Taking Talitha’s stunned silence as curiosity to know more, the lieutenant assured her that Mangus’s head was as big as Daniel Webster’s, and the brain of corresponding weight. He added that after Mangus’s death the soldiers had attacked and killed a number of waiting Mimbreños.
Could James be one of the dead? The lieutenant shrugged when she pressed for details. “Just a bunch of Apaches. Who cares who they were?”
“One may have been my brother,” she told the astonished officer.
She had to get away from his innocently bloodthirsty jubilation. Asking Carmencita to feed him and his men, she almost ran to Shea’s room. There, she stared sightlessly at the wall. She knew Mangus’s cruelties. As a small captive, she had feared him as she might have a giant monster. But he’d held his hand over the ranch all these years, and he’d been a father to James.
She knew the weighing of the brain wasn’t as barbarous as it seemed. Marc had told her how doctors and biologists had been studying and dissecting brains, trying to learn what indicated unusual intellect. Georges Cuvier, the greatest anatomist of his time, had wanted his brain to be analyzed, and Talitha had been so gruesomely fascinated that she’d memorized its weight: 1,830 grams. It was estimated that Cromwell, Jonathan Swift, and Lord Byron had brains of the same magnitude. But whatever white scientists wished to do to their own heads, she wished they had left Mangus’s on his body.
What must James be feeling now? If he still lived! She thought for a few desperate minutes of trying to search him out but had to realize the hopelessness of such a quest. He might be in any one of thousands of cañons scattered over half a thousand miles. Then she seized on a slender thread of hope. Perhaps, with Mangus gone, James would come back to the ranch.
That was Cat’s immediate hope when Talitha gave a brief version of the lieutenant’s account. Only Carmencita had heard him, besides Talitha, and though she may have whispered the grisly details to Pedro, she firmly believed that children, in which category, to their disgust, she included the twins, shouldn’t hear more terrible things than they had to.
Weeks passed. James didn’t come. Early in March Pete Kitchen stopped by to say that Arizona was a territory, President Lincoln having signed the bill on February 24, 1863.
“So the whole dadburn crew of appointed officials will be swarming our way,” grunted Kitchen, rubbing his mustache. “Some mixture! Gurley, an Ohio congressman, is governor. We’ve got a chief justice of the Arizona Supreme Court from Maine, the secretary of the territory’s a New Yorker same as the U.S. marshal, and the rest of the big fish are from New York, Michigan, Connecticut, and Wisconsin.” Pete’s florid cheeks puffed out with exasperation. “The only ones with any ties to Arizona are Poston and Hiram Read, the postmaster, who used to be a missionary in New Mexico.”
Talitha laughed. “Well, no Americans have ties here that go back very long. Will the capital be at Tucson?”
“No.” This time Pete really growled. “Those pesky congressmen wouldn’t pass the bill till the part calling for Tucson to be the capital was scratched.”
“But where else is there? Outside of Yuma Crossing?”
“Oh, there’ve been a power of mines around La Paz, north of Yuma, and they’re starting to work back east through the mountains, in spite of the Apaches. Won’t be long till there’s a fort and town up there somewheres. Reckon that bunch of Yankees might rather start a town of their own than settle in Tucson, which has a name for being on the Southern side.”
Pete told her, too, that Carleton was vigorously pushing his commanders to pursue and harass the Indians till they were so thoroughly whipped that the survivors would have to throw themselves on his mercy. Manuelito, the most important Mescalero chief, had been killed while he was trying to surrender, along with a number of prime warriors. Kit Carson protested this to Carleton, and the general allowed him to give back to the band their confiscated horses and mules. Horses and mules in place of husbands and fathers.
Other Mescalero survivors surrendered to Kit Carson, who sent them under escort to Santa Fe to surrender to Carleton himself. Cadete, now the main spokesman, said the Mescaleros were worn out, they were out of powder and provisions, their water holes were guarded by soldiers. They could fight no more, but Carleton should remember that they were men and braves.
