by DiAnn Mills
Tahoma paused for a moment to contemplate his own identity. He didn’t fit among his relatives and people, and he didn’t fit in the white man’s world. He watched his father disappear in the distance. Envy nipped at Tahoma’s heels. At least keeping an eye on Eva Fortier would occupy his father’s mind and give him a reason to greet the dawn with optimism. He had become increasingly depressed, with the government not keeping its word on so many matters affecting their people, and the realization of age and its limitations. Now Tahoma wanted his father not to keep his word to Andrew Fortier.
Nascha Benally had done what Tahoma had yet to do. Stand up for his principles.
Shaking aside the things that interfered with his chosen profession—as he often did—Tahoma welcomed a woman carrying a small child. He took the crying little one, hot with fever, and spoke words of comfort.
“Can you help him?” the mother whispered.
“I’ll do my best. How long has he been with fever?”
“Two days. He can’t keep food in his stomach, and his bowels are like water.” She touched the boy’s cheek.
“Did you boil juniper needles for the diarrhea?”
“Yes. And he seems a little better, but I’m afraid for him.”
The day had begun.
After sunset, while a pot of mutton stew bubbled over a fire and Tahoma’s stomach rumbled in response to the tantalizing smell, the older Benally stepped into Tahoma’s dwelling. He filled the doorway while the light from the fire lit his face. Exhaustion shone in his eyes, but the spark from within his nearly black portals bannered the vigor of his youth.
“You had a long day,” Tahoma said, more of a confirmation than a question.
“The memories of the war and my friendship with Andrew came alive. I relived my youth, and it was good.”
“Did you talk with the young woman?”
“No. Maybe another day. She needs time to get used to her new surroundings.” He leaned against the doorway. “It’s not important that we meet.”
“She might want to thank you.” Tahoma’s words were harsher than he intended.
“Her father already has.”
Tahoma wished his father would release the vow and rest out his remaining days. “What does she look like?”
“Her hair is the color of the sun, like her father’s. And her eyes remind me of a cloudless sky. She is a beautiful woman, my son.”
Her heart could be like stone. “But does she appreciate what you’re doing for her?”
He smiled. “Gratitude is not my motive. And—”
Willencia appeared in the doorway. Tahoma met her cold glare; the midwife did not approve of the white man’s medicine and often persuaded the pregnant women to stay away from him.
“Would you like to come in?” Tahoma said. “What can I do for you?”
The old woman did not step any farther than the doorway. “Yanaba says you are to be at her baby’s birthing.”
“I will. She’s been under my care.”
“I told her the baby would die if you interfered again in the ceremonial birth.”
The baby was already dead. “We can do this together, the old ways and my medicine.”
She stiffened. “We don’t want you here. Go back to the white man’s world.” She glanced at his father and lifted her chin before leaving them.
Tahoma stared after her. His few years of practicing medicine among his people may soon come to an end.
CHAPTER 6
I slept the entire first day at Ghost Ranch. I’d given in to the terror and weight of the past few days, and I was ashamed of my behavior. Grandfather and Victoria would have been disappointed in my inability to face my problems. But closing my eyes to embrace a dream world seemed so much easier.
The second day, which I later realized was Thursday, I woke a bit groggy. Oh, I wanted another day in bed, but I forced myself to face my new world. It was time to make myself useful to Miss Arnold and learn more about my surroundings and my position as governess for those three boys. I wanted to ask her if she knew why Mr. Murdock had sent me here instead of another location in this country and countless other questions.
I looked around my room and even though it was simple, I felt comfortable. And obviously I felt safe, just as Miss Arnold had stated, or I wouldn’t have slept for all those hours.
