After a moment, during which Phoebe assumed he was thinking, Jack said, “What do I miss? Well, I guess I miss the woods. They’re beautiful: dense and mysterious. In the fall, especially, they’re pretty, because the maples and elms turn colors. The combination of all those oranges and yellows and browns against the green of the pines and firs can be breathtaking.” Jack sucked in a deep breath, as if he were inhaling the earthy fragrance of the forest.
“Sometimes after school, I used to go into the woods and just walk and walk, looking at it all. There were deer and squirrels all over the place. Sometimes a moose. My father and I’d hunt, too, and then we’d dress the meat and hang it in the smokehouse. We always had plenty of meat for the winter. Made me feel important to be putting food on the table when I was a boy. But it’s the colors I miss most, I guess. It’s beautiful there.”
“It must be hard to be away from all that. To be out here in the desert and all.”
After a few silent moments, Jack said softly, “Ah, there’s the difference you see, Phoebe. My home is still there, still waiting for me whenever I decide to go back for a visit. My mother and father still live on our farm in New York, along with my brother and his family. And my sister lives nearby with her husband and their children.”
It all sounded like a heavenly fantasy to Phoebe. She wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“I guess that’s one of the reasons I admire you so much, Phoebe. Because you’ve lost all that, and yet you’re still fighting your way in the world.”
He admired her? Mercy. She’d had no idea. Phoebe’s heart fluttered wildly for a minute before she decided he was just being nice.
Then a cauldron of bitterness erupted in her and she wanted to tell him she’d had no choice; that for her it was either fight or die. She wanted to tell him that while she wouldn’t mind dying, she owed it to Sarah and William to stay alive. But the truth sounded too harsh, too acrid to be spoken aloud. After all, Phoebe was a Honeycutt; a Honeycutt endured; a Honeycutt did not bemoan her fate.
Besides, he’d said a nice thing to her. Afraid to speak the bitter truth or make too much of Jack’s compliment, Phoebe decided a light tone would be appropriate. She murmured, “You sure didn’t admire me at first, Black Jack Valentine.”
His gentle laugh made heat lightning flicker and dart through her body. “That’s before I knew you. When I found you all lost and alone, I just figured you for a worthless southern belle.”
She pretended to be offended. “Now just why do you think southern belles are such worthless creatures, you dratted Yankee?”
Jack didn’t answer for a minute. At last he sighed and said, “Well, Phoebe, the only southern woman I’d ever met before you married my brother. She was a worthless, fainting, weak-willed woman who left him and her child and ran back home to Alabama when the war started. My brother loved her and it damned near killed him when she left.”
“She left her own child?” Phoebe, whose own barrenness sat upon her like a curse, could hardly believe a mother would actually do such a thing.
“She left her own child.”
Phoebe was silent for a minute or two. Then she murmured, “Well, Jack, I reckon you have reason to hate her. But I expect there’s not a place on earth that hasn’t spawned a few bad apples. Even New York.”
He nuzzled her again. “You’re right, Phoebe. Reckon after poor Josh’s experience, I just lumped all southern ladies in the same category with her in my mind. Damned if I know why. Prejudice, I guess.”
Phoebe considered a flip retort, but couldn’t summon the heart for it. With a sigh, she said, “Yes. There’s a lot of that around, isn’t there?”
“Too much.”
“Entirely too much.”
The baby stirred at her back, and Phoebe turned over to comfort her. They went to sleep like that: Phoebe’s arm around the little girl, Jack’s arm around her.
# # #
Jack and Antelope didn’t leave camp the next day. Antelope told them tonelessly that he believed any Mescalero who’d been roaming the area had been taken care of, so there was no need for them to scout. Phoebe shuddered and didn’t bother to answer.
She and Sarah spent their time dealing with their new kin.
“She’s so quiet, Aunt Phoebe.” Phoebe noted and appreciated the concern in her niece’s voice. “She don’t seem anything like the little kids back home.”
“No, she surely doesn’t.”
They’d gone back into the river again, this time to give the child’s hair a good washing. The toddler endured the treatment without so much as a whimper, a circumstance Phoebe, oddly enough, did not appreciate.
