The Heavenly Surrender

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “We will leave!” Cruz shouted. “The woman has caused enough trouble for me. And I know this way…if I cannot have her…well, then neither can McLean.”

  “Cruz,” Mateo argued. “You said we were only going to frighten McLean. You said nothing about harming the woman, but now I know you want to…”

  “Cállate!” Cruz shouted. “And you will say nothing to Papá about this! Do you hear me, hermano? Nothing!”

  They were gone quickly, and Genieva was left alone—safe for the moment. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness within her prison, and she began to look about, gasping when she saw the dead and rotted carcass of an animal lying only a few feet away. Judging from the skull and length of the leg bones, she surmised it had been a cow. She pitied the animal for the suffering it may have endured if the fall had not killed it.

  The ground was damp, and the musty smell of the enclosure tickled Genieva’s nostrils, causing her to sneeze several times in succession. There were masses of spiderwebs everywhere and insects of every sort caught fatally in them. As she looked about, Genieva noticed that large wooden beams lined the sides of the pit and ceiling around the hole through which she had fallen. Common sense told her she had fallen into an old mining shaft of some kind. Yet seeing no other beams of light before or after her as she peered into the endless darkness, she knew it would be pointless to try to venture in either direction without a lantern.

  Genieva was sore from her fall, and when she stood, she felt the full force of the pounding her body had taken from her plummet—for her tender limbs, bones, and muscles ached the like they never had before. Looking up into the bright sunlight, she wondered, should she cry out? Would anyone hear her? Or would her pleadings for help only serve to draw Cruz back, intent on finishing his purpose concerning her? She decided to wait. Surely Brevan would notice her missing when he came home midday to find no lunch and no wife awaiting him. She would wait. Brevan would come. Seeking out a dry area, she found a large rock near to the beam of light radiating from the opening overhead. Carefully, she sat down and tried not to think of the dead animal next to her. How had the cow fallen through? There were no other visible signs of an opening above her. She shivered, for the dampness caused the air in the shaft to be cold as well.

  

  As Brevan mounted the stairs to the front porch, a frown puckered his brow. He could not smell any inviting scents coming from the house to indicate Genieva was preparing a midday meal. Furthermore, the front door was still closed. Genieva always opened the front door upon rising in the morning. Brevan knew how she longed for the morning breezes in the kitchen. He thought that maybe she still slept. But until midday?

  He pushed the front door open, and his gaze was immediately drawn to the floor near the hallway. An overpowering sensation of dread filled him as he gazed at the apple core and the wilted daisies. There was blood on the floor—smeared blood. On closer inspection he saw several drops of blood staining the floor nearby as well. Panic as he had never imagined caused his hands to begin trembling as, looking up and into Genieva’s room, he saw the door was hanging by only the bottom hinge—the top and second having been broken. A moment before he entered the room, his attention was arrested by the fingerprints on the door. Small, blood-embossed fingerprints—he knew they were Genieva’s. The window in her room, which he had closed and latched himself the night before, stood open, the breezes billowing the curtains. Rushing back outside, he saw the hoof prints in the dirt. He swore under his breath—scolding himself for not having noticed them before. He ran around to the side of the house and saw Genieva’s small boot prints in the earth beneath her bedroom window. They led in the direction of the orchard, and he followed. But the moist ground between the apple and pear trees only told him that Archuleta horses had been there. The wind-fallen fruit was smashed into the grassy earth, and there would be no tracking anyone through it.

  Brevan’s breathing quickened as his fists clenched with fury and overwhelming worry. He ran a hand through his hair. He had to think—to act rationally. And so, running back to the barn and wasting no time in saddling, he mounted a barebacked horse. He would ride to Travis and Brenna’s home.

  

  “They’ve taken her, I tell ya’!” Brevan shouted as Brenna and Lita both burst into tears. Brian and Travis could only stare at him, stunned momentarily. “In the least of it they have taken her!”

  “This has gone on long enough!” Brian bellowed then. “We must go to Juan Miguel. He has her. He wants you to come…but we’ll go together. We three, we will. And we’ll get her back, Brevan.”

  “To think what they may have done to her, Brian,” Brevan breathed. Lita sobbed bitterly.

