by DiAnn Mills
“You’re doing it again.”
Was he on to me? “Doing what?”
“Not acting like a teacher.”
I laughed. “How am I supposed to conduct myself?”
“Not be so…fun.”
“I can only be me, Alex. And I do love teaching you and encouraging you to use your mind.” I touched his dirty cheek. “Someday I want sons just like you and your brothers.”
“Like us? No girls?”
I shook my head. “Can you imagine a girl playing with lizards or riding bareback?”
Alex grinned. “You surprised us. Are you sure you’re not Indian?”
I widened my eyes. “That’s my secret.” I pointed to the lizard. “Let me find my magnifying glass, and you call your brothers for a science lesson.”
“Miss Fortier, would you like for me to conduct the lesson so you can rest?” Brice’s gentle tone caused me to stifle a giggle. I hadn’t heard him approach us.
“I’m fine, but thank you for your offer.”
Alex handed me the lizard, which I held by the tail with one hand while searching through my bag for the magnifying glass. Oh my, if Victoria could see me now.
Then the lizard bit me.
Tahoma realized he was grinning when his father poked him.
“Eva Fortier is much like her father, ready to walk a different road if need be,” he whispered. “I remember when we became friends and other soldiers made fun of him.”
Tahoma had heard the story before, but he listened respectfully.
“…so he moved his belongings in with me.”
Just like his daughter is doing now. “She is fighting her own war.”
“You’re right, my son. And no war is won without the enlistment of others.”
Any other time, Tahoma would have been irritated with those words, gauged against the state of his father’s health, but not this afternoon. He’d seen the way Eva led her small band of soldiers by being their leader and respecting their youth. She was a beauty, with her blonde hair blowing in the wind. No wonder the Monarch boys followed her about. He chuckled softly.
“She saw me a few days ago.” His father studied them through binoculars. “Look at the youngest one attempting to lasso his oldest brother.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. Her face grew whiter than her pale skin.”
“Maybe she thought you were going to scalp her.”
“Ah, I’ve given her plenty to think about, I’m sure.”
“Does she know about you and her father?”
“Mr. Murdock thinks not.”
The men watched Eva. She pointed out particular parts of the lizard and probably explained how it adapted to the high desert. Tahoma hoped she urged them to release the creature to its natural habitat. The small band gathered up their books, food containers, ropes, and canteens. Only Eva had a rifle. The man working at the ranch said she practiced every morning, and her accuracy had improved.
Perhaps this new life kept her from thinking about the danger. Tahoma hoped the new life prepared her for what she might face ahead and the rifle she might need to use to save her life.
CHAPTER 10
Later in the day, I saw the sun’s position in the sky and knew the boys’ insistence on hide-and-seek meant a short game before riding back to Ghost Ranch. Their search for arrowheads had begun to bore them.
“Hide-and-seek? All right. And I’ll find you.”
“Count to fifty,” Cuttin said. “I want to hide in a good place.”
“Ten.” I laughed at the little boy’s seriousness and the way he pouted.
“Thirty,” Brice said. His voice was deepening by the day.
Before Alex could voice his preference, I held up my hand. “Twenty,x or no game at all.” I closed my eyes. “Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”
“Slower.” Cuttin’s words drifted into the distance.
The autumn temperatures had made our time together pleasant, but I was ready to bid them good-bye until the morning and take a long bath, which meant filling and heating a metal basin instead of running already-hot water into a claw-footed tub.
“Ready or not, here I come.” I opened my eyes to the hard dirt, sparse grasses, and rock cliffs. Grasping my rifle, I thought how unnatural the weapon felt, but I understood the meaning of preparedness. My gaze settled on a rock formation in the distance.
At least one of the boys would be hiding behind there. Or was that too obvious?
I hurried toward the structure glistening in the late afternoon sun. From the way my legs burned from the run, the boys must have taken wings and flown there. I stole along the rock wall, certain to find Cuttin and possibly Alex hidden in the secluded area. Finding Brice alone might test my patience, since his infatuation with me seemed to grow by the hour.
Once I made my way around the rock, I saw a narrow, inclining path. “I shall have you soon.”
Thankful for the trousers and boots that Miss Arnold had insisted I wear, I scurried over the rocks like one of the boys. On the other side, I saw a lean-to of sorts and gasped.
A man lay on his back, and I feared he was dead. In the shadows I saw blood on his upper left shoulder. I brought the rifle to my shoulder, my finger resting near the trigger.
None of the boys were in sight, and they’d surely have called out if they’d found an injured man. “Brice, Alex, Cuttin, are you here?”
Silence, but the heavily bearded and mustached man turned his head. I blew out relief that he was not dead. Blinking and stepping closer, I cringed at the blood on his shoulder. Instantly my mind swept back to Grandfather’s murder.
“Go ahead and finish me,” he said, more like a moan than a plea.
The warnings from Miss Arnold played across my mind. I aimed the rifle at him, understanding that evil came in many forms.
Some men are animals. They look to prey on others.
“What happened to you?”
He closed his eyes. “Blasted Navajos jumped me. Said I’d swindled them out of money.”
