by DiAnn Mills
“Then I will keep working on my target practice. Do you suppose I should resign from my teaching position?”
“I think not. Someone is always guarding you and those boys. The Monarchs are so pleased with what their sons are learning, and those boys adore you. The parents know you were sent here to escape possible danger, and you are not the first person to find shelter at Ghost Ranch. Sometimes entire families seek refuge here.”
I nodded, sincerely grateful for what Charlotte was doing for me. I thought of Walt Chambers and questioned my sanity for helping him. But that was over, and I’d learned to be alert.
I needed to be truthful. “Charlotte, I must tell you something. I’m—I’m ashamed of what I’ve done.”
Tilting her head, she gave me her complete attention.
“While out with the boys, I found a man, who was hurt—”
“Should Pete hear this?”
I started to decline, but then I could have been in the middle of danger with Walt Chambers and not insightful enough to realize it.
“Probably so.”
Charlotte secured Mr. Davidson’s attention, and the three of us walked to her house. We sat in her small living room, surrounded by reminders of the Southwest. I told them all about Walt, the things I’d taken to care for him, and my regrets. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “My actions make me a criminal. I’ll gladly pay for the food and medicine.”
“Nonsense,” Charlotte said. “I most likely would have done the same thing. In my opinion, leaving an injured man to fend for himself is akin to murder. No matter what he might have done.”
“Thank you. I feel horrible about my deception.”
She touched my arm. “I can tell. We all make mistakes. But in the course of a few weeks, you have grown stronger and accepted responsibility for the care of three boys.”
“At the time I didn’t see I had a choice.”
“We always have a choice—either to stand and fight or run and cower.”
I pondered her words, feeling a bit embarrassed. I recognized my weaknesses and the problems I’d created for so many.
“Have you seen Chambers since then?” Mr. Davidson said.
“No sir.”
He cleared his throat. “If you do, find Charlotte or me immediately.”
“Or Tahoma,” Charlotte said.
“Tahoma?” I couldn’t help echoing her. It sounded, well, foreign.
Mr. Davidson whipped his attention to Charlotte. “She doesn’t know?”
“Please,” I said. “I’m not a child. I want to know what is happening. Tahoma told me last night that his father and Mr. Murdock are friends. I find that highly unusual.”
“Did he mention your father?” Mr. Davidson stood from a stuffed leather chair and paced the room. “I need to have all the information to manage this situation.”
I moistened my lips. “He said that his father—Nascha Benally—would have to tell me about his connection to Mr. Murdock. Tahoma was going to talk to his father today. I’m not sure when I will receive his answer.”
Mr. Davidson chuckled. “Oh, he’s always around.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Mr. Davidson hesitated. “The times you visited Chambers were at night?”
I nodded.
“Then no one had access to him but you.” He pressed his lips together. “He could be involved with this, or it could be an isolated incident.”
“Mr. Davidson, I—”
“First name, please. Call me Pete.”
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “Walt Chambers could have been sent here to kill me?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying.”
I trembled at being such a fool. Would I ever have the wisdom of these kind people?
CHAPTER 19
Early the next morning, Tahoma watched Eva walk along the two-mile stretch to the Rancho de los Burros. He had no reason to hide from her now that she’d confronted him. She’d been late leaving for the Monarchs. But after last night, he was not surprised. New information about those at Ghost Ranch probably boggled her mind. She walked along at a fast clip, carrying a rifle. Her face was etched with a frown. One so young and pretty shouldn’t carry such a burden. He longed to be the one to find the killer, for he feared for his father’s life as well. But he knew his father would never relinquish his indebtedness to Andrew Fortier. The vow was more than a responsibility; it was a matter of honor.
He stepped from the dusting of snow-covered brush and a cottonwood into her path and greeted her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
“A beautiful high desert morning to you,” he said.
“Good morning.” She smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”
“I could tell by the worry on your face.”
“I haven’t been kind, and I’m sorry. From what little I’ve learned from Charlotte and Pete Davidson about what you’ve been doing for me, I’ll be forever indebted to you. I–I’d like to apologize for my rudeness.” She released a soft sigh.
Her eye contact and words convinced him of her sincerity. “Apology accepted. Then we’re friends?”
“Of course.” She hesitated. “In the future, I’ll do my best not to sound pompous with my speech. I was always encouraged to stretch my vocabulary. And I want the boys to expand theirs too. But I admit I tend to be condescending, even sarcastic, when I’m upset with someone.”
“You had every reason to be upset with me. You had no idea of my motive.”
“Thank you for your graciousness.” Her blue eyes matched a chip of heaven. A man could lose himself in the vastness.
“My father has agreed to talk to you. Would you like to meet him this evening after your duties with the Monarchs?”
“Most certainly. Where will this happen?”
“At my parents’ home. I’ll pick you up at the Monarchs in my truck.”
Her eyes widened. “A truck?”
“It’s much easier to transport medical supplies or reach patients miles away in a truck.”
“I see. It surprised me. I thought you rode horses.”
