay there, holding her close for a few minutes and then said, “ ‘Tis chilly down here on the floor, Elizabeth. Let’s get into bed.”

  Elizabeth nodded but didn’t move. She couldn’t bear the thought of not having him inside her. She wanted him there all night. No, forever.

  “Elizabeth,” he said again.

  “Yes, Michael. All right.”

  They quickly pulled down the covers and climbed in and he pulled her close. “Go to sleep.”

  He could feel her nod her head, which was against his chest, and in a few minutes she was relaxed and asleep in his arms.

  Michael lay there feeling both a great joy and a great sadness. There had been no crying tonight or memories of Thomas Woolcott. In fact, it had felt like their real wedding night. They had come to know one another better over the past few weeks and Elizabeth had come to care for him. Michael was sure of that. But affectionate friendship wasn’t love. He needed more than what they had and he didn’t know if it was hers to give or if her
capacity for that kind of love had been buried with her husband.

  On the other hand, Michael Joseph Burke, don’t be lying here feeling sorry for yerself, he scolded silently.

  Ye’re the lucky one who is alive and in her bed. And I hope ye can forgive me for rejoicing in that, Thomas Woolcott.

  * * * *

  When they awoke, Elizabeth was flooded with memories of the night before. She wasn’t sure she could even look Michael in the eye, she was so embarrassed. But oh, how wonderful he had made her feel. With Thomas, it was as though she had been a river, partly dammed, with only some of her allowed to flow freely. Last night she had run strongly and full force, as though racing to meet the sea, to meet her source. It had been wonderful. Yet today she realized there was still a barrier: she didn’t only desire Michael, she loved him, and not to be able to tell him that was painful.

  But they had time, she reassured herself. They were good friends who desired one another. All the ingredients for love were there and in time, love would grow.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  By August, the Rope Thrower had succeeded in destroying thousands of pounds of grain and driven away or stolen most of the Diné livestock. Manuelito and Barboncito had withdrawn further into Dinetah and had managed to keep their horses and enough sheep so that their followers were not starving.

  Serena’s child was due in September and Antonio made sure that she received extra food despite her protests that all should share equally.

  “You are eating for yourself and our child, wife,” he would gently insist.

  “I know, but everyone has so little.”

  This was true enough. They were living on corn and herbs and whatever squash and other vegetables they could harvest. They would butcher a sheep occasionally but the headmen knew how hard the winter was going to be and encouraged families to dry the meat and save their livestock.

  Despite hunger and a constant state of vigilance, Serena was happy. She knew her child was healthy for he or she was moving a lot now. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night from a sudden, hard kick.

  “What is it, wife?” Antonio would ask.

  “Your child doesn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between night and day, husband.”

  “Oh, already it is beginning,” he would tease. “I can see this will be my child when he disobeys!”

  Serena straggled to her feet.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yes. I just need to relieve myself. Even if the baby isn’t kicking, I am up three times a night anyway. I’d forgotten what it is like,” she grumbled, pressing her hand into her back and pushing the hogan blanket door aside.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Serena snorted. “I think this is something I can do for myself,” she responded sharply.

  “Ouch! I’d forgotten what this is like too. Sometimes I think I’ve taken a scorpion to bed.”

  When she came back, Antonio was on his side, facing the hogan wall. She crawled in next to him and pinched his buttock. “Your scorpion is back,” she said, her voice dripping sweetness.

  Antonio laughed and, rolling over, pulled her down next to him. “This is the only way I can hug you anymore,” he complained as they lay together, her back against his chest.

  “It is not so long now,” she whispered.

  “I know. Go back to sleep.”

  * * * *

  Perhaps it was the lack of food or the strain and tension they were all under, but Serena’s baby did not wait for the end of September. One morning in the first week of the month, she felt the pains starting and by suppertime, after only seven hours, their daughter was born. She was a small, scrawny thing and when Antonio first saw her, he was worried.

  “Didn’t you hear her first cries, husband,” Serena reassured him. “She has strong lungs and a strong heart. And she found the breast right away,” she said proudly, running her finger down the satiny cheek of her newborn. The baby, who was half asleep, automatically turned and rooted at her mother.

  “See!”

  All the families in their small band made sure that Serena got a little extra something to eat those first few weeks. The women would bring a pouch of dried peaches or the men small rabbits, saying, “This is a little something we didn’t need tonight. We’re all pretty full.”

  Everyone’s belly was drawn tight and aching with hunger, but Serena and Antonio would accept the gift gratefully. Their child needed to put on some flesh before what promised to be a hard winter, and they would have done the same thing, had the situation been reversed.