“The poor little thing’s entirely too serious.”
“Do you expect she’d like to play with William’s horny toad, Aunt Phoebe?”
Phoebe, whose childhood toys had been hoops and dolls, and whose pets had been kittens and puppies, grimaced. “I don’t know, Sarah, and I don’t aim to find out. Certainly there must be something for a child to play with in this wretched territory that isn’t ugly and crawly with spikes on its back.”
“I think William found a gopher snake this morning,” Sarah offered helpfully.
Phoebe made a face and didn’t reply.
Antelope, much to Phoebe’s surprise, ultimately solved the dilemma of toys. While she and Sarah bathed the little girl, he whittled. By the time the children and Phoebe had left the river, dried off, combed, and dressed themselves, he’d fashioned several crude playthings.
“Why, thank you very much,” Phoebe said, delighted at his industry.
“Little kid needs to play. Especially that one,” he told her gruffly, hooking a thumb toward the two-year-old.
“I do believe you’re right, Antelope.” Phoebe smiled at him but he didn’t smile back.
She watched thoughtfully as the little girl sat on a blanket with Sarah. The valiant Sarah did her level best to interest the child in a game with the crude horse and rider Antelope had carved. The baby sat still, hands at her side, and stared at Sarah mistrustfully. She didn’t take her gaze off of the girl to look at the toys.
“It’s as if she’s never played before.”
“Probably hasn’t.”
Phoebe looked up quickly to see if Antelope were jesting. He wasn’t. He looked about as glum as she’d ever seen him. His expression caused a nudge at her sympathies she never would have expected.
Softly and experimentally, she said, “It’s a crime, what’s happening to your people, Antelope.”
“She ain’t my people.”
Antelope’s deliberate misconstruction of Phoebe’s tentative peace offering jarred her. Instead of giving her ruffled sensibilities voice, though, she swallowed her irritation. “Yes, I know, but I believe you know what I mean. My people were destroyed, too, and I know how much it hurts.”
She realized he was peering at her cynically and felt stupid for having said such a ridiculous thing.
“I guess that sounds foolish,” she muttered, and wished she’d kept her silly mouth shut. What was the use, trying to communicate empathy with this cold, hard man?
“Naw, it doesn’t sound foolish,” Antelope said at last. “But you’re white. You’ll come out all right. I ain’t so sure about the rest of us.”
Discarding the protest that immediately leapt to her lips, Phoebe at last merely said, “Maybe you’re right.” The truth made her heart ache.
# # #
A little after noon, Phoebe was cleaning up following their midday meal. Sarah had just coaxed a response out of her new sister when William, still confined to a blanket out of contamination distance of the baby, cried, “I see somebody comin’!”
Immediately, Jack and Antelope grabbed their weapons and assumed the pose Phoebe had come to recognize as a frontiersman’s greeting for strangers. She shook her head and wondered if she’d ever get used to this uncivilized place.
“Reckon it’s Pete and the Army,” muttered Antelope.
He turned out to be
right. The soldiers rode up in a dramatic cloud of dust, Pete leading them. Phoebe shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and watched as they galloped over the crackling plain to their rescue.
“Is it the Army, Aunt Phoebe?” Sarah sounded excited.
“I do believe it is, Sarah darlin’.” If Sarah was excited, Phoebe felt elated. Now that rescue was at hand, she wanted to get this trip over with, to get on with her life, even if it meant never seeing Jack Valentine again. More than once in the last several hours, it had occurred to Phoebe that the sooner she and Jack parted, the sooner her heart would heal. If such a thing was possible.
“Sarah!” William’s croaky voice startled them both. “Watch the baby!”
It was only then Phoebe realized the little girl was trying to toddle away. Pity surged in her when she saw the baby’s big brown eyes huge with fear and horror. “Oh, my Lord. Here, child.”
She scooped the little girl up, held her close, and wished she had some words of comfort to offer. But she knew not a word of Mescalero, and the child knew no English. Hoping the sounds of comfort were universal, Phoebe offered her as many as she could think of. For the first time, the little girl used her own arms to seek solace when she flung them around Phoebe’s neck. Then she buried her face in Phoebe’s shoulder, and Phoebe almost cried again.