He laughed. “We do, but modern conveniences can be much easier. Perhaps you’ve seen too many movies about cowboys and Indians.”
“I have seen a few, although my companion at home did not approve.”
“Then it will be our secret. I have your father to thank for my transportation. But my father will explain all of that this evening.”
She paused as though thinking of a reply. Again he felt sorry for her. She’d never asked for all the troubles that had been thrown her way.
“Smile.”
Her gaze flew to his face.
“Yes, smile. Lots of people are looking out for you until it’s safe for you to go home.”
“I don’t even know who all to thank. Or why people are—” Eva turned her head, and a single tear dripped down her cheek.
Compassion wove together with warnings from the past about a beautiful white woman who had needed help, and he’d rescued her. He battled the urge to draw this lady into his arms and let her cry.
“You’re a strong woman,” he said. “Soon it will be over.”
She blinked and glanced away. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally… so open with my emotion.”
“I understand.”
“I suppose the tears stem from lack of sleep.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond, except to suggest where he found comfort in times of distress. “Of course. Miss Fortier—”
“Please, call me Eva.” She lifted her chin, and he met watery eyes.
“All right.” Privacy had always ruled in sharing his faith, although he longed to be bold. “May I suggest prayer to help you through this?”
Touching her finger to her chin, she breathed in deeply. “Strange you should suggest that. When sleep escaped me last night, I turned to my Bible. I’ve never read it except in church.”
“The Bible can be read anywhere, anytime.�
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“I intend to continue. I need hope.” Her face softened, and the innocence sweeping across her delicate features told him of her vulnerability.
“We all need touches of God to see us through hard times.” He needed the advice as much as she did. His bruises and scars were not healed from Claude’s beating, and the ones embedded in his heart were still raw.
“You’re right. I started with Genesis. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted my ignorance of spiritual matters. But I thought I should start at the beginning so I could understand the book better. I’ve always thought the Bible and the things of God were confusing.” She glanced at the road ahead. “I’m much too talkative, a habit when I’m nervous. I must hurry along or the Monarchs will think I’ve deserted them.”
Why was she nervous? “I’ll follow you from a distance.”
“Then I’ll see you later on this evening.”
“In my truck.” He chuckled, more to break his sudden uneasiness. “I’ll see you all day.”
She nodded. “That’s comforting, and I’m pleased. Do you carry a gun?”
“Yes.” He patted the revolver tucked inside the waist of his jeans and covered by his heavy coat.
“They used to scare me.” She touched her rifle barrel. “But since I’ve learned to clean and shoot one, I’m not so frightened.”
“You’re learning how to survive in a part of the country that’s not as civilized as New York.”
She glanced to the mountains in the distance. “In such a short while, I’ve learned to appreciate the beauty of the high desert.” She swung her attention back to him. “And its people.”
Strange how her words affected him, taking root in his soul. He fought the tender feelings as much as he welcomed them.
I loved my boys, their unique personalities and inquisitive minds. But although we’d gotten off to a late start, the day could not fly by fast enough until I met Nascha Benally—and saw Tahoma again. However, I didn’t quite understand the fluttering in my stomach when I thought of him. Perhaps it was in knowing his sacrifice for me.
While I toiled over geometry problems with Brice, fractions with Alex, and multiplication tables with Cuttin, I wondered where Tahoma stood watching the Monarch home. He must be bored—he couldn’t read or watch wildlife. I giggled at my own thoughts, and the boys eyed me with surprising interest.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Go on back to your studies. I’ll do my best not to interrupt your concentration.”
Alex rolled his eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing aloud.
If the biting cold had not been so severe, we’d have held our classes outside. Now our outside excursions were limited to an afternoon session of history and some geography.
Once we finished our lunch and washed the dishes—I insisted the boys learn inside chores as well as outside ones, and Mrs. Monarch agreed—we saddled our horses and rode off on another adventure. I knew the boys enjoyed role-playing history and geography. I had a deplorable part of history to cover today, one which we’d discussed, and I wanted them to grasp the horror of what our country had done to innocent people.
We rode about two miles from the house to a flat area covered in white. Brice led the way. I followed, and Alex and Cuttin came behind us. The beauty nearly stole my breath away. Not once since coming to Ghost Ranch had I missed the sounds of civilization. Despite the tragedy that had brought me to the high desert, I’d grown stronger and less selfish and had found a reason to explore the existence of God. The people here cared for me just as I cared for them.
“Miss Fortier, what are we going to do today?” Alex said.
“We will explore a new world.”
“Another ship?” Cuttin rode up next to me. “Can I be captain this time?”
“No, my dear boy. The year is 1700, and you are an African boy who has been snatched from your home in Nigeria. You were thrown into the bowels of a slave ship and brought to the shores of what is now North Carolina where you, your brothers, and your sister were sold to a plantation owner who needed workers in his cotton fields. Let’s dismount and discuss your situation.”
As usual, the boys appeared excited about my creative ways of teaching. Although it was cold, they didn’t complain. However, I was chilled to the bone.
