by Len Levinson
Who, she asked herself, is this depraved abomination of nature, for whom mayhem is sheer pleasure, yet he has sensitive ears and loves the good American music of Stephen Collins Foster? “All right,” she said, poising her fingers over the keys.
He appeared shocked. “You mean you'll do it?”
“I would not be alive right now, were it not for you dirty bastards, and I will play anything you like—you need only ask.”
Clarissa fingered the keys, and sang in her smooth soprano voice:
The sun shines bright
in the old Kentucky home
‘Tis summer, the darkies are gay
The corn top's ripe
and the meadow's in the bloom
while the birds make music
all the day . . .
Clarissa noticed the beatific expression on Blakelock's face as he stood beside the piano and hummed. She wondered what it was about the tune that so enchanted him, for it was not nearly as magnificent as Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, yet somehow, in its very simplicity it managed to evoke the blue grass of Kentucky, it's farms and horses, and apparently Blakelock's youth.
At the end of the song, Blakelock clapped hands appreciatively. “That was real fine, Clarabelle!”
“Are you from Kentucky, Mr. Blakelock?”
“Yes, ma'am, I am.”
It was the first time he'd ever called her “ma'am.” “Did you ever meet Henry Clay?”
“Oh yes, ma'am. When I was a boy, he came to the Grayson Country Fair. What a gennelman he was. They say he could drink with the best of ‘em.”
“I don't mean to be argumentative, Mr. Blackelock, but what is the distinction of drinking with the best drunkards? I hope you won't consider me ignorant, but I truly don't understand what you're talking about most the time.”
“I know that you truly don't,” he replied, “and that's ‘cuzz you allus turn everythin’ onto its head. But we don't mind as long as you don't play the piano the way you was. Why cain't you be sweet ‘stead of bitter?”
Is that what he thinks I am? she asked herself. Bitter?
“It don't hurt none to smile,” he said in a fatherly way. “What are you so mad at all the time?”
“Well, my life is very hard, and . . .”
“Oh hell, Clarabelle—don't make me laugh. You've got a maid and a bunch of cowboys to do yer chores, and maybe that's what's wrong with you.”
Clarissa struggled not to become indignant, because she could see that Blakelock was vaguely human. “But . . .”
“Why don't you jest play the piano? The boys can use some entertainment. We can move the piano outside and have a party.”
As Clarissa was crafting an answer, from afar came the dreaded word, “Apaches!”
In an instant, Blakelock was headed for the door, gun in hand. Clarissa took down the shotgun over the fireplace, then Rosita arrived, baby in her arms. “Apaches?” she asked, eyes glazed with horror.
“Take Natalie to your room, and keep your head down.”
Clarissa followed Blakelock outdoors where the cowboys were gathering, guns in their hands, and even Zachary and Gloria were there, along with her husband, all eyes on the approaching rider, Joe Smith coming at a gallop from the western range. “Apaches on the way!” he cried, long black mustaches trailing in the wind. “About fifty of ‘em. I think they saw me.” He pulled his reins.
Nathanial smiled. “Maybe they're old friends. I'll take a look.”
“Can I come?” asked Zachary and Gloria in unison.
“No, because they might be Indians whom I don't know, and that could be trouble. Stay with the cowboys, and look out for your little sister. Everybody keep your eyes open. Are you all right, Clarissa?”
“I was thinking that danger never seems to end at this ranch of yours.”
“If they're friends, I'll ride back with them. If not, I'll return alone. And if you don't see me by nightfall, you can assume the worst.”
He pecked her forehead, did the same with his children, then headed for the barn. They heard him saddle a fresh horse. He rode into the sunlight, and putting spurs to a big black stallion named Max, proceeded at a trot toward the open land.
“All right—everybody back to work,” said Blakelock, then he turned to Zachary and Gloria. “Don't wander too far from the main house.”
As soon as the foreman was out of sight, the children headed for the nearest mountain, where they could climb and see. Clarissa returned to the piano to play the music of Stephen Collins Foster, while struggling to control her fears. What if the Indians massacre us all?
