Comanche Sunset

by Rosanne Bittner

  The stage rocked and swayed its way toward Houston, fifty miles from Galveston. Because the boat had arrived late, it was impossible to reach Houston the same day, and Jennifer was grateful when the coach finally came to a stop at a small depot twenty miles from their destination. It took her a while to walk without staggering once they disembarked.

  The stage stop was nothing but a small building where they could eat, a small rooming house, and a saloon. Betsy, laughing and on the arm of Mr. Strong, headed for the saloon, followed by Sandy Carter. Mr. and Mrs. James headed for the rooming house, as disappointed as was Jennifer at the sight of the tiny, dirty rooms that held just one small cot. “I guess I take the floor,” she heard Robert James telling his wife.

  Jennifer had no appetite. She was too upset from the rocky ride, combined with her loneliness and fear, and the strange room in what seemed the middle of nowhere. She sat down on the cot, fighting a need to cry. She could hear laughter and piano music coming from the saloon, and although she did not approve of the kind of woman Betsy was, she did admire her bold courage and the way she nonchalantly accepted the trip. Jennifer little realized her own courage, mistaking her natural naivety for fear and inexperience for cowardice. She walked to a window at the sound of arguing below and saw two Mexicans in the light of a lamp, drinking and pushing each other around. A gun went off, and Jennifer jumped, stepping back from the window. A moment later she heard laughter, and when she looked again, the Mexicans were gone.

  She sighed and sank back down onto the cot, thinking of the stark contrast between this place and St. Louis. She lay back, too tired to bother undressing, and too afraid to do so anyway because of the kind of men who might be lurking about. She thought about Uncle John. Yes, even the danger at this desolate stage depot was better than lying awake every night wondering when Uncle John might decide to force himself upon her. Pure exhaustion helped her fall to sleep. It seemed much too soon when she jumped awake at a knock on her door.

  “Miss Eyre, it’s Robert James. The stage is leaving soon. You awake?”

  She sat up. “Yes. I’ll be right there.” She hurried to a mirror, her eyes puffy from needing to sleep longer. “Oh, you look terrible, Jenny,” she muttered. She poured some water from a pitcher into a pan and splashed some on her face, then dabbed it off with a towel. She poured more water into a glass and rinsed her mouth, spitting into the pan.

  She took a brush then from one of her bags and quickly brushed her hair, then pulled back the sides and fastened it. She pinned on her straw shepherdess bonnet and pinched her cheeks for some color. She longed for a bath and other pleasant toiletries, but there was no time; nor would she have considered stripping naked in a place like this. She could only hope she had not picked up some kind of bugs from the cot. She shook out her sprigged yellow calico dress and quickly dabbed on some lilac water, then picked up her bags and her paisley shawl and went out of the room.

  Mrs. James was exiting her own room next door. “There’s a privy out back,” the woman told her. “I’ll go with you if you need to go and we can watch the door for each other.”

  “Thank you,” Jennifer answered, grateful for the offer. She did not look forward to Mrs. James or even the harlot leaving the stage at Houston. From then on she would apparently be the only woman, with Sandy Carter and Bill Strong. Both men seemed pleasant and trustworthy, but it would be awkward being the only woman.

  “Robert is getting us some biscuits and coffee from the little diner next door,” Mrs. James told her as they headed outside. “We’ll have to eat quickly. The driver wants to leave soon.”

  “I’m glad you woke me up,” Jennifer told her. “I fell asleep so late I never would have waked in time on my own.”

  The women relieved themselves in the unpleasant privy, then quickly ate before again boarding the coach. They were soon on their way again, and shortly after noon they arrived at Houston. The foliage around Houston was thick and green, and the air hung heavy. “Built her on a swamp,” Sandy had told Bill Strong on the way. “That’s why they built Austin and picked it for the capitol—higher, drier ground. Too much dangerous weather around Houston because of the coast—and too many insects and disease because of the swamps. Folks in Houston was mighty unhappy when they moved the capitol to Austin, but Houston will hang on. It’ll still grow.”