Lying on my back, I stared up at the beamed ceiling and then at the stucco walls. My gaze swept around the room and I took in the decor that favored Indians. Most likely Navajo. I remembered my father having an interest in that tribe. I sat up and touched the thick, soft Indian blanket covering me in rich red, yellow, and blue, woven in a vivid geometric design. The patterns on the pillows, curtains, rugs, and a cushioned window seat were all a variation of horizontal and vertical lines in bright colors. Rich and beautiful. Strange that I liked this small cabin when I’d been used to finery.
I made my way to the front door and lifted the latch, hoping none of the ranch workers would notice a woman in her nightgown. A burst of sunlight bathed my face, and I gasped, as though I’d entered a make-believe world filled with stone peaks and vast rolling plains. The sight appeared regal, as if one should seek permission before stepping into the unspoiled domain. Shielding my eyes, I looked to the south and the east and beyond. Never had I experienced such quiet beauty in a high desert elevation. Bird songs broke the tranquility, and in the distance I saw deer grazing. I detected a scent of something faintly sweet and pleasant. To me, the odor represented life, fresh and clean.
A short while later after I’d dressed, I stood outside my little cottage and realized I was incredibly hungry. Yesterday, Miss Arnold had brought a tray of food. I thought it was a roast and vegetables. But I couldn’t stay awake to enjoy the meal. Now I could eat the whole cow.
I had no idea where Miss Arnold could be, so I made my way toward the biggest house. On the way, I saw other adobe guest cottages like mine. Perhaps Mr. Murdock had stayed here and appreciated its remote location.
“Good morning,” a female voice called, and I knew instantly it was Miss Arnold.
I swung my attention toward the voice and waved to the woman. “Good morning. I think I’ve caught up on all my sleep.”
The low rumble of laughter made me feel welcome in an odd sort of way, as though I wouldn’t be scolded for taking liberties with her hospitality.
“Welcome to the Piedra Lumbre basin. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“There’s plenty of breakfast left at the cookhouse.” She pointed toward one of the adobe structures. “And I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
I’d never drunk coffee before, but I refused to be an unappreciative guest and demand tea. “Lovely.” We walked toward the cookhouse, and I was grateful for her companionship. Unlike the afternoon she picked me up from the train station, this morning she wore britches and a white shirt with suspenders. Oh, I could never do that.
“Once you’ve eaten, we’ll talk about the ranch and your new position.”
“Of course.” I stopped on the dirt pathway and once again admired the surroundings to the south. “What is that mountain? It reminds me of a watchtower.”
Miss Arnold followed my gaze. “The Pedernal. I’ve never heard anyone describe it quite like that before. The mountain reminds me of a knife.”
I studied the tall structure a moment more. “It’s a rare type of beauty.”
“We think so. The Pedernal is my favorite. Beyond it are the Jemez Mountains.”
My stomach rumbled, and we continued our walk.
“When will I be able to meet my charges?”
Miss Arnold laughed, and I wondered why my question was humorous. “Soon enough. Probably this afternoon. I think those three would charge the devil himself, if the truth were known. Good boys, just high-spirited. They’re more like mustangs, or possibly Indians.”
I hadn’t considered native people, and a new sprint of fear raced through my veins. “Are there Indians nearby?”
“We have a few Navajo friends nearby and some Pueblos.”
The reality of my dire circumstances saddened me. “I’m so very far from home. Is this a guest ranch?”
Miss Arnold shrugged. “What’s left of it. Folks don’t have money to travel like they used to. I’ve been hosting tourists for a long time, and I don’t really want to do anything else.”
I turned to stare into her brown eyes, not able to admit, I hadn’t suffered at all during our country’s weakened finances while many people did without. “I’m assuming Mr. Murdock is paying you well for me.”
She waved away my statement. “Mr. Murdock has taken care of your stay very nicely.”
Could this be a link? “Do you know him or my grandfather?”
“Never met either one.”
I had hoped she knew one of them well. “Do you—do you know why I’m here?”
“I do. Mr. Murdock’s message told of what happened in New York and his desire to have you tucked away in a safe place. I have a few ideas of my own about how to accomplish this.”
