Beneath The Texas Sky

by Jodi Thomas

  “No, Ben! Not here,” Bethanie repeated.

  Dusty bolted for the bunkhouse to find the few men left on the ranch. Most of the men were miles away with the spring branding. Another round of gunfire sounded and echoed off the ridge behind the house. The signal shots were closer.

  Ben whirled his chair and headed for the gun rack. As he pulled down rifle after rifle, Bethanie began to panic. “Ben, they wouldn’t attack here…would they?”

  “If they do, they’re fools. The only way they could hit us is from the front. They’ll lose ten or more to our one.” He paused a moment to study her. “Now don’t worry, Beth. I’ve got three men besides Dusty here. We can hold them off forever if need be. You and Mariah go with Ruth. She knows where to hide.” Ben shoved bullets into the chamber.

  “No!” Bethanie yelled above the clamor of cowboys entering the house with Dusty. They began frantically loading rifles. “I’m staying here with you. I can shoot.”

  Ben looked at her with a sudden rage, then softened before he spoke. “We have no time to argue this one, Beth. I want you safe with Mariah.”

  Tears were forming in her eyes, blurring her vision into a nightmarish scene. She could not leave him, not even to be with Mariah. Her place was with her husband. She had to make him understand. She shook her head, denying his command and moved closer to him. Her hand slid from the back of his chair to his shoulder. She belonged at his side.

  “Beth,” he whispered. “I’m a man, and I must defend what is mine. I love you dearly, but you have to stay with Mariah. I’d be less of a man if I couldn’t protectmy family.” He pulled her hand from his shoulder and held her fingers tightly in his grip.

  Bethanie knew she could argue no more. To do so would question his manhood. “But Dusty?” she cried.

  “Dusty’s old enough,” Ben answered.

  “But…” Bethanie began, as Dusty interrupted.

  “I’m stayin’ with Ben,” he stated flatly, reflecting the strength of character within him. Now he must do what had to be done, yet he’d not even had his first shave. He set his jaw as he lifted his rifle. Bethanie saw a glimpse of the strong adult he would soon become.

  Ruth came from the kitchen, a basket on one arm and Mariah under the other. She nodded at Bethanie, but her eyes showed her fright. “Kiss your daddy, Mariah. We’re going on an adventure.” As the child left Ruth’s arms, Ruth lifted the old Walker-Colt from the bottom drawer of Ben’s desk and began wrapping it in a towel.

  Mariah ran to Ben and scrambled into his lap. He held her tight. Closing his eyes he pulled her head to his heart.

  Mariah turned to Dusty. She held out her arms to him, and the boy lifted her tiny doll-like body. “Bye, Squirrel, see you later.”

  Bethanie knelt and kissed Ben. “I’ll see you later, too,” she whispered.

  Ben’s strong hands cupped her face as he looked deep into her eyes. “You’re my life, Beth,” he whispered in a low voice. Then, embarrassed by his words while others were around, he pulled away and moved back to the men.

  Before she could change her mind, Bethanie followed Ruth out the back of the house to a small dugout used as a root cellar. The half-buried building was nestled in the cliff’s edge. Ruth went in first and lit a lamp. As Bethanie stepped into the area, she was shocked to see Ruth removing boards from the back wall of the cellar. Within seconds, a dark opening, almost as tall as Bethanie, revealed the entrance to a cave.

  Ruth picked up the basket with one hand and the lamp with the other. “This was here when they built the ranch,” she explained. “It was Mike’s idea to build the dugout in front. But for years, with just men around, no one ever used the cave.”

  Bethanie followed Ruth. Spiderwebs brushed her face as they moved several feet back to the natural tunnel. The moldy smell of damp earth and rotting burlap assaulted her senses as their shadows danced like deformed creatures with each swing of the lamp. She wanted to run back to Ben and demand to fight alongside him. Anything would be better than hiding in this hole, waiting, not knowing. But Ben was right; they had to think of Mariah.

  Ruth stopped after several yards. “The cave doesn’t go back much farther. This is far enough to be able to leave the light on.” She spread a blanket for Mariah beside the low light of the lantern. “I’ll go back and close up the wall,” she whispered.

