by Lyn Cote
The sound of bone striking bone jarred Mariel. Sickened, she wanted to call out, “Stop! Please!” She shrank back, shaking with the horror of what she was witnessing.
Heller tried to protect himself. Even so, he wasn’t able to fend off most of the blows. He dropped to the ground but fought his way to his feet again. In spite of his large frame, he didn’t know how to fight as well as the Ranger. That was clear. Blood smeared his face, already red from exertion.
Mariel clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. She pulled up her knees and crouched as though trying to hide herself. Repugnance shrieked through her every nerve.
Heller lunged at the Ranger, who stepped neatly out of reach. Then, as if tired of the fight, the Ranger finished it. One more powerful fist slammed into Heller’s middle. Then one more crunch of his knuckles to the German’s chin, and Heller crumpled, unconscious.
The Ranger stood over him breathing in loud gasps, his hands on his hips. After a moment he turned and knelt beside her. “I got here in time, didn’t I? He didn’t hurt you?…”
The shame of what Herr Heller had almost done to her hit her, and she hid her face behind her hands, shaking with silent weeping.
“This isn’t your fault. Don’t be ashamed.” He touched her shoulder, just the barest touch. “This isn’t your doing.”
“No one must know.” She grabbed his hand, pleading, “They will say I…encourage him. They will talk of me…in bad way.”
The Ranger’s face hardened. “Heller deserves to be horse-whipped in public.”
She clung to his hand. “Please no. I don’t want everyone…look at me.” And then she thought of her sweet mistress, who had been forced by her own parents to marry this awful man. “His wife is good to me. I don’t want…there to be bad talk.” She implored this man to understand.
He nodded, then sat down on the grass beside her. He handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Wipe your eyes. You don’t want to go back into camp looking so upset.”
She obeyed him, drawing in deep breaths and wiping her face. His words calmed her. Slowly she stopped shaking. Still, she couldn’t look toward Heller. She crushed her agitation, drawing up her composure. “No one will think my tears…wrong. People will think I cry over Frau Braun.” She couldn’t meet the Ranger’s eye.
He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look up into his face. “This is not your fault. I will not speak of it because you don’t want me to. But know that this is not your fault.”
His touch coursed down her neck, awakening sensations she had never known before. She held very still so he wouldn’t drop his hand, so she wouldn’t miss any of this indescribable pleasure.
“You will no longer work for this man. I will tell him that. And I will tell him what I will do to him if he ever tries again to hurt you or any other woman this way. He will not bother you. Or he will find out what Texas men do to a man like him.”
The Ranger rose, taking his fingers from her chin. She missed his touch immediately. Then he offered her his hand. She took it and let him help her to her feet. It was as if he had lifted her out of shame, out of fear. Freed her.
Trying to take it all in, she shook out her skirt and petticoats and smoothed back her hair, avoiding his gaze. The Ranger picked up her bonnet, which had come off. She accepted it, put it back on, and tied its strings.
I must say something, must let him know I appreciate…She looked up then. “Danke. Thank you. I have been afraid of him.”
Heller moaned. She let herself gaze down at the man, bloodied and already showing bruising around both eyes. “How will you explain why he is…?”
“I’ll take him to the river and he can wash the blood off. I’m not telling how this happened, and he won’t either. People will wonder but they won’t say much.”
She did not know if she believed that. People always talked. When her husband had been arrested, even those she had thought of as friends had not hesitated to spread the news of his treasonous crimes. Still, she nodded. How could she explain?
“Now you go back into the camp and wait near Frau Heller. I’m going to ask Frau Braun’s husband if he would like you to help him with his boys now that he’s lost his wife. And then you won’t be working for this”—the Ranger cast Heller a disdainful look—“sorry excuse for a man.”
She curtseyed, still tingling from this man’s gentle touch. “I will do what you say.” She paused. “I thank you.” She suddenly ran out of words and the power to speak them. She could only stare at this man, so good who watched out for her.
“You’ll be fine now. This is over. It stopped today. Don’t worry over this anymore.”