Chief Mangas Coloradas led the procession, his head high, heart filled with anticipation. Sunny Bear will offer wise words, I am confident, he thought.
Jocita had caught up with them yesterday, and delivered the message from Captain Padilla. Mangas Coloradas wanted to know Sunny Bear's opinion concerning the peace powwow at Fronteras, because Sunny Bear possessed much knowledge about the Mexicanos.
Meanwhile Jocita rode among the women, wishing she'd remained at the main camp, because she feared Sunny Bear. What will I do if he looks at me? she asked herself.
Juh glanced at her, aware of her inner turmoil, for he knew she loved Sunny Bear, and feared she would leave him. Often he regretted marrying Ishkeh, but a chief needs sons. Juh was split between love of power and love of Jocita, producing an extremely volatile personality.
Behind Juh rode Major Beau Hargreaves, also filled with emotion as he neared Nathanial's home. Anxious to return to civilization, he had no idea what to do about Constanza. He could feel her eyes burn into the back of his shirt. How can I give her up? he asked himself. But how can I not?
Meanwhile, Constanza stared at him from her place among the women, wondering how she could surrender her first love. She contemplated suicide, feeling morbid, lonely, desperate.
“I want to talk with you,” said a voice nearby.
It was Victorio, who had ridden alongside while she stared at Beau's back. “What is it?” she asked coldly.
“I wanted to say"—it appeared he was having difficulty speaking—"that I am sorry.”
She spit in his face. “That is what I think of your apology,” she told him.
The People were aghast that anyone would commit such a discourteous act against gallant Victorio. Shegha, a wife of Geronimo, riding nearby, took a swing at Constanza's head. Constanza didn't see the punch coming; it caught her full on the ear. She was dazed, and then Nahdoste, wife of Nana, slapped her face.
“Enough!” cried Victorio.
He and other warriors forced the women off her. “What is going on back there?” asked Mangas Coloradas from the front of the column.
“Nothing!” replied Victorio.
Victorio looked at the wives sternly, and they moved away from the Nakai-yes woman, her spittle stinging his cheek like acid. Never had a woman dared such an outrage against Victorio, but he did not lose control, and felt pleased to have spoken his peace. He could not be blamed if she did not comprehend.
“There he is!” shouted Chatto, pointing straight ahead.
They spotted a solitary rider approaching across the verdant valley, emanating from the sun like a mythic being, with layers of wispy white clouds behind him. He wore Pindah clothes, a wide-brimmed hat, astride a mighty black horse, with a gun on his hip and a knife sticking out his right boot.
Sunny Bear nudged his horse, and that spirited animal launched himself into a full gallop. Sunny Bear raced toward the People, who could see him crouched in his saddle, working with the motions of his horse, like black lightning. Mangas Coloradas held up his hand as Sunny Bear slowed about a hundred paces away. Then his horse walked the final distance to Mangas Coloradas.
“How wonderful to see you,” said Sunny Bear, extending his hand.
“So Sunny Bear has become a herder of cattle,” replied Mangas Coloradas. “Look—we have brought a surprise.”
Mangas Coloradas turned in his saddle, and out of the mass of warrio
rs rode a familiar thick-set figure in army blue, an enormous smile on his face. Nathanial was jolted by the incongruity of his old West Point roommate among the Apaches. “What're you doing here?” he asked.
“I was taken prisoner,” explained Beau, “and I told them I was a friend of yours. So they've returned me to you.”
The other warriors crowded around, to clasp Sunny Bear's hand or slap his back, and Sunny Bear saw many old friends, bringing back memories of happy days among the People. Then Sunny Bear spotted her among the women, long, tangled hair and inscrutable eyes, causing his heart to trip. He feared sinking and drowning in those limpid pools, so he turned to greet other friends, such as Victorio, Barbonsito, and Juh.
Sitting high on a white cliff, Zachary and Gloria observed the spectacle. In the midst of a wide valley, a horde of Indians had gathered around their father, obviously he was their friend; there were whoops of laughter. Zachary and Gloria turned to each other, and they didn't have to say a word, so attuned were they to each other's thinking. What's this? they wondered.