“What was it like on the slave ship?” I pulled out a package of Tootsie Rolls I’d asked Charlotte to get for me on her last trip to Abiquiú. “Correct answers mean sweet rewards.”
“We were treated like animals,” Alex said. “Packed into the bottom of the ship so tight that we touched each other. And we were chained.”
I handed him a piece of candy. “Good. What else?”
“Not much food,” Cuttin said. “Many of us starved to death.”
He received his Tootsie Roll. “Brice, what can you tell me?”
“We couldn’t speak English, so it was hard to understand white people. We were sold by auction and put to work in the fields. But we were fed and given clothes to wear. Gradually we learned to speak English words.”
“Very good.” I handed him a piece of candy. “Let’s say it’s ninety degrees outside and all of us have been working since sunup picking cotton. Now it’s the middle of the afternoon.” I pointed to the imaginary field. “Find your row of cotton.”
They scurried off with their pretend bags of cotton on their shoulders.
“I’m thirsty,” Cuttin said. “But I can’t have water until the overseer comes our way again.”
“My fingers are bleeding.” Alex shook his hand in an effort to stop the pain.
“I heard the master is going to sell me,” Brice said. “If he does, I’ll never see you, my brothers and sister, again.”
“Then we’ll run away,” Eva said.
“We might get caught,” Cuttin said. “The master has mean dogs that he’ll use to hunt us down.”
“Where would we go?” Brice said.
“Maybe to the Indians,” Alex said. “Here comes the overseer. He’ll lay a whip across our backs if he finds us talking. We can talk about this later.”
And the lesson continued with Brice, Alex, and their “sister”—me—planning to run away, but Cuttin was afraid.
I hoped I didn’t run out of adventures, because I enjoyed them as much as my boys did.
When the sun trickled across the horizon, I gathered up my charges to return them home. Tonight I would listen and be the student.
CHAPTER 20
True to his word, Tahoma drove up to the Monarchs’ home at five o’clock in a gray Ford truck that held an inch of desert sand and dirt. My stomach fluttered in anticipation of discovering the answers to my questions. Perhaps I’d even learn who ended Grandfather’s life.
The moment I walked out of the Monarch home, Tahoma exited the truck and opened the door for me. The wind whipped around us with a biting chill, and I hurried to get inside.
“I would ask if you had a good day, but I know how you occupied your time,” I said. “Does anyone relieve you other than Mr. Davidson?”
“Just Pete. Once you are safely at the ranch, he takes over.”
“What about during the day?”
“Originally my father completed the daily watch, but his health has not let him continue.”
“I’m sorry. Is it inappropriate for me to ask about his health problems?”
“Not at all. He’s developed a weak heart and doesn’t have the stamina of his youth.”
“Again, I’m so sorry.” My father had died quickly, but it didn’t make his death any easier to bear.
“My father’s a fine man, as you’ll soon see. And my mother is devoted to him.”
“I’m eager to meet them both.” I stared out the window. Goodness, I was so trusting. I had no idea where we were going. But Charlotte and Mr. Davidson had assured me that I was safe with Tahoma. I searched for conversation topics. “Where did you receive your medical training?”
“Chicago. I was there nearly ten years.”
“After all tha
t time, you returned to give your people medical attention?”
He nodded. “They were the reason I left and why I returned.”
“In watching after me, when do you have time for your patients?”
“In the evenings. Lately there haven’t been many.”
“Then you must have done a wonderful job in educating the people in this area about good health.”
He rubbed his chin. “I’ve tried.”
“How big is your village?”
“We’re Navajo or Diné, as many of us prefer to be called. We live in family-type communities. Everyone is related, so it’s not actually a village like you would expect.”
“How unusual. How do you marry?” Instantly I regretted my words. My inquiry was far too personal, and I’d revealed a dreadful, condescending attitude I didn’t really feel. “I apologize. My question was not phrased correctly. I meant to ask about marital customs among the Diné.”
He laughed, and I relaxed a little. “When a man marries, he becomes a part of his wife’s family, which means he usually moves away from his community.”
For the next several moments I contemplated all that might mean. Certainly the culture was unfamiliar to me. I wondered if grandparents were able to see their grandchildren. If Tahoma and I became friends, I wanted to learn more. “What you’ve told me is fascinating. I’m so naive about other people in my own country.”
“Are you planning an adventure with your boys to include the native people of this area?”
This time I laughed. “Very clever. I just might add it to the curriculum.”
“If you played the role of Brice’s mother instead of his wife, he’d be depressed for weeks.”
“Oh, so you’ve noticed his infatuation?”
“I have. I’ve also seen how kind you are to him and his brothers.”
“Thank you.” Again uneasiness swept over me at the realization that Tahoma and his father, along with Mr. Davidson and whoever else had followed my every move, risked their lives for me. Some women would be angry over learning their lives were like the pages of a book, but I was more upset at my own inability to manage my affairs. I admitted to being naive, but “weak” had such a helpless ring to it. Was Grandfather’s killer trailing me too, as if I were a trophy for his mantel?