She nodded again, though she had no feeling of this being over. Herr Heller was a stupid sort of man, a bully and a coward. She walked away, gathering strength as she put distance between her and the place where Heller had tried to abuse her in the deepest way a man could demean a woman.
She had little doubt that Heller might try something again—maybe not to her but to another poor woman. Nonetheless, she also had no doubt that next time the Ranger would horsewhip the bully in public.
A sudden lightness lifted her. Her silent prayer had been answered. I am free of Herr Heller. I am free.
From the other end of the town road, Sugar watched the old woman smoking the pipe and rocking on her porch. Today they would leave Montezuma and head west toward the land the Germans had bought. Her parents had, of course, decided to go along and help out the newcomers. All Sugar wanted was to get out of this town before that old woman with the pipe caught up with her. Sugar had been avoiding the woman ever since that first day when she had stared at Sugar. The old woman had called to her a few times, but she’d ignored this and hurried away. Sugar couldn’t put into words why she didn’t want to talk to the woman. But I don’t, she admitted to herself.
Sugar turned her back to the woman and marched over to see what was keeping them from getting off early. The sun had risen over an hour ago. How long did it take these Germans to get ready? She found her mother at the buckboard, loading little children into the back with the help of the mothers. To move things along, Sugar began lifting the children until all of them were sitting in the wagon bed.
Now they could leave. Relief gushed through Sugar, yet before she could voice it, several people came forward, stopping Quinn from helping Dorritt onto the buckboard seat. Sugar wove her fingers together and hid her nervous hands behind her back.
The German named Meuserbach was speaking. “We have three families who want to stay here.”
Everyone stopped talking and stared at the three men who had come with Meuserbach. “They have talked to some of the people here and decided they don’t want to go any farther.”
The German girl Mariel came up beside Sugar and smiled shyly. Sugar returned the greeting. Erin hurried over to take Mariel’s hand and began chattering, asking her to say different words in German, a pastime the two had enjoyed often the past few days.
Quinn nodded to the German. “That’s their business. Let’s get started. We have many miles to cover today. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want to get home.” Quinn slapped the side of the wagon, showing his impatience to leave.
Sugar grinned. Now they would get out of town.
As the party started down the road, everyone wished the families who were staying good-bye. Sugar allowed herself to be drawn along with Mariel and chattering Erin, who wanted to find the Braun boys to play with. This suited Sugar, since within the midst of the Germans, she would be shielded from the old woman’s gaze. She kept her eyes toward the muddy ground underfoot. She didn’t want to look at the woman.
“Hold up!” an old voice called out. “I been wantin’ to talk to you.”
Heart pounding, Sugar looked up. The old woman with the pipe had left her porch and was standing next to the wagon. “I want to know the name of your gal. The tall pretty one in the blue dress. She’s the spittin’ image of Ida Rose.”
Five
Sugar couldn’t move. The Germans around her didn’t appear to understand that the old woman was asking about her. But Mariel looked into her eyes, and Sugar saw the question in them. Erin looked around, as if she didn’t know why Sugar had stopped walking. Sugar stood very still, not wanting to hear what the older woman had to say, hoping that she could go on unnoticed. To do that, she would have to put her hands over her ears, and that would call attention to herself. Still, concealed among the Germans, she left her arms at her sides, clearly hearing the woman’s words and her foster mother’s reply.
“I beg your pardon,” Dorritt said, “are you speaking about my daughter?”
“Is she the tall pretty one?” the old woman said, glancing around.
“That’s our daughter, yes.”
“You call her your daughter.” The woman jabbed the air with her long-stemmed pipe. “But is she your blood kin?”
Sugar blinked her eyes. Something peculiar was beginning to happen inside her ears. It was as if someone had been stuffing cotton into them. Mariel took a step nearer her. Erin asked, “What’s the matter?” Mariel replied with a finger to her lips. Sugar slipped closer to Mariel.
“No, she isn’t our blood,” Dorritt said. “But we’ve raised her as our own since she was just a little thing.”