At the ranch, Clarissa played the piano in an effort to stop worrying. Nothing had been heard of Nathanial since he left four hours ago. Why must a person worry about getting killed? she asked herself. What is wealth for, if not to protect against life's hazards? When this emergency is over, I'm going where it's safe, she promised herself. If Nathanial refuses to follow, to hell with him.
She came to the end of the song, wondering what to play next, when she heard nervous feet behind her. Turning, she saw Claggett wearing a bloodstained white apron and his cowboy hat, holding a bowl of steaming souplike substance.
“I made some son-of-a-bitch stew,” he said, “and thought I'd bring you a bowl.” He smiled shyly. “Everybody says I make great son-of-a-bitch stew.”
“What's in it?”
“The guts of a steer, some tallow to make it innerestin’, and the heart, brains, and marrow, spiced with chili peppers.”
“I don't think I'd like it, Mr. Claggett, but thank you anyway.”
“There ain't no dead rat in there, or nawthin’ like that, and I washed everythin’ real good afore I started cookin’.”
It smelled appetizing, but she didn't care to sample such a brew. Something told her a lizard's head might be in there, because she wouldn't put anything past her cowboys. “Is this a joke?”
“Oh no, ma'am.”
She didn't want to touch the concoction, but he noticed her hesitation, and an expression of pain came to his eyes. “If'n you don't want it,” he said huffily, picking the bowl off the table, “I'll give it to somebody who does.”
“I should at least sample it,” she said quickly, because she didn't want to offend him, “but if I find a lizard, I'm sure God will punish you.”
“I wouldn't feed you a lizard, Clarabelle. What makes you think somethin’ like that?”
“So you could have a good laugh in the bunk-house.”
“Hell—yer funny enough on your own, Clarabelle, without me doin’ nawthin’ special.”
The concoction was dark brown, filled with chunks of steer organs, fragrant with chili. She took some on a spoon, raised it to her lips, and tasted a blend of savory beefy flavors. “It's quite good,” she said honestly. “In fact, it's excellent.”
“I toldja,” he said, beaming.
They looked at each other happily, and she thought, Maybe ranch life isn't so bad after all, but then came a shout from the yard. “Injuns!”
Stew was forgotten as Clarissa reached for the shotgun. Cowboys congregated in the yard, and Indians could be seen in the distance, bristling with rifles, bows and arrows, with Nathanial riding among them. Zachary and Gloria had returned from their aerie and stared in wonder as the procession drew closer. The cowboys were tense, because the Apaches greatly outnumbered them, and they appeared outlandish to European American eyes, as if they were partially feline, or had mated with wolves.
Nathanial rode beside an old Apache man, and Clarissa sensed a tremendous gulf between herself and her husband. As the Indians drew closer, she recognized a blue-uniformed soldier among them, Major Beauregard Hargreaves. What's he doing here? she asked herself as a cloak of trepidation fell over her.
Apaches came to a halt in her backyard, but appeared fairly friendly. Clarissa thought the women even wilder than the men, with no cosmetics or fancy coiffures, only red bandannas around their long hair as they relentlessly examined her.
Nathanial and the Apaches climbed down from their saddles, and Clarissa guessed that most warriors were around five foot six, but covered with thick sheathes of muscle, providing the appearance of tremendous power. She could not deny that Apache men were attractive in that certain beguiling way.
Nathanial approached with the stately old Apache man. “May I present my friend, Chief Mangas Coloradas.”
Clarissa turned to this singular individual, and his face looked worn and creased as a crag exposed to constant storms. His straight hair was partially gray and hanging to his waist, while his physique was massive. Clarissa bowed and said in Spanish, “I am honored to meet you.”
“And I am happy to meet the wife of Sunny Bear,” replied Mangas Coloradas, also in Spanish. “Your hair is like his, the color of the sun, and from this day onward, you will be called Sunny Flower.”
Clarissa didn't know what to make of it, then Nathanial said, “Guess who else is here?”
Beau stepped forward, holding out his hand. “My dear Clarissa,” he said, managing to hold himself steady.