  Soon Ruth returned, and the women sat silently as Mariah played with finger shadows on the wall of the cave. The child finally grew bored and fell asleep.

  Bethanie strained her ears as gunfire grew nearer. In the tomb of this cave, Bethanie couldn’t tell if the shots were far away or echoes of constant firing only yards outside. Finally she could stand the suspense no longer. “Stay with Mariah,” she whispered. “I’m going to try to look out.” Ruth shook her head, but Bethanie stood and felt her way through the dark hole.

  At the boarded-wall entrance, Bethanie slid only a few boards aside and slipped out. She heard shots, but they were close, near the house. Wild screams and shouts seemed to come from nowhere, as if carried on the breeze. She carefully stepped across the dirt floor and peered through the cracks in the wooden door.

  “Where are the men?” Bethanie’s mind seemed to scream the words silently, vibrating her head with hideous echoes.

  She searched the grounds as horses ran madly past and dust flew like a whirlwind in the bright sun. She could see one side of the barn as a fire seemed to explode in the dry hay. Suddenly, a half-nude warrior, thick with paint, jumped from his horse and ran toward the dugout. The sun sparkled off the long blade of a knife he waved above his head. Bethanie stood paralyzed by terror as she saw his wild eyes and the flash of victory written across his face.

  Where were the men? She prayed, knowing that they would fire and halt the brave’s progress if they were alive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bethanie watched as the painted savage ran toward the dugout door. For a moment, her body seemed to be made of stone. Though her mind screamed for action, her muscles were incapable of following her command. The Indian slowed to signal a friend, and Bethanie suddenly took flight. She darted across the darkened half-cellar to the cave entrance. As the braves hammered against the door, Bethanie crawled behind the shelf. They might not have seen her, but it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that the door to the dugout had been bolted from the inside. She hastily pulled the boards into place, concealing the cave’s entrance, just as the intruders came hurling through the door.

  Bethanie ran into the darkness of the cave, too frightened to care that the uneven rock edges were tearing her clothes. Gulping for breath, she reached the light of Ruth’s lantern. As she knelt beside her sleeping child, Bethanie whispered to Ruth, “They’re in the cellar.”

  Ruth grabbed Bethanie’s arm, her eyes wild with fright. “They won’t find the cave.” Panic twisted the older woman’s normally calm face. “But if they do, you must promise me one thing.” She pulled the old Walker-Colt from her basket. “I was captured by Indians as a child. I saw what they did to the older women. Her hands were shaking as she handed Bethanie the gun. “Should they find the cave, you must shoot me before they take me.”

  “No!” Bethanie whispered as she heard the Indians rummaging in the cellar, already far too close.

  “I beg you!” Ruth whimpered quietly. “Ben saved me years ago from them. I tried to kill myself later to keep from going crazy. Because I’m dark, everyone thought I was part Indian and treated me with the same disgust the Indians did.” Tears broke from her wide eyes and ran in zigzag patterns down her wrinkled cheeks. “Ben promised me he would shoot me rather than allow me to endure the hell of capture again. You are his wife; you must fulfill his promise.”

  Bethanie could see Ruth was hysterical and incapable of reason. She must quiet the woman. Bethanie took the gun. “All right,” she comforted. “I won’t let them take you alive.” For Ruth the fear was over, and she seemed resigned to accept the ending.

  Ruth breathed deeply and leaned b
ack against the wall of the cave. She closed her eyes as if resting after a long journey.

  Bethanie had no time to think of Ruth’s strange request, for she was too busy listening for any sound that might indicate the Indians had found the cave opening.

  Time paused in long breaths as the women waited. Finally the noise in the cellar died down as the sound of gunfire returned. Bethanie’s heart jumped. Somehow the men were fighting once more. Could the lull have been to catch the Indians off guard? The memory of the burning barn pushed away any such logic, but hope still grew even on barren soil.

  Seemingly an hour of low thundering gunfire passed. Mariah awoke, and Ruth pulled a snack for her from the basket as calmly as if they were on a picnic. Bethanie’s promise seemed to have eased Ruth, though it ripped at Bethanie’s nerves like metal against stone. She feared her mind, or Ruth’s, might snap at any moment, and she would scream, giving away their hiding place.