The old woman stood, squinting in the bright sunshine up at Dorritt on the buckboard bench. “Where is she? I’ve tried to catch her eye these past days so I could talk to her in private. But she just turns her head and walks away.”
“Who is Ida Rose?” Dorritt asked.
Erin looked up, asking with her eyes what was wrong. Sugar squeezed her eyes shut. That didn’t stop the low buzzing—like a hive of bees inside her ears that began to distort, obscure the voices. She felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder and knew it must be Mariel. She put her hand over Mariel’s.
“Ida Rose has passed, but she was the daughter of a friend of mine. Ida Rose’s ma and me grew up in Kentucky and married friends. Around ’23, we brought our families to Texas together. Lived hereabouts around the Colorado ever since. My friend, her mother, died in ’24. Ida Rose, now she was only fifteen when she up and married Ernest McLaughlin from Missouri. They moved over onto the Guadalupe River. Then after their pa died, Ida Rose’s sister Violet went to live with them.”
“And you think that my foster daughter is this woman’s child? Ida Rose’s?”
Sugar opened her eyes. Erin was clinging to her arm now. The sound in her ears was nauseating her. Making her unsteady on her feet. Breathing fast, she looked around for a place to hide. Why was terror crawling up her throat? Weren’t the words this woman was saying what she longed to hear? Hadn’t she always wanted to know who her blood kin had been? I should want to know who I’m from. Why am I so afraid?
The old woman cleared her throat. “Well, I watched your girl the past few days. It’s a funny thing, but what first caught my eye was the way she walked. You wouldn’t think that was something one could pass down by blood, but it is. She walks just like my friend and both her daughters, Ida Rose and Violet. Kind of elegant like, as if they were always getting ready to dance. Now another thing that your girl does like…”
Sugar pulled away from Mariel and Erin. She had to get away. And then Emilio was there on his horse. He swung down and offered her his hand.
“No,” she whispered, stepping back.
“I will protect you.” Then he gestured as if challenging her, saying wordlessly, “Take it. You are safe if you are with me.”
Sugar took his hand briefly. Then he put his strong hands around her waist and lifted her onto his saddle. He climbed up in front of her and murmured, “Trust me. You are afraid, but you will be better to face your fear.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you trust me, Sugar?”
“With my life,” she whispered back. Her words made her tingle all over, because for once she had actually said to Emilio what she was feeling, what she meant.
Emilio nodded, then nudged his horse and took Sugar up to the front of the caravan to the old woman. Her ears humming louder, Sugar watched as the old woman came closer and closer. And then something very odd happened.
She could see the old woman’s mouth moving, but she couldn’t hear the words. The same happened when her mother, Dorritt, spoke. The two women and her father were talking, but still, Sugar could not hear a word of what was being said.
Feeling queasy, she tried to force herself to understand. Now the buzzing and humming had given way to a roaring sound, something like listening to a Gulf shore shell. It filled her head, along with panic. Their mouths were moving. What were they saying—about her, to her?
Finally, the old woman backed away from the wagon. She looked up into Sugar’s face, examining her one last time. Then waving her hand behind her, she turned and walked back to her porch. Sugar looked toward her mother. Dorritt had turned away too and had sat back down. Her father slapped the reins, and the caravan started forward. Rather than let her down, Emilio directed his horse to follow.
Moments passed. After a time Sugar faintly heard the jingle of the harnesses and the hooves hitting the dirt. She tightened her arms around Emilio, pressed her face into his soft buckskin shirt. Would she be able to hear voices normally now? Or not?
All those years ago, when she had first been found by the Quinns, she had been unable to hear their voices. Then one day, their friend Alandra had taken her to pick wildflowers. On that day, Sugar had begun hearing what people were saying to her.
Tears filled Sugar’s eyes. She didn’t want to recall that frightening time. There had been a war then. She gripped Emilio tighter. If he spoke, would she be able to hear his voice? She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.