  “Brian,” Travis said then. “You take Lita and the baby and Brenna into town. I’ll go with Brevan. Tell Sheriff Dawson what’s happened. I only hope he’s back from Santa Fe by now.”

  

  “Where’s me wife, Archuleta?” Brevan growled. He dismounted his horse and began striding angrily toward Juan Miguel. Cruz stepped in front of his father, however, and Brevan stopped his advance, glaring hatefully at the filthy villain before him.

  “What’s this? Why do you put your dirty feet on our land, McLean?” Cruz asked.

  Inhaling deeply, Brevan delivered a powerful fist to Cruz’s midsection, sending him crumpling to the ground and gasping for breath.

  “What is the meaning of this, Señor McLean? You come onto my land and attack my son?” Juan Miguel raged as he moved toward Brevan.

  Facing Juan Miguel, Brevan repeated his question. “Where is my wife? What have ya done with her? Believe me when I tell ya that if that maggot-infested son of yars has laid one finger on her, I’ll kill every member of yar family that I find here!”

  Juan Miguel patted Mateo reassuringly on the back as the young man came to stand beside his father. Turning to Cruz, he asked, “Cruz, do you know anything about Señor McLean’s esposa?”

  Cruz pulled himself to his feet and shook his head, feigning innocence. He moved to stand face to face with Brevan and spat, “I have no idea where your esposa is, McLean. And if I did, I would not tell you, for the look of fear on your face is enough to give me pleasure for years to come.”

  Brevan’s massive chest rose and fell with barely restrained vengeance. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting for self-control. He had to stay calm. He couldn’t kill the man until he had found Genieva—else he may never find her. He looked to Mateo for a moment. The expression of guilt blazoned on the young man’s face was his undoing.

  “’Twas Archuleta horses that trampled me orchards,” he addressed Juan Miguel, though he glared intently at Mateo. “Four of them. I’ll give ya one guess who rode them in.”

  “I hate you, McLean,” Juan Miguel growled. He spit on the ground at Brevan’s feet and said, “I want your lands, but I do not have your wife. I would not harm your woman. I do not need to use a woman to get what I want.”

  “Even if I believed ya,” Brevan growled, “I know Cruz has the devil in him and that he has threatened Genieva many times since she first arrived here. He has taken her!” he shouted. “He has taken her, and it is on yar head that I place the blame, for the deviled demon in him was begat by you!” Turning back to Cruz, Brevan clutched the fabric of the front of his shirt. “Tell me!” he shouted. “Tell me where she is!”

  “I am so sorry, hombre, I cannot tell you,” Cruz said, an evil smile on his face as he shook his head. “I don’t know where your little niña is. Perhaps she has gone to a better man. A man who…” His words were cut short by Brevan’s powerful fist meeting squarely with his nose.

  Rushing forward, two vaqueros took hold of Brevan’s arms, pulling him backward and away from Cruz. But Travis raised his rifle, aiming it squarely at Juan Miguel’s head.

  “You let him be, Archuleta. Or I’ll put a bullet in that ugly mug of yours,” Travis growled.

  Juan Miguel ordered the men to release Brevan. He frowned as he addressed Cruz, “I said n
othing about harming the woman, Cruz. Do you know where she is? I am beginning to wonder if there is some truth to what your hermano Joaquin has told me.”

  Cruz chuckled and dabbed at his bloodied nose with his shirt. “I have no hermano Joaquin, Papá. I have no interest in the señora. McLean has lost her somewhere and blames me.”

  Juan Miguel looked to Mateo, who immediately lowered his gaze. Though he still seemed uncertain, Juan Miguel insisted, “Cruz says he has not seen your esposa. He is my son. I stand by him.”

  Brevan laughed once—a disbelieving laugh of being awed by the man’s feigned stupidity. “He stalks women and violates them, and ya stand by him? If ya deny what he is, Juan Miguel, then ya’re truly a demon with him.”

  Juan Miguel stood silent for a moment. He looked to Cruz, who nodded reassuringly at him. “Get off my land,” Juan Miguel growled then, reaching to his back and producing a pistol. “You will not come here and accuse my son of such deeds!”

