Comanche Eagle

by Sara Orwig

  Tendrils of red hair had come loose from her bun. She pushed them in place and thrust a few more pins into her hair. She remembered Elizabeth Black Eagle’s big blue eyes and golden hair and rosy cheeks as she looked at her own image that was quite plain. Well, the man was not marrying her because of her looks or her body. She raised her chin and turned to get the squalling baby.

  In minutes she was seated on the straight chair in the parlor, singing softly while she held the baby in her arms. As she studied him, gazing down into his deep brown eyes, she wondered what change her life would take.

  Panic swept over her at the thought of living constantly with a man like Travis Black Eagle. As her sense of desperation grew, she considered running away. She could grab a few clothes and the little money she had hidden beneath the horsehair mattress, take the horse, and go. Black Eagle wouldn’t come after her. The bank would take the house … her piano. She loved the piano—her tie to childhood and a blessed time. The tall rosewood piano symbolized the solid things in life, the order she believed in, the quiet home she had known as a girl in Baltimore. She would have to leave behind her job as justice. Cheyenne’s first woman justice ever. She had a duty to help bring law and order to Cheyenne. She would not run like a renegade.

  Oh, Ellery, if you just hadn’t gambled! If you had taken payment for your doctoring, we could have gone to California and had a fine life. A fine life. Abruptly she changed her thoughts, knowing the futility of such wishes. She looked down.

  The baby’s round face was beautiful, with a tiny button nose, thick black lashes, creamy skin, and rosy cheeks. He had his father’s black hair and his mother’s curls. Marveling at this tiny person in her arms, Crystal touched his head. As she curled black locks of his hair around her finger, she saw his pulse beating in the top of his head. An aching void in Crystal, a part of her that she had kept shut away for years, began to fill with warm feelings for the tiny infant. “Sweet, sweet baby,” she whispered.

  A pang of sadness stung as Crystal thought about Elizabeth Black Eagle. Ellery should have sobered up and taken care of the young mother so she could have known and enjoyed her little babe. Crystal raised her head and looked at the wide dusty road. How long before Travis Black Eagle returned? Was she absolutely certain she couldn’t do anything except marry him? This would be her last chance to run.

  Two blocks away, Travis Black Eagle rode along one of the main streets of Cheyenne. Houses became numerous and then false-fronted buildings were interspersed with more recent, solid structures. Laid out like a grid, Cheyenne had sprung up overnight with word that the Union Pacific would make the town a terminal. He had heard of the wild early days, the town that had mushroomed to four-thousand population with saloons and bawdy houses and a wild lawlessness. And then after the train had come through and tracks were built beyond Cheyenne, the wild element had moved on to the next new town. The population dropped and life was less unruly. Now, Travis knew, Cheyenne’s population was less than half of what it had been before. Streets were named for the engineers, retired Union officers who had laid out the railroad.

  A breeze tugged at his hat brim. He liked it out West. Men didn’t ask questions. They left their past lives behind and could start anew.

  He rode past the Golden Bear, a two-story saloon and sporting house with upstairs rooms where two of the town’s most favored soiled doves, Delilah and Fancy, plied their trade.

  Feeling the warmth of June sunshine on his shoulders, Travis spotted Delilah sitting on an empty whiskey barrel in front of the Golden Bear Saloon. His gaze traveled up over her trim ankles. Her thin, blue cotton dress clung to her long legs and strained over an ample bosom that threatened to spill out of the low-cut gown. Regret filled him because she would warm a man’s bed nicely. His gaze rose higher to the thin cheroot between the fingers of one of her hands and the whiskey bottle in the other hand, and his regret changed to certain knowledge he had done the right thing.

  Judge Spencer was plain and tall, a gaunt, dried-up old spinster without any feminine appeal and unbending in her enforcement of the law, but she was better educated than most women in the territory. Ellery had told Travis about his sister’s two years at Mount Olive of Maryland Normal College for Women. With her drab black dress and her hair pulled tightly to the back of her head and rolled into a wad, the judge looked as if she could be anywhere from twenty-eight to thirty-eight. He was twenty-eight. Her age did not matter; he was marrying her for other reasons. And she had damned little choice. At least she had some backbone, holding a gun on him. He had not expected her to pull the trigger. Next time he would remember not to be so foolhardy—and he would remember not to leave a loaded revolver lying around.