“Did you?” I surprised myself, as though I were an actor in a Hollywood movie reading from a script.
“No, miss. I think it was—” He caught his breath, and I held mine. “An excuse to kill me.”
My stomach knotted. But I still didn’t trust him—not after what I’d been through. “I haven’t heard of hostile Indians.”
“Then you—you haven’t been listening.” He cried out, and I bit down hard on my lower lip.
“I’ll go get help.”
He attempted to raise himself and failed miserably. “Please. No. They said if I made my way to help, they’d hurt them too.”
What was I to do? “Are you wanting me to let you die?”
“Are—are you always this sympathetic?” He swallowed hard, and I did feel sorry for him. “Miss, I’ve got to lie here until I heal from this knife wound.”
Had he really been attacked by an Indian? “It needs to be cleaned and bandaged.”
“Do you have those things with you?”
I had a little gauze and adhesive, but that was all. Nothing to take care of a knife puncture. And I certainly would not risk the boys’ lives. I hesitated. If I left the man to get help, he said others could be hurt. If I left him alone, he’d most likely die.
“Miss Fortier.”
I turned in the direction of Brice’s voice. “I’m coming.”
“We were worried about you.”
Any other time I would have laughed, but not with a badly injured man before me. “No need,” I called. “I got involved in looking at some variegated rock. We need to get back before your mother sends someone looking for us.”
I unhooked my canteen from my belt and lay it beside the man. “Drink this, and I’ll be back.”
He breathed in and out with such effort that I fretted he didn’t have the strength to stay alive until I returned. He gave a slight smile. “Be careful. Don’t let anyone follow you.”
Being careful had
become my middle name.
CHAPTER 11
From behind variegated shades of gray and brown rock and the shelter of a piñon tree, Tahoma and his father watched Eva and the Monarch boys mount their horses and ride toward Ghost Ranch. The boys rode quarter horses, but Eva rode a palomino. Not a good choice if the authorities wanted her to blend in.
“Fine horses,” Tahoma said. “Better than our relatives will ever have.”
“But you have a Ford truck.”
Tahoma laughed. “It does carry more supplies than a horse.”
His father nodded toward Eva and the boys. “We’ll follow until we see they’re safe at the Rancho de los Burros. From there another man guards her.” Exhaustion clouded the older man’s eyes, and lines deepened on his face, but a slight grin told Tahoma that his father was happy.
Tahoma too felt a sense of purpose—to give his father medical attention if necessary, but not to play bodyguard. “I’ve treated those boys on occasion. They’re good, but nothing mild about any of them. I call them the Wild Bunch.”
“Good. Eva needs to be strong.”
“The oldest one broke his arm last spring. Didn’t shed a tear when I set it.”
In the next instant, Tahoma recalled the number of patients who’d be lined up outside his clinic. And this was only the first day to help his father. How long would it take for the law to apprehend Richard Bennington’s killer?
Tahoma also needed to find out what happened to the man his father had knifed.
His mind drifted back to earlier in the day when admiration for Eva had torn down the wall of prejudice against a rich white girl who’d found herself in the middle of a murder. Through the binoculars, he’d noted delicate features—blonde hair, a slender frame, and a face the shape of a teardrop.
He stopped his thoughts. Appreciating a beautiful white woman had cost him plenty during his years in medical school. He’d learned a valuable lesson, and such foolishness would not overtake him again.
Tahoma walked toward his clinic where nearly a dozen people, young and old, waited for him. He waved. Claude, Yanaba’s husband, ran to him. Anxiety rested on his chiseled face.
“The child is coming,” Claude said. “Yanaba has been struggling with the pain since this morning. We couldn’t find you.” He spit out his final words.
“I was with my father.”
“You should have told someone where you were going.”
His mother knew where they were, which meant Claude hadn’t consulted her. Tahoma refused to pit himself against Claude. They’d come close to fighting too many times. “Is Yanaba inside?”
“With Willencia.”
The midwife. Tahoma wanted their tribal practices to come alongside his doctoring. Centuries of customs and ceremonies could blend with modern medicine; many of the herbs were valued in today’s medicine. However, some of the people opposed him.
Claude stood with those who objected to Tahoma’s practicing white man’s medicine.
Willencia wouldn’t hurt Yanaba. He wished the old woman would consent to the two of them working together to help her through the birth.
“Don’t let the baby die.” Claude’s threats were not the first ones. He’d made them before. Against her husband’s wishes, Yanaba had sought out Tahoma, her third cousin, to help birth their child.
Part of the problem was Yanaba’s and Tahoma’s parents had wanted them married, but when he left for years of medical school, she’d married Claude. Tahoma didn’t blame her. Their relationship had been only friendship, not love. But Claude had never gotten past his jealousy.
The crowd stepped aside for Tahoma. Most of them were among Claude’s and Yanaba’s immediate families, and suspicion about their presence gnawed at him. Inside the shadowed hogan, Willencia had Yanaba in a squatting position and holding on to a sash belt.
“Tahoma,” Yanaba whispered, her face laden with perspiration. “The baby is almost here.”
He forced a smile and glanced into Willencia’s face. Her lips pursed. Her eyes narrowed. She and Tahoma knew the condition of the baby.