Emilio began to sing softly, a Mexican song. She heard him. She understood the words. Relief caused her tears to spill. I love you, Emilio. Protect me from this deafness.
What would Emilio say or do if she told him about the deafness? Was she in some way unhinged?
Later in the afternoon, Carson rode far ahead of the Germans, pleased that Tunney had decided to continue on with the caravan. Carson wondered if it was because of a certain widow whom Tunney always seemed to drift toward. Arriving at a good hunting spot, Carson halted, tied up his horse, and began to prowl around a narrow creek. He would try to get at least three bucks for a hearty supper and teach the Germans how to prepare pemmican. The caravan would catch up with him later.
Carson heard the rustle of grass and looked around. A black bear had wandered out of the brush to drink at the creek. Slipping silently up into a leafy oak, Carson held his breath. Bear didn’t usually attack humans. However, they would if suddenly surprised. The irony of the situation was not lost on Carson. He’d come hunting. But on the frontier, there was always the risk that the predator could become the prey.
Sitting there, feeling the rough bark against his back, he recalled Mariel, hunkered down against a tree trunk as he’d laid Heller out flat. Predators that walked on two legs were just as dangerous as this bear. The bully Heller still griped him. Beating the man up had not been enough punishment for what he’d tried to do to Mariel. Women on the frontier faced a hard life head-on, so one thing decent women needed to count on was respect from men. What kind of place was Germany? Did men there get away with assaulting women? How can I protect Mariel from Heller when they reach their destination and I leave?
He heard a second rustling, and his tension heightened. A doe with two very young fawns had come to drink just across the stream from the bear. Bear usually preferred wild berries, roots, and honey. Sometimes, though, they did kill and eat fawns or stray calves. Carson wished that there was some silent sign he could send to the doe to warn her that she was exposing her offspring to possible peril. The bear rose up, standing, manlike, on two feet. If Carson had wanted to, he could have touched the bear’s head with the butt of his rifle. The bear sniffed the air, pointing his nose skyward. Did the bear smell him? Or the deer? Carson felt
strangely protective of the doe and her young. If he shot the doe, the speckled fawns, still sucklings, would die. He’d already decided to let all three go on.
The three deer continued drinking across the stream. As the bear had, the mother kept lifting her head, wary of possible attack. Only death would separate the doe from her fawns. Most women were the same about their babies. So how had Sugar and her mother become separated? Who would leave, abandon a little girl in the midst of a war? The bear thunked back to earth and resumed drinking.
The old woman had said that this Ida Rose McLaughlin, who might have been Sugar’s mother, had died. Was that true? Did Sugar remember anything? Strangely, she’d refused to answer the woman’s questions this morning, instead turning her head into Emilio’s shoulder.
The bond between Sugar and Emilio had been evident to everyone for a long time now. But Emilio held back from speaking his intentions. Why?
Finally, the doe and her fawns wandered away into the bushes. The bear turned in the opposite direction and waddled off on all fours again. Carson relaxed with a silent sigh. He realized that worry over the bear, deer, Sugar, and Mariel had ousted Blanche from his mind. A momentary relief.
A fine big buck strode into sight. Carson lifted his rifle and shot. Then he slid from the tree to the ground, his mind focused on the promise of venison steaks sizzling on the fire tonight.
Sugar had a feeling of being only half-present. Or was she really half-gone? The caravan halted for the night, and Sugar and Emilio dismounted. As she hovered near him, he helped Quinn unharness the team of horses from the wagon. Then he began checking their hooves after the long day. He murmured to the horses, and she felt his gentle, loving words also flowing through her. He and her family had respected—never ridiculed—her silence. Now, she wanted to put her hand out and touch him, just feel him, know that he was real.
Everyone else around them was hurrying around preparing for the warm evening meal and getting the canvas roof up for the night. Nearby, Carson, who had gone ahead and brought down two bucks, was showing a few of the men how to butcher a deer for tonight’s supper and then how to cut strips to make pemmican. Her father was pitching the wikiup, while her mother and Erin had gone off with the mothers of small children to wash up in the water.