My eyes widened. “You know who killed my grandfather?”
“Not at all. Neither does Mr. Murdock, or he would have had someone arrested. My plan is to fix you up with a rifle. Ever fire one?”
“No ma’am.” And I wasn’t sure I wanted to begin now.
“We’ll start instructions right after breakfast.”
“Is that absolutely necessary?”
Miss Arnold crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a weapon with me at all times.” She patted her britches pocket. “Got a derringer tucked right here. It wasn’t so long ago that I would advise a guest not to venture far beyond their cottage without one of my cowboys accompanying them. Danger is not as prevalent these days, but it’s still there. This ranch got its name honestly.”
I shuddered and hoped she didn’t see my terror. We stood in front of yet another adobe structure, and I gazed around me again. How could such untouched land be filled with danger? “Do you mean snakes?”
“This time of year, snakes are not a problem. This part of the country attracts two different types of people: those who are wanting to get away from the business of the modern world and those who are running because of what they’ve done in the modern world. The rest of us are trying to scrape out a living in a desert we’ve come to love.”
I understood what she meant. I’d seen that cruelty existed, and it could occur when a person least expected it. “Is it difficult to learn how to manage a firearm?”
“Every task requires some sort of skill. Your ability to handle a rifle depends on your willingness to listen to instruction and accept criticism.”
Miss Arnold and Victoria were cut from the same hard taskmaster stone. “This will be extremely difficult for me. But I’ll do whatever is necessary so I can be self-sufficient and less of a burden on those who have been assigned to my care.”
“Wonderful. Let’s get some eggs and bacon in you.”
While I’d agreed to her suggestion about acquiring the knowledge to protect myself, I still didn’t like the idea of handling a rifle. Unless… Something caught in my chest, and I held my breath in an effort to stop the pain. What if the man who’d killed Grandfather found me here? If I knew how to fire a rifle, I could shoot him before he shot me. What a dreadful creature I’d become. Fear had me tangled with emotions I’d never before experienced. I remembered the thick red blood flowing from Grandfather’s body and the vacant look in his eyes. Is this what survival meant?
CHAPTER 7
After my first lesson in how to hold and fire a rifle, which I failed miserably, I needed a nap. My shoulder ached from what I learned was a “kickback,” and I was overjoyed to return the weapon to Miss Arnold.
“I shall be bruised for the rest of my life.”
She laughed at my declaration, and I joined her. This enigmatic woman knew how to handle herself in the wilderness. Perhaps I could someday call her a friend and discover where she found her robustness.
Miss Arnold held out the rifle and told me to again aim for one of the tin cans lined up on a fence. “You can’t stop until you’ve hit one of them.”
I dug deep within myself to please her, and when I finally hit a can, she was so excited. But I didn’t have the heart to tell her that wasn’t the can I’d aimed for. When I considered the gravity of my target being a man, I was deeply troubled. “Have you ever aimed a gun at a man?”
Miss Arnold slowly nodded. “When another person intends to hurt or kill you, then you have no choice but to take drastic measures.”
“Have you ever shot a man?”
“Yes.”
My pulse raced, and I couldn’t respond.
“This morning we’re taking a step toward keeping you safe. If a man comes after you with a weapon, then you’ve got to be able to handle yourself.”
How could I be determined to stand strong and yet feel such immense fright at the same time? “I always thought that laws were in place to take care of us.”
“Those who choose to break them have to be caught before the law is of any value.”
“You’re right. Murder is wrong, but that didn’t stop the killer from shooting my grandfather. And the man is free to kill others until he’s caught.” I trembled with the reality of the truth. I must learn to protect myself if I wanted to live. “Do you know what connects Mr. Murdock with your ranch?”
“I have no idea. But we have many wealthy people stay here from time to time. With the depression and all, many are afraid for their families.”
That made sense. “How often should I target practice?”
“Every morning before breakfast. Then you’re finished for the day. Soon you’ll become a crack shot.”