“Hell. It’s a goddamn herd of black white men.”
Antelope’s sharp expletive brought her attention to him. “What?”
“What’s black white men, Aunt Phoebe?”
“I have no idea, Sarah.”
“Buffalo soldiers! They’re buffalo soldiers!”
William’s excited cry elicited a disgusted look from Sarah. “Those aren’t buffaloes, William.”
“Not buffaloes, stupid. Buffalo soldiers. That’s what the Indians call ‘em. They’re freed slaves who’ve joined the army to fight Indians on the frontier. Lots of ‘em fought with the Union. I read all about ‘em.”
“Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Phoebe murmured.
“I reckon William’s just bein’ a pig again, Aunt Phoebe,” Sarah said primly, daring to stick her tongue out at her brother since Phoebe’s concentration was directed at the soldiers.
“I ain’t neither. You just wait. Stupid sister!” And William sat back on his blanket, a smug smile decorating his face.
As the soldiers neared, Phoebe felt a distinct sense of unreality begin to invade her insides. She stared as hard as she could into the swarm of men riding toward them.
“Why, I do believe William is correct, Sarah. They do indeed look like colored men.”
“I guess they do,” muttered a disgruntled Sarah. She gave her brother a glare, because he’d been right.
“Told you so.” Too old to stick his tongue out at his sister, William flapped an insolent hand at her.
But something besides sibling rivalry captured Phoebe’s interest now and she paid no attention to her niece and nephew. “Oh, my land!”
As the soldiers began to splash into the Pecos, she took a step toward them. Then, recollecting the child in her arms and the poor thing’s terror of soldiers, she turned to Sarah.
“Take the baby, Sarah. She’s frightened of the men’s uniforms, so stand aside until I call to you. Be very sweet with her. Speak softly and be as gentle as you can be.” Phoebe spoke quickly, her focus divided between her niece and the incoming soldiers.
Sarah looked unhappy, but she did as she was told. Then her expression turned to one of utter shock as her aunt took off at a sprint toward the soldiers.
“I’ll explain later,” Phoebe called over her shoulder. She skidded to a halt beside Jack and clutched his arm.
“What is it, Phoebe?” He sounded irritated.
“Are those men really called buffalo soldiers, Jack?”
“I reckon some folks call ‘em that.”
“Oh, my goodness.”
And then the soldiers were upon them, and Phoebe let go of Jack’s arm and darted over to their leader, a huge black man in a dusty blue uniform who had just dismounted.
“Phoebe! What the hell?” Jack reached for her, but she was gone.
Phoebe stopped just short of the soldier, and held her hands up as though she were unsure of herself. “Hosea?” Her whisper shivered and broke the name in half.
The enormous man stared at her. And then, in an instant, his expression changed from surprise to one of incredulity. “Miss Phoebe?”
“Hosea!” Phoebe flung herself into the man’s arms.
“My God, my God,” the soldier murmured as his embrace swallowed her right up. “I swear to God. Miss Phoebe. I never. I just never.”
As he stomped over to sort out this latest wrinkle in the saga of Miss Phoebe Antoinette Honeycutt, Jack could see tears standing in the big soldier’s eyes.
Phoebe laughed and cried and acted just generally emotional as hell when she finally left off hugging Hosea. She kept his enormous hand in hers when she turned toward Jack, who felt about as ominous as a thundercloud. She grabbed one of his hands, too.
“Jack Valentine, let me introduce you to Hosea. Hosea, this is Jack Valentine. Jack rescued us from Texas, and now you’re going to rescue us from the New Mexico Territory.” Phoebe’s voice caught between a giggle and a sob, and she had to pause to wipe her eyes. “Hosea used to work for my father, Jack.”
“How do you do?” Hosea offered Jack a hand, although he appeared somewhat nervous about how the gesture would be accepted by the white man.
Jack shook Hosea’s hand without even thinking about it. “I’m a little confused, to tell you the truth. You mean you two know each other?”