  Jennifer reluctantly bid the Jameses good-bye. Betsy gave Bill and Sandy both a big kiss before disembarking, and Sandy patted her bottom when she climbed out. Jennifer reddened when the man gave her another long kiss. “I’ll look you up again when I’m by this way, honey,” he told her. Jennifer realized they must have slept together, and she looked away. Bill Strong cleared his throat nervously and lit a cigar. Sandy climbed back inside and the coach was off again, headed for San Antonio.

  Jennifer sat quietly as Strong and Carter rattled on about Texas and Indians and the impending war, both men agreeing Texas would surely take the southern side if war did take place. “They grow too much cotton here to have a choice,” Sandy was saying. “Lots of slaves here in Texas. Besides, nobody believes more strongly in states’ rights than Texans. We’re a mighty independent lot—don’t like bein’ told what to do.”

  They rode on in awkward silence for a while, Jennifer aware that both men still wondered about her traveling alone. “You still determined to go to Fort Stockton,” Sandy finally asked her.

  She glanced at him. “Yes. I’m…getting married.”

  Bill Strong’s eyes widened. “You’re going to Fort Stockton?”

  Jennifer only reddened more. Both men looked her over, appreciating her beauty, envying her future husband. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Sandy spoke up again, “but I can’t imagine any man allowin’ his bride-to-be to travel through that country alone.”

  Jennifer swallowed, feeling embarrassed. “We…have no choice. He can’t leave his post, and I suppose he couldn’t get permission for an escort.”

  “Well, there must be somebody from wherever you came from who could have come along to watch over you,” Bill Strong put in.

  She looked away. “No. I…have no family.”

  “Where’d you start from?” Sandy asked.

  She hesitated. “St. Louis,” she finally answered.

  “There must be someone—” Strong spoke up.

  “No,” Jennifer interrupted. “I’ve been on my own for a while. My parents are dead, and all our relatives lived farther east.”

  “Well, you can’t have been on your own for long,” the man answered. “You seem very young. Did your parents die recently?”

  “Yes,” she answered quickly. “I only stayed around long enough to take care of their estate and other legal matters. I had already become engaged and already had plans for going to Fort Stockton, so I’m going through with those plans.”

  Both men were sure she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but again it was obvious she didn’t want to tell them all of it. “Well, I hope you get there with no trouble, Miss Eyre,” Sandy told her. “If I was goin’ that way myself, I’d make a special point of keepin’ my eye out for you. I’ve had experience with Indian fightin’ and the like. But I’m bound for Austin. Gonna’ be scoutin’ for a supply train headed for Indian Territory.”

  Jennifer relaxed more at the words. “Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Carter. I’m sure I’ll be all right. The driver seems confident, and he has a guard riding with him.”

  Sandy decided not to tell her that two men would be little help if Comanche chose to attack. There was no sense in scaring the woman half to death. She looked nervous and frightened enough as it was. The conversation turned back to Texas as the stage rocked like a huge rocking chair. Jennifer relaxed more, joining in general conversation, finally taking out Jane Eyre and picking up where she had left off reading it last. She let the book take her into another time and another place, let it remind her that everyone had problems, and that she was not the only woman who had been forced to make decisions about her lonely destiny.


  For three days and two miserable nights spent at two more pitiful excuses for depots the stage bounced and rattled on. Jennifer was grateful to at least be able to finally take a bath at the last stop. Strong and Carter both carried a tin tub to her room and insisted she have the pleasure of bathing, carrying water up for her and promising to watch the door for her. By then she trusted them enough to take them up on their offer, and she relished the feeling of being clean again.

  She wore a blue flowered calico dress and a straw hat as the stage entered San Antonio around noon the third day. San Antonio was a pretty town. The stage would stay here the rest of the day and through the night, and Jennifer was sure the accommodations here would be a little better. She longed for a decent meal, and decided that finding a pleasant diner would be her first stop.