I wasn’t quite so sure about ever being able to aim and fire like she did, and I’d never been a morning person.
“I’ll make sure the ranch hands stay out of your way until you’ve mastered the rifle.” She laughed, and I joined her.
“I guess I do look peculiar.”
“Do you have suitable clothes?”
I glanced down at my dress and remembered purchasing it at Macy’s in New York City. And my undergarments had been handmade. “Are my clothes inappropriate?”
“They aren’t for ranch life. I’ll let you borrow a pair of britches and a shirt until I can get to Santa Fe in a few days.”
The thought of dressing like a man seemed, well, like a common worker. How could I wear such things? I wore a riding habit when at the country club’s stables, but Ghost Ranch didn’t host a golf course or stable thoroughbred horses.
“Have you never worn britches or jeans?”
I shook my head. Expand your horizons, Grandfather always said. “But I will now.”
“Good. Can you ride a horse?”
“Yes.” At least there was one thing I could do well.
We leaned against the fence and watched the cattle and horses. Victoria and I often rode together. I hoped she was faring well in spite of the tragedy that had beset us. She was like a mother to me, and I missed her.
“It’s nearly noon. Would you like something to eat before we meet the boys?” She rubbed the nose of a red roan that had trotted over for a bit of affection.
“I’d like to put the initial introductions behind me.” I hesitated. Surely my three charges would not be any more difficult than trying to send a cartridge into a tin can.
“Are you eager or filled with dread?”
“Both. This will be a new experience—like Ghost Ranch.”
“Then let’s get at it. Are you up for a little walk?” Miss Arnold pointed down a dirt road. “It’s about two and a half miles to the Monarch home.”
“Certainly. The day is utterly beautiful. It will give us more time to chat.”
She handed my rifle back to me and hoisted hers over her shoulder. I did the same, a little awkwardly. Off we headed in a westerly direction. The sound of insects roared in my ears as though they were scolding me for inv
ading their home. In essence, I was. I didn’t belong here. Neither did this good woman beside me deserve the bloodshed that may be following in my wake. But she must not be concerned if she already had a position for me to earn my keep. As we walked along, Miss Arnold inquired about my life in New York, my childhood, and Grandfather. I hadn’t voiced my feelings about him to anyone since he was killed, and although speaking about our home and our life was painful, I felt better.
Miss Arnold pointed out the Rancho de los Burros, home of the Monarch family, just as we rounded the last bend in the road. She told me the adobe home was built two years prior, and it was impressive. I marveled at the way it blended in with the sparse greenery and few trees, and it sat at the foot of a stone cliff. In the distance a table top mountain rose up to touch the sky.
“Chimney Rock,” Miss Arnold said, as though reading my thoughts. “We can hike there sometime if you like.”
“And the boys might—” The sound of laughter captured my attention, and my gaze darted to a boy here and a boy there playing some sort of game. They all wore Western wear, complete with hats and probably boots. But they didn’t stand still long enough for me to tell what covered their feet.
“Meet the Monarchs.” Miss Arnold waved. “Brice, Alex, Cuttin. Come meet Miss Fortier.”
The boys raced from all directions, and for a moment I thought they might be triplets. But as they came closer, I saw they were simply close in age. I wanted children someday, but not like puppies. I immediately berated myself for such a rude thought.
I held out my hand to shake the hand of the nearest lad to me, a muscular-looking boy with pecan-colored hair and green eyes. “Good morning. I’m Eva Fortier.”
He gripped my hand, dirt and all. “I’m Alex.”
A sideways smile met me, and I knew without any further contemplation that I was in for a merry time with this one. A few moments later, I sized up the other two boys. The youngest, Cuttin, seemed very sweet and eager to please; his green eyes were filled with amber flecks and his nose was splattered with brown freckles. And Brice said I looked too young to be a governess. They all had the same high cheekbones and pecan-colored hair.