Carleton answered that if the Mescaleros wanted peace they must go to the Bosque Redondo on the Pecos. After the war they could have a reservation in their own country.
“So the Mescaleros are pretty much starved down and tamed,” Pete said. “But the troopers are finding that the Chiricahuas and Mimbreños are as hard to catch in their mountains as lice in a coyote skin. Killing Mangus has sent Cochise wild. It’ll be a long time before Arizona’s Apaches come to terms.”
And James? Would he stay to the end with the wild Apaches? Would she never know where he was and what was happening?
The spring cow work began. Lonnie made a good hand, but he insisted on always working with Talitha’s group. “The cap’n would want me to watch out for you, ma’am,” he said doggedly, and that was that. He’d never asked why she’d married another man, and Talitha couldn’t bring herself to explain. Perhaps he’d learned the truth from the twins or some of the ranch people. However that was, Lonnie was always near and quick to help.
Before, Talitha had worked for Shea, imagining when he’d return, when he could see how well the ranch had managed to continue. Now she rode and roped and branded because it was what must be done. She felt as charred and dead within as a burned battlefield.
Sometimes on an especially fine morning, distant mountains purple or rosy blue, the near ones green, she remembered Marc Revier’s words: “I still have the sun.” Her being would affirm wonder and beauty beyond all human woes. But mostly she endured because she had to.
Frost had never answered her on the divorce, though she’d had several letters from him after he should have had her message. It was quite likely her letter had been lost on its tortuous journey. She would write again. But the swing of branding kept her weary, and Frost had been gone so long it was easy to forget for days on end that he was her husband.
Then without warning, except for the lookout’s signal, he rode in one evening. Tossing to Chuey the reins of his pale horse, which he’d left with the army in Tucson, he kissed Talitha in a claiming, possessive way that completed her shock, greeted the others pleasantly, but sent his gaze boring into Lonnie.
“You’ve hired on since I left.”
If Frost knew Lonnie’s connection with Shea, he might run him off. Talitha hastily explained that Lonnie had ridden in looking for work and had made a good vaquero, especially expert in breaking horses.
Accepting that, Frost washed and sat down, politely inviting the rest to finish their suppers. He knew he was feared and disliked, but that only amused him. Neatly but voraciously, he consumed two plates of beef and beans while he gave an account of what was happening.
Arizona’s new officials had been so delayed in starting for the territory because of the illness of Governor Gurley that he, Frost, had decided to come on alone. “I’ve sacrificed my personal interests far too long to the public weal,” he said mockingly, with a look at Talitha that made her feel stripped and vulnerable. “Besides, I have to prepare to supply the needs of a capital. That duty prompted me to decline a post in the government.”
“No doubt supplying the government’s more profitable than being part of it,” Talitha said acidly.
“‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,’” Frost quoted piously. He went on to say that though Lee had won a costly Confederate victory at Chancellorsville early in the month, which was May, Grant was advancing on Vicksburg, winning battles on the way. Vicksburg would surely fall, placing the whole Mississippi under Union control and splitting the Confederacy.
“Just a matter of time.” Frost smiled. “Of course that idiot Napoleon III is still letting French shipyards build Confederate vessels, and Great Britain
plays the same game. Both countries would dearly love to regain some of this hemisphere, and old Nap seems determined to send an army to Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
Frost nodded. “Mexico’s borrowed heavily abroad, especially from England and France. In order to get back their money both countries have considered taking over the Mexican government, but France now seems the one to actually try it.”
Talitha frowned, remembering her lessons with Marc. “Doesn’t the Monroe Doctrine warn European powers to keep out of this side of the world?”
Frost spread his long, graceful fingers. “France hopes the South will win. Or, failing that, to have a strong enough foothold in Mexico that the United States won’t feel like starting another war the moment this one ends.”
Poor Mexico! thought Talitha. So lately losing its war with the United States, never having enough time or resources to give its beleaguered folk any kind of peace, especially on the northern frontiers, where it would be hard to say who most afflicted the people, brigands both Mexican and gringo, or Apaches and Comanches.