  Those first few weeks of their daughter’s life were peaceful and happy for them, despite the circumstances. Serena’s milk was coming in strong and although she was thin, their baby was thriving.

  “She is a great gift,” Antonio said one day as he felt his daughter’s hand curl around one of his fingers. “We were lucky to have another daughter.”

  His wife nodded, but her eyes filled with tears.

  “What is it,” asked Antonio with concern.

  “I know I should be happy. I am happy, you know that. It is just that it brings back all the old memories.”

  Antonio put his arm around his wife and drew her close. “We will never forget our first daughter. We all continue asking Asdzaa nadleehe to keep her safe. And we will tell the little one when she is old enough to understand, that somewhere she had an older sister.”

  “But will this little one live to hear the story,” Serena said with a sob, holding her daughter close to her.

  “I swear to you, wife,” Antonio answered fiercely, “that this child will grow beautiful and strong. Will run fast for her kinaalda and will take care of her old parents when she is a woman grown. We will survive this.”

  * * * *

  By October, so many of the fields had been burned and sheep driven away that the headmen had gathered together to discuss the situation. The Diné were going into the winter with very little to sustain them and with the knowledge that Rope Thrower would continue his siege of Dinetah.

  Antonio had accompanied Manuelito to the council and when they returned after four days, Serena asked them what had occurred.

  “Delgadito and Barboncito are gathering some of their people together and going in to Fort Defiance, where they will ask for peace,” Antonio told her. “I will go with them, to see for myself what this new colonel is like.”

  “And you, uncle,” she asked, turning to Manuelito.

  “It is too late for peace, if this bilagaana ever really wanted it! I know what their answer will be: Bosque Redondo or war.”

  * * * *

  When Antonio and the headmen reached the fort, they found Colonel Chavez waiting for them in front of his quarters. The headmen were coldly summoned inside and Antonio was left with a few men to watch the horses. While he was standing there, several of the troopers passed by, giving him hostile looks and muttering insults in English and Spanish. Antonio could feel the men stirring restlessly next to him.

  “The Diné did not come to start trouble,” he said sharply. But he felt himself stiffen with anger when he saw Sergeant Michael Burke approaching with a broad smile on his face.

  “Antonio! I heard that Delgadito and Barboncito were coming in today, but I didn’t expect your uncle or you.”

  “For good reason, bilagaana.”

  Michael was not surprised by the hostility in Antonio’s voice, but at the fact that it seemed personally directed at himself.

  “I am glad to see you, my friend,” he said, “and hope you know that Governor Carleton’s policies are not mine.”

  “Why should I know that, when you helped point the big guns at Navajo women and children.”

  Michael’s face blanched and then reddened, as though he had been slapped.

  “It may have looked that way, Antonio,” he said slowly, “but I was not the one firing.”

  Antonio only stood there, distrust still on his face.

  “He
’s telling the truth,” said a voice behind them. “He lost his master sergeant’s rank because of it.”

  “This is Corporal Mahoney,” said Michael, red now from embarrassment.

  “He disobeyed a direct order and risked a court-martial,” Mahoney continued.

  Antonio’s face relaxed and finally he broke his silence. “Then I’ve done you an injustice in my mind, my friend.”

  Michael said nothing and Antonio continued. “I knew, of course, that in your army you must obey the orders given to you. But I blamed you anyway….”

  “I couldn’t have taken part in any massacre, but don’t make me out to be any kind of hero, Antonio. I will fight Diné when it is necessary. Though I will not like it,” he added.

  “Of course.” Antonio nodded. “And I’ll fight the bilagaana soldiers if they invade Dinetah. We are both warriors.”

  “And friends, nevertheless?” Michael said hopefully.

  “And friends.”

  “ ‘Tis a hell of a world when one friend may have to fight the other. Manuelito did not come in then, to see Chavez?”

  “No, he means to hold out.”

  “And you, Antonio? Will you hold out with him?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Carleton is out to destroy you all. You know that?” said Michael, his voice heavy with despair and anger.

  “We know. But the Diné will not be destroyed.”

  “Elizabeth and I pray that this is so.”

  “And how is Mrs. Woolcott? My wife will be eager to know.”

  Michael blushed again and Mahoney laughed and broke in, “She is Mrs. Burke now.”

  Antonio’s whole face lightened. “My wife will be very interested to hear that, bilagaana. And happy,” he added with a smile.

  “Your bay looks too thin, Antonio,” said Michael with concern. “As do you.”

  “You know the Diné way, my friend. We take care of one another, but this time has been hard on all of us.”