  The gunfire stopped abruptly with a final round. An instant later, Bethanie heard rummaging in the cellar once more. She lifted the gun from beside her and placed it on her legs. They heard the soft, scraping sound of the shelves being moved away from the cave opening.

  “Remember your promise,” Ruth whispered.

  Bethanie nodded, and turned the barrel of the revolver toward Ruth. With her free hand, she cradled Mariah’s head into her side and covered the child’s ear.

  Ruth straightened and sat up tall, as one being honored.

  “Bethanie!” a voice yelled from somewhere in the darkness. “Bethanie, are you there?”

  A tidal wave of relief flooded over Bethanie. She laid down the gun and swept Mariah into her arms, then ran to the cave opening. She watched as the sun poured into the dusty storage cellar. Mike’s blond hair glowed like a halo in the light. Bethanie shoved past the boards. She stepped over the body of an Indian, biting her bottom lip in horror. She pulled Mariah close and ran toward Mike. In an instant she and Mariah were smothered in his embrace.

  “Bethanie. Oh, Bethanie,” he cried. “We thought all of you were kidnapped. Thank God I remembered this cave.”

  Bethanie was laughing and crying at the same time as she hugged Mariah to her. It was over. The nightmare was over. She turned to Ruth and smiled. There was a bond between them now. They’d shared an experience, an insight into each other that would never be spoken of, but would hold them together for life. Ruth smiled and nodded toward Bethanie as if to confirm her thoughts.

  “The men?” Bethanie suddenly remembered. “Was anyone hurt?”

  Pain shot through Mike’s blue eyes as if he’d been stabbed by her words. He grabbed her arm as she started to step away. “Bethanie, they all…”

  She knew what he was going to say before the words formed. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but she felt it. When the first firing stopped and Indians surrounded the house, she knew. Ben wouldn’t have allowed them to enter the cellar if he had been alive.

  “Ben!” Bethanie screamed as if she could call him back.

  Ruth stepped beside her and took Mariah from her. Bethanie would have crumbled to the ground if Mike hadn’t pulled her to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We were too late. I’m sorry.” Tears rolled down his tanned face. “We were so sure they’d never attack the big ranches.”

  Bethanie didn’t want to hear the reasons. “No!” she screamed as she fought Mike with all her strength. “I must go to him.”

  “No, Bethanie.” Mike couldn’t hold her. The sorrow in his face multiplied as he watched her. “It’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late!” she cried as she bolted blindly from the dugout and ran toward the house.

  The sun was bright in her face, and the smell of burning wood was thick in the air. Cowboys were everywhere, trying to put out small fires. Bethanie rushed past the bodies of Apache warriors in full war dress. Their rainbowpainted cheeks were now splattered with blood and dirt. Their dark, tanned faces bore no terror for her as they returned her look with dead stares, yet the sight of death vibrated around her in panic’s melody. She ran inside the house, pushing tears from her eyes as she hurried from room to room. The house looked as though a tornado-force wind had swept through, overturning everything. The lace curtains across the dining-room windows were burning, charring the white wall. Bethanie turned away. She must find her husband.

  Suddenly she saw Ben’s empty wheelchair blocking the front door. She’d seen the chair empty before, but only when Ben was by her side in bed. Bethanie ran onto the porch. She froze at the sight before her.

  Ben’s body was roped spread-eagle between the two old elms, just off the porch. He was covered with blood, and his chin rested lifelessly against his chest.

  “Ben!” Bethanie screamed until there was no air left in her lungs. She walked slowly toward him. As she stood only inches away, Bethanie put her arms about his neck, not caring that his blood soaked her dress. She placed her hands on either side of his bearded face and held him tenderly as though he were only asleep. “Ben, Ben,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  As her heart melted in pain, she begged. “Ben, don’t leave me.” He would hear her. He would come back to her. He was only asleep. “Ben, don’t leave me now.”

  She ran her fingers through his dark hair and smiled up at his sleeping eyes. “Ben, I love you,” she whispered again, realizing how tall her man was.

  A firm hand tried to pull her away, but Bethanie would not move. She wanted to be in Ben’s arms, under his protection.

  “Bethanie,” someone said behind her, but she didn’t want to hear. “We’ve got to cut him down,” the voice kept repeating.