  He had scared her, but in spite of her fear she had stood up to him and Travis felt a little better about her bravery. Educated and brave—that was preferable to what he’d find at the Golden Bear. Delilah and Fancy were a mile prettier, eager and willing in bed, but there it ended. Right now the thought of bed with any woman besides Elizabeth made him feel sick inside with longing.

  He shifted his thoughts back to Delilah and Fancy. The whores had no more education than he did, and if he had stormed in on either one of them as he had Judge Spencer this morning, they would have capitulated at once. Brains and bravery were more important to him for the mother of his child than carnal delights.

  He caught Delilah’s eye. Usually she flashed him a big smile, in spite of knowing he wouldn’t stray from home after he married Elizabeth. This morning, however, she was staring at him with a peculiar, speculative look. Then he realized why. She thought he had murdered Ellery Spencer. According to Judge Spencer, most of Cheyenne thought he had murdered her brother. At least Sheriff Hinckel didn’t think he had, declaring that Ellery had been ambushed, robbed, and murdered.

  Even if people thought he had murdered Ellery, would anyone blame him? They would all know Ellery had been drinking and his neglect had caused Elizabeth’s death.

  Travis had intended to ride straight to find the preacher, but curiosity got the better of him and he halted at the hitching rail in front of the quiet saloon. “Good morning, Delilah.”

  “Mornin’ to you, Travis. I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Black Eagle. But I heard you have a fine new son.”

  “That I do and I thank you for your condolences.” As he dismounted, Delilah held out the bottle. Wordlessly, he accepted it, tilted it up, and took a long drink, handing the bottle back to her and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The liquor burned a fiery trail down his throat. He wished he could drink himself into oblivion, but the mere thought of whiskey brought back memories of Ellery and Travis was loathe to take another drink.

  “I didn’t kill Doc Spencer.”

  “Everyone thinks you did,” she said. “No one blames you. That Injun that works for you came to town to get Preacher Nealy. Turtle River said the doc neglected your wife and she bled to death.”

  Travis winced, hating to hear the words said aloud, feeling pain cut into his chest like a saber plunging into him. “That’s right.” He leaned down, tilting Delilah’s face up with his finger beneath her chin, taking one long last look before he totally committed himself to old Judge Spinster. Now he couldn’t even remember what color hair the judge had. She had big eyes; he had noticed that much. Big green eyes that looked like a terrified deer facing a wolf.

  Delilah’s whiskey breath hit him and she blinked drunkenly, smiling at him. A few teeth were missing, leaving dark gaps between her yellowed teeth.

  He leaned closer. “I didn’t kill the doc. If I had gotten the chance, I would have, but I buried Elizabeth and took care of our new son and by the time I was ready to go after Doc, Turtle River told me that Doc was dead. Said he was shot and robbed going home on the trail after he left my place. I wish I had been the one. He deserved a shot right in his irresponsible heart!”

  Delilah blinked rapidly and licked her lips. “I think I almost believe you. ’Cept there was no one else hated Doc enough to
shoot him. You had reason.”

  “I told you, he was also robbed. There’s a reason.”

  “Sure ’nuff is,” she agreed solemnly and then burped.

  Travis removed his hand from her chin and looked around. Two men stood in front of the general store talking to the owner, Clem Mandeville. All three men were watching Travis. Two were cowboys and friendly enough to him. And Clem was one who saw no barrier of race either, viewing anybody who could breathe as a potential customer for his store. Travis looped the reins over the hitching rail and turned toward the store. “See you later, Delilah.”

  “Anytime, Travis. You’re good anytime. Now I’ll be seeing more of you.”