“Where’s your Apache brother?” Frost asked abruptly.
“I don’t know. He went to Mangus before Christmas.”
“Maybe he got killed along with a lot of the old devil’s family,” suggested Frost.
Talitha stared into eyes the color of an ice storm, refusing to flinch. “Who knows?”
Sipping his second cup of coffee, he said lazily, “My dear, I’m sure everyone will excuse us if we retire early. I was so eager to see you that I’ve traveled without much rest.” He smothered a yawn and beamed at the embarrassed or stony faces surrounding him.
Talitha didn’t want to argue in front of the others, to make the twins or the men feel they must protect her. Now the dim nightmare, shoved back and repudiated, was horrifyingly real, as inescapable as the man who rose gracefully to his feet. Talitha felt both frozen and consumed with flame.
“Please,” she said. “Could we walk outside for a little?”
His dark eyebrows lifted, but he bowed and offered her his arm. “I’m yours to command. In reason, of course.”
They passed through the courtyard where peach blossoms glowed softly in the moonlight, went through the storeroom, and moved past the corrals and along the hillside. With a deep breath, he turned her to face him.
Talitha cried desperately, bracing her hands against him, “Didn’t you get my letter?”
“Your letter?” In the silver light his hair was burnished and his eyes like crystal. “What letter, love?”
Whether he had or not scarcely mattered. “Shea is dead. Last summer, during Sibley’s retreat from New Mexico. There’s nothing you can do to hurt him now. I want a divorce.”
“A divorce?” He watched her quizzically. From his coolness, she was sure he’d gotten her message. He sighed in pretended hurt. “It would seem I’ve failed to win you, sweet, though I know you’ve many times been raptured in my arms.”
“Raped is more the word,” she said bitterly. “And I hate you more for that.”
“Because I gave you pleasure?” He shook his head chidingly. “However, I’ve come to expect ingratitude. And I haven’t the slightest notion of letting you out of our bargain.”
“You want to be a power in the territory. Wouldn’t it look better for you to use your influence for a quiet divorce than for me to ask for one and explain publicly how you threatened me into it? And how you began your Arizona career as a scalp hunter?”
He laughed. “My dear, that last would just make me a hero! Except for paying bounty, what’s Carleton’s Indian policy except extermination? I’m afraid nothing you say can hurt me or help you, because, dear love, you can only be granted a divorce by the territorial legislature when it finally convenes, and you may be sure its members will be slow to anger me.”
She believed him. Despairing revulsion made her physically sick. Was there no way, no way at all, to be free of this man who had shadowed her life for the past ten years, returned from the dead to force marriage?
If he were really dead—That answer, the only answer, made her straighten. Frost shook his head, smiling into her eyes. “No, Tally. No. I took the precaution of telling my good friend, the new chief justice of what will be Arizona’s Supreme Court, that my wife, though I love her dearly, is erratic to the point of—alas! madness.
“I hope, naturally, to be able to control her, but if I should disappear, he’s promised to personally investigate. Would you like the distinction of being the first woman hanged in Arizona?”
Speechless, she stared at him. He smoothed her cheek, then let his hand trail down the pulse of her throat to curve under her breast. “Of course, if the judge decided you were mad, he might put you away for life in some asylum; but I rather imagine, sweetheart, that a person of your spirit would prefer the noose. That’s over quickly.”
He walked her back to the house. She was glad no one was left in the kitchen or sala as he drew her through them, to the room that had been Shea’s.
Frost had his freighting business to see to, and that required a trip to Sonora and Governor Pesqueira to insure duty-free transit from Guaymas. On the way back, Frost investigated the placer mines along the Colorado River above Yuma.
“The country around La Paz is swarming with miners, lots of them from California,” he told Talitha on his return. “Trouble is, there’s not much water for washing out the dirt, and dry-washing’s so slow only Mexicans and Indians will do it. No, where the experienced old prospectors like Walker and Wickenberg are heading is into the mountains in about the center of the territory;”
“Why don’t you try your luck?” Talitha asked.