  She watched as a man cut the ropes binding Ben’s arms. As his body crumpled into the dirt, Bethanie fell with his weight. She cared nothing of the pain. She was still in Ben’s arms.

  Tears flowed, blurring her vision as her heart failed to accept what her mind knew was true. She could see all the times Ben had showed his love. He always respected her, always cherished her. Life couldn’t leave him now. Not when she needed him so. She would refuse to allow this twist of fate she was being given. She would turn away from reality, now and always.

  Mike pulled at her shoulder. “Please, Bethanie,” he said, trying to lift her.

  She wanted nothing from him or anyone. She wanted to be left alone with Ben.

  A man yelled from the incline near the porch, “Mike, I think the boy’s still alive.”

  Mike knelt close to Bethanie. “Help us with Dusty,” he whispered. “If anyone can save him, it’s you, Bethanie.”

  For a moment she looked at Mike as if he were a stranger to her; then a wail inside Bethanie shattered the crystal dream she had retreated into. As she watched the men drag Dusty’s bloody body out from under the porch, reality hit in full force. She reached to kiss Ben’s lips one last time. “Good-bye, my husband, my love.” Then she turned and allowed Mike to help her up, forcing herself not to look back down at Ben.

  Bethanie clung to Mike as men lifted Dusty’s body from the dirt. His face was covered with blood from a head wound, and dark red stained his shoulder and leg.

  “Get him into the house,” Bethanie ordered. She followed, her face white with worry. If he were to live, much had to be done, and fast. The black gunpowder in the open wounds would kill him as surely as the bullets. She shoved her own grief into the corners of her mind. There would be time to mourn later.

  Hours passed as Ruth and Bethanie nursed Dusty. His breathing was so weak, they thought they’d lost him several times. In all, five bullets were dug out of his flesh. Bethanie made an ointment to take the poison from his wounds. She was thankful to have something to occupy her thoughts and hands. Mariah stayed with the women and spent hours holding Dusty’s limp hand. She finally curled up like a kitten on his covers and fell asleep.

  After almost twenty hours of solid work, Dusty’s breathing returned to normal, and he rested comfortably., His normally tan face was ghostly pale from the loss of blood. Sandy blond hai
r crossed his forehead atop a white bandage. Bethanie covered his chest with one corner of a quilt and Mariah’s sleeping form at the foot of the bed with the other end.

  Bethanie wandered into the large room and collapsed in a chair. Mike was working at Ben’s desk, and for a moment in her mind, she saw Ben.

  “Are you all right?” Mike asked. They were the same words Ben had asked her so many times.

  “Yes,” Bethanie answered, rubbing her palm back and forth across her forehead.

  “I’ve been looking over Ben’s will. Did you know he left the ranch to Mariah and Dusty.”

  “Yes,” Bethanie answered, disinterested. They’d decided after Mariah’s birth to set up the will that way.

  “He left half a mine in Colorado to you with a note saying you’d know what to do,” Mike added.

  Bethanie opened one eye. Ben hadn’t discussed the mine, but it seemed logical to her. She’d have to be the one to tell Josh of his brother’s death. She could give him the deed to the other half of the mine then.

  “He also left a sizeable bank balance in your name,” Mike added.

  Bethanie nodded. She really didn’t want to think of money now. Exhausted, she leaned her head against the high wingback of the chair. Pretending she was in Ben’s arms, she fell into a merciful sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dusty’s body lay lifeless, half covered with bandages. The black ointment made from herbs and hog-bone marrow stained the white cloth of each wound, but blood was no longer pouring from the ripped flesh. Bethanie’s hard work had paid off, for now; if his fever stayed down, Dusty would begin to heal. He’d lost so much blood in the past twenty-four hours, she knew any infection might yet take him beyond her care.

  Mariah lay in a ball at the foot of Dusty’s covers. Her long black braid circled her sunny face, making her look even more angelic in sleep. She refused to leave the room. In her childish way, she was as worried about Dusty as the others. She’d lost Ben; now she wouldn’t leave Dusty lest he die. Bethanie smiled at Mariah’s reasoning. To be truthful, she was doing the same thing by refusing to leave his side even though several of the others had offered to sit with him.