“There’s not much time left,” Willencia said.
Tahoma nodded and turned to grab the bucket of clean water and the bar of soap. Normally he had a kettle of hot water on the stove. He studied Yanaba’s face, sending a silent prayer for strength and courage for her to face the outcome of her baby’s birth.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“He’s an active one.” Yanaba clenched her jaw while pain swept through her body. With a deep breath she gave a faint smile. “Claude and I will be busy chasing after him.”
Father Sky, Mother Earth, united in love. Poor Yanaba. To want a child so desperately that she denied the truth of her body. No child moved within her. What Yanaba felt was the intense desire to hold a live baby in her arms.
“She’s said her prayers at dawn, dwelled on good thoughts, and kept peace in her hogan.” Yanaba’s mother stroked her daughter’s forehead.
“Everything I was supposed to do.”
“I don’t think Tahoma is needed,” Willencia said.
Silence filled the small hogan.
“I want him here,” Yanaba said.
“Why?” Willencia bent over the young woman. “I’m here with you and so is your mother, just like our women have birthed since we walked the earth.”
“I feel in my spirit that he’s to be a part of—” Another thrust of pain spread over Yanaba’s face.
“Remember the past,” Willencia said. “We’ve talked about this—Tahoma’s medicine is not strong enough to bring you and Claude a healthy baby.”
Tahoma stiffened. One more time he’d be blamed for Yanaba’s stillbirth. Not that he was surprised. When his patients did well and recovered, he was given credit for bringing them balance and thus a healthy mind and body. And when he could not heal them, he was blamed. Rumors had spread that he’d brought evil from the white man. At times like these, Tahoma wondered why he continued to live here among those who resented him.
“You broke her heart years ago.” Willencia glared at him. “Now you continue to destroy her by denying her children.”
Before he could respond, Yanaba gripped the sash belt and pulled hard. The baby crowned, and Willencia pushed Tahoma aside to deliver the infant.
The boy child was dark, bluish.
Sobs broke through the silence.
“Get out,” Willencia said.
Tahoma stared into Yanaba’s face and the tears pouring from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”
“Get out,” Willencia repeated.
Tahoma stepped into the fading light of day and searched for Claude. He most likely knew the truth from the sounds of grieving inside the hogan, and his sorrow would probably explode into anger.
Not that Tahoma could blame him.
Claude grabbed him by the throat and tightened the grip. “One more time you’ve killed one of my children.”
“I’m sorry. The baby died before birth.”
“I know why.” Fury burst from his fists, sending Tahoma sprawling into the dirt. “Yanaba didn’t wait for you, so you have cursed her womb.”
He tasted blood. “You’re wrong. I—”
Claude jerked Tahoma up from the ground and sank a fist into his stomach. Tahoma doubled over and fell again. He would not fight back. Claude was grieving, and Tahoma understood the despair of heartache. If he lived through the beating, perhaps it would show the others that he did not possess evil medicine. He only wanted to help.
A brutal kick to his side seared his ribs.
God must be punishing him for not sharing His love and salvation with those who mattered to Tahoma the most.
CHAPTER 12
For the first time since I’d arrived at Ghost Ranch, Miss Arnold invited me to have dinner with her in the privacy of her home. I was honored and yet anxious to be on my way to where the injured man awaited care for his wounds. I believed in
keeping my commitments, and if the man died, it would surely be my fault.
I thought the Indian uprisings in New Mexico had ended with Geronimo’s surrender in 1886. But I’d already experienced lawless men, and a man’s cultural background had nothing to do with a decision to commit crimes.
Miss Arnold greeted me dressed in pants and a cotton shirt, so practical for the ranch. I felt strange in men’s clothing, and Victoria would have fainted if she’d seen me in such attire. But Victoria wasn’t a guest at Ghost Ranch, and I’d borrowed a set from Miss Arnold to wear with my boys and given her money to purchase me two more.
When I stepped inside her home, I gasped at the artistic display of Spanish colonial furnishings. Her love for Navajo rugs and textile designs was evident throughout. But what caught my attention was the Wurlitzer grand piano. I made my way to the ivory and black keys and lightly stroked them—not to play them but to remember Bach and Beethoven, the part of my life left behind in Syracuse. I sensed Miss Arnold observing me, and I turned and smiled.
“Do you play?” she said.
“I do, but I think you must be a master, or this magnificent piano would not be here.”
Miss Arnold crossed her arms over her chest. Oh, such humility in this woman. “I do enjoy the classics.”
“Perhaps I could persuade you to play?”
“If I must.”
It was then I realized she must be highly accomplished. Miss Arnold constantly surprised me with her wit and varied abilities. I added her as one more person to emulate in my reactions and responses to life. Would I ever learn all I needed to survive on my own?
She eased onto the piano bench. “Do you have a favorite composer?”
“Depends on my mood. But I’m partial to Beethoven.”
The moment her fingers pressed the keys, I held my breath. Sonata 29.
If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was in a concert hall. How rich the sound.
Once she finished, tears blurred my vision. “Magnificent, Miss Arnold. Where did you learn to play so beautifully?”