  When hell freezes over, he thought, and then felt another stab of pain so swift and intense it almost doubled him over. His instant reaction to her remark was denial because he was married. Only he wasn’t married any longer. Elizabeth was gone forever, but it was incredibly hard to accept. He clamped his jaw closed and strode toward the store. The men shifted. Thrusting out his hand, blond Tom Yiblonski gave him a nod. Tom had immigrated to the States only three years earlier and held no prejudice about the color of a man’s skin. Logan North stared at him as he shook hands, and Clem smiled. “Morning, Travis,” Clem said.

  “Good morning,” Travis replied, shaking hands with all three of them. “I might as well still some rumors as much as I can. I didn’t kill Doc Spencer. I wanted to, but someone beat me to it.”

  “Heard there have been robberies in the area. Maybe someone waylaid him,” Logan suggested, as if that ended the matter.

  “I wish it had been me,” Travis said. “If I’d had a chance, I would have done the deed for his neglect of Elizabeth.”

  “Sorry, Travis, about Elizabeth,” Clem said, and the other men chimed in with the same words.

  “Thank you,” Travis answered quietly, knowing nothing would stop the pain he felt.

  “Hear you have a son now.”

  “That I do and he’s a fine one. I’m amazed you haven’t heard him crying.”

  They chuckled, but then Clem sobered. “Are you going to keep a baby at the stable with you?”

  “No. I can’t do that.”

  “You and Andrew gonna take turns keeping the little fella? Or will Turtle River take care of him?”

  Travis shook his head and realized he might as well tell them his plans because the news would be all over town before sundown.

  “I intend to marry.”

  “You should,” Tom said. “Tyke needs a ma.”

  “You’ll be better off as well as the babe,” Clem added with a nod. “Are you going to send off for a mail-order bride like Elmer did?”

  “Lordy, I hope you get something better!” Logan rubbed his black beard with a grimy hand. “And one that speaks the same language you do.”

  “This man doesn’t need to get a mail-order bride,” Tom drawled dryly. He shifted his booted feet and spat a stream of tobacco juice into the street. “There are some nice-looking women in Cheyenne now. Marrying age. Look at—”

  “It’s a bit soon for me to marry,” Travis interrupted,” but I have a baby to care for and I can’t handle him alone. I need a wife now.”

  “Sure you do,” Clem said earnestly while the other two nodded. “No one out here waits a year in mourning. A month, two months, that’s plenty long.”

  “I can’t wait that long. I swear there’s no disrespect for my Elizabeth. I’m marrying today,” Travis said. The words were difficult to pronounce; his throat felt as if it were coated in sand. All three men were staring at him, Tom and Clem both with open mouths.

  “Gawdamighty, today?” Logan asked.

  “That’s right. I need someone to take care of my boy and I can’t wait.”

  “Where’ll you find someone to marry today? I’ll bet it’s pretty Miss Hastings,” Clem speculated.

  “No, it’s not. As a—”

  “Lord-a-mercy, you’re gonna take Delilah or Fancy from us!” Tom snapped before Travis could answer Clem’s question. “Hold on. Maybe we could work something out where you could bring the little tyke into town and the girls could look after him all day, sort of take turns.”

  “You can’t take Delilah or Fancy. They’re the best Cheyenne has,” Logan added swiftly, none of them giving Travis a chance to speak. “Try Miss Knudsen or Miss Branham. They’re marrying age and as pretty as a new filly.”

  “Lordy, don’t take one of the sunshine girls,” Clem said.

  “I’m not about to,” Travis said forcefully. “Look at Delilah.” He jerked his head in her direction. “Do you think she’s sober enough to care for a baby? Whiskey is what killed Elizabeth. That drunken fool Spencer let her bleed to death!” Travis snapped, his fists clenching as he fought a wave of emotion that tightened his throat. He locked his jaw closed tightly while the men shuffled their feet and looked away.

  “Maybe some of us that work in town could look after the tyke during the night, and the girls—maybe one of them could stay sober—during the day,” Clem suggested.

  “Maybe you could get Elmer’s wife, pay her, to look after him during the day.”

  “In the first place, I don’t think Caterina has the capabilities. Elmer’s looking after her. She must be thirteen years old herself. I don’t trust Fancy or Delilah to care for a baby. Eloise Knudsen is the banker’s daughter. He wouldn’t allow me to court her.”