  Brevan wanted to lunge at him—pound him into the earth with his own fists. But the thought of Genieva stopped him. He must find her. He had no doubt Cruz and Mateo knew where she was, but he was beginning to see that perhaps Juan Miguel was earnest in not knowing of her whereabouts. He seemed truly unnerved by Brevan’s accusations. Brevan knew he must remain unharmed—stay strong for Genieva. If harm came to him, he knew harm would come to her. More than he feared already had.

  “We’ll go,” Brevan agreed. “We’ll go for now. But know this, Juan Miguel…me wife’s blood is spilled in me own house. Her footprints and the shoe prints of Archuleta horses are trailed to me orchards. She has disappeared, and yar son is responsible for it. I will find her. I will find her, and then I will find you and yar criminal sons. And when I do, ya’ll wish the screechin’ banshee had found ya first!”

  As they turned to leave, Brevan mumbled, “We must look for her, Travis. Genieva is not there. Juan Miguel would know it, and it was not on his face. Still, the younger son, Mateo…he knows. I am certain he knows what happened. We’ll go back to the orchard and look. The trail has to go somewhere. She has to be somewhere.”

  Brevan was physically ill with worry—his mind conjuring too many horrid fates that his beautiful Genieva may have endured. He felt a hot stinging as the moisture rose to his eyes, and he coughed to fight its release.

  “Genieva,” he muttered as the fear in him rose to a level he thought might render him helpless should he give in to it.

  

  They searched. Brian arrived from town after having left the women and the baby with Mrs. Fenton. And they searched. Sheriff Dawson was still away, and the one deputy that the town owned had gone to confront the Archuletas himself.

  “We can’t see anymore, Brevan,” Brian repeated again some hours after the sun had set. “We can’t see.”

  Brevan shook his head, clenched his jaw, and pointed an angry index finger at his brother. “Were it Lita or Brenna, I would do no less, Brian. We’ll look. We’ll look until we drop dead from it.”

  “Brevan,” Brian said calmly. “I only suggest we be goin’ back to the house for some lanterns. We can’t see where we ride in the dark, and it will do Genieva no good if we injure ourselves.”

  Travis put a quieting hand on Brevan’s shoulder. “He’s right, Brevan. We need light. We’ll look. We’ll look until we find her, but we need light.”

  The house was dark as they approached it—for there was no beloved wife at home to have lit the lanterns as the sun had set.

  As they neared, the hair on Brevan’s arms and legs and the back of his neck prickled as Brian mumbled, “Oh, preserve us! The pond. In the pond, Brevan.”

  Swallowing hard, Brevan slowly turned to look at the pond as they neared. The moonlight shone through a break in the clouds—he felt his heart nearly stop as his eyes fell on the white object floating in the pond. It was motionless. It was Genieva! The white of her petticoats and blouse billowing up from the water’s surface was all too vivid in the moonlight.

  Leaping from his horse and shouting in anguish, Brevan ran headlong into the water, swimming frantically toward her. Gasping for air and choking on the agony in his throat, he reached out, taking hold of the white fabric and pulling Genieva’s body toward him.

  “We wanted to be sure you found…something, McLean,” Cruz’s voice said from the darkness. Brevan tore at the fabric then to reveal only a large log beneath it. Swimming vigorously to the opposite shore, he ran at the villain, but Cruz spurred his horse, and Brevan stumbled to the ground.

  “Where is she?” Brevan shouted angrily at the villain as he stood, spitting water from his mouth and wiping it from his eyes.

  Brevan had felt relief when he had realized it was only a log floating in the water—relief that weakened his body for a moment. He stood still, nearly gasping for breath as Mateo rode up beside Cruz.

  “Well, she’s not in the pond,” Cruz chuckled.

  Ignoring the villain’s insanity-laced sarcasm, Brevan looked up to Mateo. “Ya’re a good boy, Mateo. Like Joaquin,” Brevan panted as he labored to catch his breath. “Tell me where she is, lad.”

  Mateo looked to Cruz and then to Brevan and back. He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

  “She has left you, McLean. Left you for a real man!” Cruz shouted. The sound of Brian’s rifle shattered the night air, and Cruz clutched his grazed leg.