“So good to see you again,” she replied, shaking his hand.
They smiled politely, and Nathanial did not notice the extremely subtle interaction. Instead, he turned to Blakelock and issued the appropriate command. “Have some of the boys butcher a steer.”
Soon a group of cowboys returned with a likely prospect, while others dug a pit in back of the main house. Meanwhile, the Apaches cared for their horses, and Nathanial searched for the two jugs of whiskey that the cowboys had brought from Fort Buchanan.
He carried both outside, opened one, took a swig, and handed it to Mangas Coloradas. Then he opened the other, drank deeply again, and gave it to Nana the di-yin medicine man. Clarissa watched stolidly, recalling that Apaches went berserk when they became inebriated.
Meanwhile, Zachary and Gloria roamed among the Apaches, who greeted them warmly, tousled their hair, but could not converse with them. Cowboys started a fire, the steer was carved nearby, and his parts skewered on a steel pole. Soon the aroma of roast meat filled the air, while Dobbs sat in front of the bunk-house, strumming his banjo. From the porch, Clarissa observed the panorama that her backyard had become, and noticed Beau at Nathanial's side as Nathanial moved among the Apaches, talking, hugging, rejoicing at their reunion. My husband has entered their world entirely, thought Clarissa, while I can never be other than what I am, a progressive American woman.
The cowboys shared their hoarded whiskey with the Apaches as the sun sank behind distant bald knobs. Apaches rolled thick cigarettes in corn husks, which they passed around, and stores of peyotl were ingested. Soon celebrants could be seen weaving about the yard.
Darkness came to the land as Clarissa watched the revelry from her chair on the porch, Natalie resting on her lap, and Rosita hiding in her room. Clarissa studied her husband passing among the Apaches, speaking with old friends. How can one man become an entirely different person? she wondered.
Natalie squirmed in her lap, apparently wanting to mingle with Apaches, so Clarissa took her hand and let the child lead her onward. Natalie appeared transfixed by Apaches, and reached her small hands to touch them. A scarred warrior lifted her into the air and tried to talk with her as Apache musicians beat sticks, sending out rolling rhythms.
An Apache woman Clarissa never had met reached out innocently and touched her golden hair. Clarissa felt like a freak among them, an unusual reaction for one born to an old American family, but then she realized the Indians were the oldest American families of all
.
“There's someone I want you to meet,” said Beau as he led Nathanial to the barn. “Her family was massacred, but our Apache friends are going to free her.”
They found Constanza in the hayloft, as far from Apaches as possible. Beau introduced her to Nathanial, who said, “We'll take you to Fort Buchanan first chance we get.”
She replied formally, “Thank you.”
“Why not come down and join the party?”
“I do not have parties with Apaches,” she said firmly.
Nathanial descended the ladder, followed by Beau, and when they were outside, Nathanial said, “Are you sleeping with her?”
“Whatever makes you ask that?”
“She's a pretty girl, and I'm suspect you've ‘comforted’ her, as it were.”
Beau sighed. “I regret to say it's true. I don't know how I can face Rebecca again.”
“Just as you did last time, and the time before.”
“You make it sound crass.”
“Romance is nothing more than breeding activity,” said the experienced rancher, “after you scrape away the poetry and folderol. And it appears I might be single soon, because Clarissa is talking about leaving. She says the frontier is too dangerous, and maybe she's right.”
“Well, you are in a rather exposed spot.”
“It's mine, and nobody's scaring me off.”
“It's the most godforsaken place in the world, but I have come to love this land too, and after living among the Apaches I've decided to resign my commission, just as you did. I can't fight them anymore, after they've been so kind.”
Nathanial was astonished. “I can't believe that Beauregard Hargreaves of all people would resign his commission, especially after making major.”
“The Apaches'll be conquered sooner or later, but I don't want any part of it.”
Nathanial placed his hand on Beau's shoulder. “You truly are my best friend, because we even think alike. Once you get to know them, the Apaches aren't the band of thieves and murderers that most whites say. Will you go back to South Carolina?”
“Actually, I was thinking about ranching.”