  “Well, who is the woman then?” Logan asked in an exasperated tone. “Who are you marrying?” All three men focused on him.

  Why did he dread announcing his intended bride? Travis wondered as he forced the words out. “I’m marrying Judge Spencer.”

  Once again Clem and Tom stared at him openmouthed. A grin split Logan’s face as he let out a guffaw and slapped his thigh. Travis’s gaze swung to him, and he bit off the smile instantly, his laughter ending.

  “You can’t!” Clem said, glancing down the street. “Judge Spinster?”

  “That dried-up old maid. She’ll be like marrying a post,” Logan said.

  “Although Rupe Peters in a drunken fit last night said he might propose to her, he hasn’t mentioned it since he sobered,” Tom added. “Lordy, that woman won’t give an inch when she thinks she’s right.”

  “Cheyenne’s got women. You should be able to find someone besides that old spinster,” Clem remarked.

  Travis shook his head, depression filling him. “No. I’m marrying her and I’m going to get the preacher and do it now so she can take care of my son.”

  “Has she agreed to this?” Clem persisted.

  “Yes, she has. She doesn’t have much choice either. Since her brother’s death, she’s all alone.”

  “Judge Spinster,” Logan said quietly. “Imagine that. Never would have guessed she would snag a husband even as likely as it should be out here. Ellery said he knew she would be a spinster and live with him for all their lives.”

  “It’s impossible to predict our tomorrows,” Travis said glumly, hurting and knowing he needed to get the deed done. “I’ll see you boys later.” Travis turned to walk away.

  “Good luck, Travis,” Clem called after him quietly.

  “Yeah, good luck,” the other two chorused.

  Travis gave a wave of his hand in acknowledgment, striding along the wide boardwalk. He moved into another block, passing the glass windows of the bank. A buggy slowed to a halt in front and a man in a black suit with leather gloves stepped down. Tall with thick black hair and a full black beard, Sherman Knudsen glanced at Travis and nodded curtly.

  “Morning, Mr. Knudsen,” Travis said.

  Staring straight ahead, Knudsen strode into the bank.

  Travis looked through the window at the man, knowing that when Knudsen’s horses were ill or needed shoeing, he would talk and greet Travis cheerfully. Or when Travis came to the bank to deposit his money. Travis thought about Knudsen’s daughter. Eloise was black-haired and, with the exception of Elizabeth, the most beautiful woman in Cheyenne. Eloise had
been educated one year back East, and she was more than happy to talk to him—or she had been until he’d married Elizabeth. She would never be allowed to marry him, Travis knew. And he also knew she was not the woman he needed. He couldn’t give a woman his heart again. It had been buried with Elizabeth. The judge would never expect love and would never be disappointed. And a woman like Eloise Knudsen deserved a man who adored her just as he had adored his Elizabeth.

  Clamping his jaw shut, he tightened his fist. Determination filled him to succeed, to establish himself in the town so that men like Sherman Knudsen would speak to him. One thing—Sherman Knudsen was bound to respect the judge.

  Travis strode past a dry goods store, the land office, and the courthouse that held the sheriff’s office, Judge Spinster’s courtroom, and the jail. Along the outside wall of the courthouse wanted posters of outlaws fluttered gently in the breeze, and Travis scanned them. He kept his features impassive, looking away as he strode past the building. He headed toward Church Corner, nicknamed that by the locals because a church stood on each of three corners.

  Four

  A white spire thrust toward the deep-blue sky and the branches of newly planted aspens framed Reverend Nealy’s church. Travis felt a twist of impatience. He wanted this done and over. His heart was leaden, and he wondered if life would ever seem right again. Swallowing hard, he forced his thoughts from Elizabeth to Judge Spencer and their son. For his son’s sake, Travis swore silently that he would build a life for the three of them.

  He found the short, muscular minister chopping wood behind the church. His curly red hair made a fiery halo around his head.

  “Preacher.”

  “Ah, Mr. Black Eagle.” He lowered the axe, wiping his brow. His shirt sleeves were rolled high; his collar was gone. He gazed up at Travis with curiosity in his blue eyes. “How are ye and the babe faring?”