  The stage pulled to a halt, and Sandy looked out the window. “Well, Morrow must have got your wire,” he told Bill Strong. “And he did send the half-breed son. That’s him over there. He must have been watchin’ for you.”

  Jennifer leaned out her own window to see the man Sandy had talked about at considerable length during their journey. She stared at a tall, dark, handsome man in buckskins. His black hair was long, tied at the back of his neck. He wore a headband and was leaning against a support post smoking a cigarette, while people moved out of the way when they walked around him, some casting looks of disapproval. Jennifer immediately felt sorry for him because of the way people seemed to be shunning him. From things Sandy had said, she realized this Wade Morrow must be a fine man, with a good education and a Christian upbringing. How difficult it must be to have two such radically different bloods running in the same body.

  She realized then he was watching Sandy and Bill Strong climb out of the coach. His eyes darted for a moment to see her watching him out the window. She was startled at how blue those eyes were, how handsome was his face. She immediately dropped her eyes, embarrassed that he had caught her staring at him. She had no idea that Wade Morrow was wondering if she was the woman called Jennifer Andrews. Just that morning a couple of men had been asking about a young woman with that name, wanting to know if she had been seen around San Antonio.

  “Might be using the name Charlotte Eyre,” they had said.

  Wade glanced at the doorway to the depot, where the two men also stood waiting and watching. He wondered what they wanted with the woman, and why she would be using two different names. He greeted Sandy Carter then, an old scouting friend he had not seen in a couple of years. He decided he couldn’t let himself be concerned about the woman and her problems. Men like Wade Morrow didn’t dare get involved in the affairs of strange whites, especially when those affairs involved a woman.

  Chapter Five

  Jennifer climbed out of the coach, glancing again at the tall, handsome Indian who was greeting Bill Strong and Sandy Carter.

  “It’s been a long time, Sandy,” he said with a warm smile that showed white, even teeth. His blue eyes moved to Jennifer, who quickly looked away.

  “What are you doing this far east, Wade,” Sandy was asking as he shook the man’s hand. “I’ve never known you to go any farther than El Paso.”

  “I’m taking a bigger hand in the business. And I have some personal things to tend to this time on my way back.”

  Jennifer waited for her bags and could not help overhearing the conversation.

  “How are folks around San Antonio treatin’ you?” Sandy asked.

  “Well, I couldn’t get a hotel, if that’s what you mean. For some strange reason people around here don’t take kindly to someone with Comanche blood. I ended up making my own camp outside of town last night.”

  Jennifer felt a swelling of anger at the comment, amazed at how prejudiced people could be. Wade Morrow was clean and handsome, and he was well-spoken, obviously educated; and he was part of a successful freighting empire. How appalling that no one would rent him a hotel room!

  “Well, Mr. Morrow, I’m Bill Strong, and I’ve got nothing against someone with Comanche blood—except for the ones who attack the freight wagons and destroy my merchandise.”

  Jennifer knew they must be shaking hands, but she was afraid to look again.

  “My father and brothers and I don’t care for those Comanche either,” Wade answered with a light laugh. “I’d like to buy you lunch, Mr. Strong, and we’ll talk. I actually found a restaurant in this town that will serve me. By the way, Sandy, we could use another good scout. How about coming back to California with me?”

  “Oh, I’ll mosey that way in the next few months. Right now I’m headed up to Austin to scout for a wagon train into Indian Territory. But thanks for the offer. I’ll check back with you.”

  The conversation continued as Jennifer picked up her bags. “Coach won’t leave out till tomorrow mornin’, ma’am,” the driver, Nick, was telling her. “I’ve got a problem with a wheel hub. Check back here in the mornin’. It’s possible I won’t be able to get it fixed by then and you’ll have to wait one more day.”

  “Well, I hope it won’t be too long. I’m expected at Fort Stockton.”

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am. The Whitney Hotel up the street—that’s a proper place for a lady like you to stay. You want me to carry your bags there for you?”