  “Wait!” Brevan shouted. “They know where she is, Brian. Wait!” But Cruz was provoked, and Mateo obviously unsettled.

  “I spit on your name, McLean. And I spit on your esposa! Mí padre is a fool! This land…it’s all he wants. But me…I am smart. I want much more. I want the lands, I want you dead, and I want your esposa. Sí, I know where she is, McLean. She is nowhere.” Then shouting, “Apúrate, Mateo!” he rode away.

  Mateo’s horse stomped the ground anxiously, but the young man paused. Just before following his brother into the darkness, he said in a lowered voice, “The rocky hills to the north. A pit. She’s fallen there. I do not know if she lives.” Then he rode away, following his brother.

  Frantically, Brevan mounted his horse as Brian and Travis joined him with it. “The old mine!” he urged them as he dug his heels brutally into his horse—heading to the house for lanterns.

  

  The moist, confined air with its odor of molds and moss was causing Genieva’s stomach to sour. She had tried to stay calm—tried not to not panic during the day while the sun still shone down through the opening above her. But the sun had set hours before, and she now sat in complete darkness—praying that the moon would rise high enough at any moment to allow some hint of light into her prison. When the sun had set, it had also taken what little warmth had been given her, and now she was chilled and wet as she sat—in the dark and so very frightened. The cold, merciless anxiety devised by anticipation overwhelmed her. Night had come. And with it, would Cruz? Would Cruz keep good his threats to return for her? And what then? She knew all too well what he meant to do to her.

  “Brevan,” Genieva whispered aloud. “Please find me, Brevan.” And she thought of him again, as she had all through the day and evening. What inexplicable joy she had known the previous night when she had realized he did, indeed, love her. When he had confessed his love aloud as she gazed into the deep blue of his eyes, she had thought for a moment she was dreaming—but she hadn’t been dreaming—it was true. She’d realized then, too, that it had not been a dream she had experienced the night previous to that one—the night following the birth of Lita’s baby. When he had gathered her into his arms, telling her of his love for her, she’d realized that the smell of him, the feel of his powerful arms around her, the smooth surface of his skin were too familiar to have only been dreamt of before. She remembered at that moment that he had carried her to bed—held her warmly in his embrace through the night. And all the time she thought she had dreamt it.

  And now—oh how she ached for Brevan’s strength again—longed for the security that o
nly he could provide for her. She thought of the soft feel of his hair between her fingers—the feel of his whiskery face beneath her palms. She broke into goose bumps at the memory of the warm, sweet taste of his mouth when he kissed her. She thought of him dancing about in the rain weeks earlier—like a king of the little people happy in his trickery. She thought of him covered in cake batter—standing angry before her one moment and chuckling as he dragged her into the pond the next. She thought of him championing her before her father—his capable hand pressing firmly against her belly—and she smiled then, knowing that someday she would carry his child there. She thought of the story Brenna had told her about Brevan and his desire to grow tall and strong. He was tall and very, very strong, and she smiled at the thought of him up to his ankles in fresh cow manure. Yet in the next instant, her delight quickly changed to sobbing as tears of fear and despair flooded her cheeks. She was safe for the moment. Certainly she was imprisoned in a lightless cell of mildew and death, but she was safe. Was he? She had tried to fight thoughts of harm coming to Brevan—for hours she’d fought them. But now, fatigue and despair won out, and she cried for him. Cried for him to help her, yes, but cried more over the anxiety of not knowing whether or not Cruz had murdered her husband in the hours since she had fallen.

  Then, as if heaven itself had understood her fears, she heard him calling from above, “Genieva? Genieva? Do ya see anythin’, lads?”

  “Brevan!” she cried, standing and looking toward the opening overhead.

  “Genieva, where are ya, lass?”

  “Brevan, down here.” Instantly a lantern appeared through the opening. She prayed thankfully and silently as it then illuminated the rugged features of her husband’s face.

  “Are ya well, lass?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Brian, fetch the rope from yar saddle! Quickly, lad! Ya wait there, Genieva. I’ll be down in a minute. Ya just wait right there.”

  Genieva laughed and smiled through her tears of relief. “Where would I go, Brevan?”