He laughed, taking her chin in his hands. It was late afternoon, and no one else was in the house. “So eager to be rid of me, darling?” He kissed her till she had no breath and carried her to Shea’s room.
Halfway through his lovemaking he paused, gripping her shoulders, shaking her till she opened her eyes. “This must be where Shea took you. Right in this very bed. Do you ever think of that?”
She did. She thought of Shea and tried to armor herself against her husband’s ardent, practiced wooing. But when that failed … Sometimes when Frost caressed and kissed and teased till the building need within her was savagely released, in that wild-mad moment while that throbbing drummed through her, softening thighs and loins—sometimes in that shamed pleasure she remembered Shea.
Black pupils spread over Frost’s cold eyes, leaving only a narrow rim of light gray. “So you do,” he whispered. “I don’t like other men, even if they’re ghosts, in my bed. Keep your eyes open. Call me by name.”
“You damned” devil!”
He thrust so cruelly that she smothered a scream. He laughed deep in his throat as he battered her, holding her up for his lunging, till she thought she must be riven in half. She was almost senseless when he cried out, pumping into her, then collapsed with his arm across her, pinning her down. When she roused from her painful half stupor, full of revulsion at the smell and stickiness of his juices on her, she tried to slip out of bed.
His arm tightened. “Stay.”
“I—I need to wash.”
He raised to sniff along her loins like some silvery beast of prey. “Exciting,” he murmured. “My odors deep within you, that makes me part of you. You’re my proper sheath, Talitha, my soft, warm scabbard.” His tongue and hands caressed her.
“Please …”
“But I’m being very gentle, love. There, you barely feel that, don’t you? Ah, you’re quivering. You want more. Like that. And this …”
He was gentle, he soothed her as a careful bridegroom might coax a virgin, but he wouldn’t let her escape. When the mounting, trembling hunger crested into explosions, he entered her again, piercing into that thick, honeyed sweetness, varying his rhythms, lifting her at last into frenzy.
“Call my name,” he commanded softly, pausing as she gasped, involuntarily straining to be quenched.
; She looked up at him, becoming aware, bitterly humiliated yet craving the end. “I need encouragement,” he murmured. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how it feels. Call me Judah.”
The fire in her smoldered down. Sick with frustrated desire, mortified at what he could do with her, she said coldly, “Shall I call you Judas? Shall I tell you how I hate you more all the time and detest myself?”
He slapped her, splitting her lip over her teeth. She arched her neck, burying her teeth in his wrist. He swore and knocked up her head. She felt him rigid as steel within her, fought with maddened ferocity.
Again he rammed; and hammered deep within her, stifling her cry of agony with his hard mouth. There was no pleasure for her this time, only savage pain. But when he finished, he did sleep, and she was able to creep away, bruised, aching, but, most unbearable of all, soiled and scented with him.
Supper preparations were beginning. Sewa was rocking on Cat’s old hobbyhorse, a work of art lovingly carved by the vaqueros, while Cat, curled up among a number of felines on the blanket-spread banco, the adobe bench built into the wall, read aloud from one of Marc Revier’s old gifts, a book of Aesop’s fables versified by Edmund Waller.
Though she loved to read, she had resolutely ignored the tempting pile of books Frost had brought her from Washington: Kingsley’s The Water Babies, Christina Rosetti’s Goblin Market, George Eliot’s Silas Marner, Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, and several novels by Dickens.
For Sewa there had been an elegant doll with a china head and real hair, dressed in a richly trimmed taffeta gown with matching pelisse, hat, and parasol. Cat, under cover of proclaiming that Sewa was too little to play with such a doll, arbitrarily put it high up in the niche in their room along with Talitha’s Judith doll, named for her mother, brought up by caravan from Chihuahua and given her long ago by Shea.
“Now why do you suppose the willful little creature’s so set against me?” Frost had wondered idly after that cavalier disposal of his gifts.
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