“Yes. Oh, yes! Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Hosea!” Phoebe wiped her cheeks with her apron. “I’m so happy to see you. How have you been?”
“I been all right, Miss Phoebe. I been all right.” Hosea’s grin was as big as the rest of him. “I done joined with the Army after we had to leave your place. I’m in the Tenth Cavalry, stationed over to Fort Stanton, near Capitan. I done been made a corporal, too, and that’s on account of you, Miss Phoebe. It surely is.” There was pride in that deep voice; pride and something else Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Me?”
“On account o’ you teachin’ us readin’ and writin’. I’m the only one in our outfit can read and write and cipher, Miss Phoebe. You done that for me, and I’m right grateful.”
Damn. It was love; about the purest love Jack had ever encountered in his life. He stared even harder at Hosea. Then he looked at Phoebe.
“Oh, Hosea. I’m glad.”
Good God. They were like family to each other. It was written on each of their faces, plain as day.
Well, Jack couldn’t stand much more of this family reunion. He felt left out. He put his arm around Phoebe’s shoulder, just to show this Hosea fellow what was what.
“They call me Honeycutt, too, ma’am,” the giant went on. He sounded tentative, seemed rather bashful about his confession. “They said we all needed to have a last name, and ‘cause you and your daddy was so good to me, I called myself Honeycutt. I surely do hope you don’t mind that, ma’am.”
Jack saw Phoebe’s eyes begin to shine as brightly as if somebody had bestowed an award of certified merit upon her. His heart executed a crazy flip-flop. This was the very first time he’d ever seen his Phoebe exhibit honest pride in anything she’d done.
“Oh, Hosea, I think it’s wonderful. I’m very proud you chose our name. Very, very proud. You and me—we’re the last Honeycutts now.”
They stared at one another, the black soldier and the white woman, and Jack felt raw emotions play between them. Lordy, life was funny.
Maybe funny wasn’t the right word.
“Well, Corporal Honeycutt, I reckon we should see to the busted wagon wheel. All right?”
Jack felt almost brutal when his prosaic words seemed to jerk them out of their shared moment. Phoebe stepped back, still smiling. Hosea turned his big grin on Jack.
“I reckon that’s a good plan, Mr. Valentine.”
“I’ll see to the baby,” Phoebe told them. “She’s afraid of soldiers.”
Jack could tell she didn’t see Hosea’s startled reaction to her words as she tripped off.
“Baby? You mean, Miss Phoebe and you? I mean—she ain’t Miss Phoebe no more?”
With a big sigh, Jack said, “Yes. She’s still Miss Phoebe Honeycutt. A wounded Mescalero woman crawled into our camp yesterday with her child. Phoebe tried to save the woman’s life, but she didn’t make it. Phoebe’s adopted her little daughter. Apparently they’d been in a band that was on the run from the army. I guess that tyke’s got good call to be scared of soldiers.”
Hosea shook his big head and looked uncomfortable. “I reckon.”
“So . . . er, how long did you work for the Honeycutts?” Jack felt a little sneaky, asking Hosea about Phoebe’s family behind her back. He wasn’t about to waste the opportunity, though.
“All my life,” Hosea said simply. “I was born on their place. My folks worked there in old man Honeycutt’s time. He’s the one freed them, but they had nowhere to go.”
“No?”
Hosea shook his head. “Jist ‘cause a body’s been freed don’t mean nobody else’s going to believe him if they ketch him somewheres they don’t want him to be.”
“I guess I never thought about it that way.”
“Even if you got papers, people who didn’t hold with freein’ slaves’d take ‘em away. We heared stories all the time. You’d be all right if you got far enough north, I reckon, but the problem was gettin’ there.”
Jack realized that in the space of time it took Hosea to make his little speech, he was back to hating the south again. This was why he’d moved out west after the war, where people were apt to be treated as people, regardless of their birth. This is why he’d fought for the Union. This is why he couldn’t wait to get the hell back to San Francisco.
With an effort, Jack swallowed his anger and swore to be dispassionate about the situation. Grimly, he reminded himself that pretty much everything in life was determined by accidents of birth. Sprinkled with a little luck, maybe.
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