  “No. I can manage.” Jennifer turned with the bags, absorbed in worry over having to spend money on a hotel. She didn’t notice the two men who had been watching her from the boardwalk. She climbed the step to walk along the boardwalk to the hotel when one of the men suddenly grabbed her arms.

  “Jennifer Andrews?” he asked quickly.

  Jennifer was so startled that she turned at the name without thinking.

  “Just as we thought,” the other man said. He was a big, dark-haired man with a menacing look. He took hold of her other arm. “You’re coming with us, Miss Andrews. Your uncle has been looking all over for you.”

  Jennifer’s heart raced at the words. Uncle John! Somehow he had found her! She jerked at the men’s hold. “You let go of me! You have no right forcing me to go anywhere with you!”

  “You’re coming with us whether you like it or not,” the second man told her, pinching her arm tighter and grabbing one of her bags.

  “I can go where I please!” Jennifer jerked harder as the men began leading her away, their grips painful on her arms. She began to fight harder, furious at being treated like someone’s property, terrified of being returned to St. Louis and Uncle John. She began to scream for them to let her go, and suddenly the men stopped. Jennifer realized someone was standing in their path.

  “You better stay out of it, Wade,” she heard Sandy Carter’s voice coming from somewhere.

  “I believe the lady said to let go,” came a deep voice.

  Jennifer looked up to see Wade Morrow standing in front of her.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “The question is, who the hell are you,” Wade answered. “A man sees two men dragging a woman off against her will, it makes him wonder if she needs help.”

  “This isn’t your business, redskin,” one of them answered.

  Wade realized he had already gone too far to turn back. Much as he had intended not to interfere, the struggles of this beautiful young woman disturbed him.

  “It isn’t anyone’s business,” Jennifer answered, tears in her eyes. “I’m eighteen years old, and I have a right to travel wherever I please!”

  “This young lady has traveled a long way alone,” she heard Sandy’s voice then.

  The scout was now standing beside Wade Morrow, and Jennifer was glad that poor Mr. Morrow wasn’t standing against these men all alone. She didn’t doubt that the man could probably handle them both, but she knew instinctively that the fact that he was Indian was going to cause a problem.

  “What business do you men have forcin’ her to go off with you?” Sandy asked.

  “We’ve been hired by a local merchant who’s good friends with a John Andrews from St. Louis. Andrews is this girl’s uncle. She
ran away from him without saying where she was going, and he wants her back home. She’s too young to be traveling alone.”

  Jennifer jerked away. “I am not too young! I have my own money, a valid ticket, and a man waiting at Fort Stockton to marry me! I’m eighteen years old and I can make my own decisions and go where I please!”

  Wade could not help admiring the young lady’s spunky attitude. Her green eyes blazed, and her pretty lips were puckered almost provocatively. He wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, then pushed the thought away, surprised at it, and realizing it was a pretty stupid thought. Even though it was obvious he had white blood himself, he had always considered white women off limits.

  “The lady has a point,” he told the men.

  The bigger man gave Jennifer a light shove, letting go of her and standing nose to nose with Wade Morrow. “Mister, if another white man wants to question or challenge me, that’s one thing. But no damn Indian gets in my way, especially in defense of a white girl!” With that, the man pulled a knife and slammed his fist against Wade’s chest, the knife blade pointing at his throat. “Now get out of my way, redskin! This is no place for a Comanche breed to be strutting his feathers.”

  In an instant Wade’s strong hand grabbed the man’s wrist and squeezed hard. At the same time he brought a foot behind the man’s heel, giving a quick kick to its most tender spot and making the man’s leg buckle. Wade kept hold of his wrist, squeezing more as the man crumbled, and causing him to let go of the knife.

  Wade released his hold, and the man remained bent over on his knees for a moment, holding his wrist. Wade leaned over and grabbed up the knife, and for a moment people watched with open mouths, thinking perhaps the Indian would ram it into the man before their eyes. People gasped when he gave the knife a toss so that it stuck into the ground right in front of the man.