Bess looked devastated. “I’m sorry. I seem to be saying all the wrong things, don’t I?”
Lynda could see the loneliness in the girl’s eyes. She clearly wanted a friend. “It’s all right.” She set the cloth aside. “How long have you been here?”
“Only a few days. I was so glad to come to town. Back on the land my father bought, it’s so lonely—no women at all. I hope we come here often.”
“Sometimes the weather or the general chores of ranching can keep you away from town for weeks at a time,” Lynda answered. “I agree it’s a lonely life. At least I have my mother. If you really do live close, you should come and visit.”
The girl swallowed, and Lynda was surprised to see that her eyes seemed to be tearing. “I would dearly love that.”
“Then we would love to have you.”
Bess looked relieved. “Oh, thank you!” She looked at Lynda closer. “Are you … are you Indian?”
Lynda sensed nothing but curiosity in the question. “I’m part Cheyenne, on my father’s side. My mother is white.”
“White!” Bess looked her over like some kind of unusual object. “I’ve never known someone with mixed blood. You’re very beautiful.”
Lynda suppressed laughter at the girl’s almost childish curiosity. She was only a year younger than Lynda but seemed much younger than that. Lynda reminded herself she had been through things this girl probably knew nothing about. In attitude and her knowledge of the world’s realities, she was years beyond this girl staring at her now.
“Thank you—I think,” she answered.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—I meant that as a compliment,” the girl told her. “Back home there are very few Indians left, except a few Osage. I have seen a lot more since we got to Texas.” She couldn’t help still feeling sorry for the young Osage men who had hung for her brother’s death. She had seen her brother drinking and provoking them earlier that day, calling them names and making fun of them. They had only come there looking for work. And she had seen Billy Parker, a boy who had always hated her brother, follow him into the barn the night Charles Jr. died. She had told her father, but the man was so against Indians he would not believe anyone else but the Osage men had murdered his son. The whole farming community was quickly up in arms and had the Indians arrested. Her father had forced her to watch the awful hanging, and she would never forget their constant protests and pleading, and the way one of them cried before being hung. Nor would she forget the look on Billy Parker’s face—one of victory. She had never been able since then to hate the Indians the way her father did.
“I’ve never known any Indians who owned land and had money,” she went on.
Lynda frowned. “Well, we’re just like anyone else. My father owns thousands of acres. He was one of the first settlers here. And he raises some of the finest horses in these parts.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does, ma’am,” the girl answered quickly.
A faint smile passed over Lynda’s lips. “Call me Lynda.”
The girl breathed deeply, looking relieved. “And you can call me Bess.” She laughed nervously then. “I guess I already told you my name.” She twisted the strings of her purse more. “I’m going to ask my father if he’ll let me come and visit you. I mean, if you don’t mind. It’s just so nice meeting someone my age.”
“Yes, it is for me, too. Since my husband died, I get so lonely, even with my family around. I would like it very much if you visited.” Lynda picked up the cloth again and moved to a nearby rack of ribbons. “Maybe you could help me pick out a nice ribbon that I could use to decorate this cloth. I sew a lot. My mother and I make most of our own clothes, and I’ll make my baby’s clothes.”
“Oh, I don’t sew much at all. Maybe you could teach me.”
“That would be fun.” Lynda ran her dark, slender fingers through the ribbon, studying the colors.
“A pretty ribbon for the squaw’s hair?” a male voice spoke up behind her in a slow drawl.
Lynda felt a tinge of fear as she turned to look into the grinning face of a man of perhaps forty. He smiled through brown teeth, and a stained scarf hung limply around his dirty neck. His blue cotton shirt bore perspiration stains under the arms, and his pale blue eyes moved over her appreciatively. “What’s a squaw doin’ in a white man’s store?”
“I am not a squaw. I am the daughter of a Texas landowner, and you had better get away from me or you will answer to my brother,” Lynda replied firmly, refusing to show any fear.
The man only laughed. “That so? Well, I’d look forward to it.” His eyes moved to Bess Hafer. “What you doin’ talkin’ to an Indian, little girl? Don’t you know nice white girls don’t talk to squaws? It’s the same as talkin’ to a whore.”
The storekeeper looked in their direction, then looked away. He would not stick up for an Indian, nor for a white girl who would let herself be seen talking to one.
Bess reddened with anger. “You get away from here,” she answered, trying to sound brave. “I’ll talk to whomever I want. And some of my father’s men are outside waiting for me. You’d better get away from both of us. We haven’t bothered you any, so why are you bothering us?”
The man reached out and jerked the bolt of cloth from Lynda’s hands, throwing it on the floor. “Any man can bother a pretty squaw any time he wants. Ain’t no law against that.” He came closer. “And this is the prettiest piece of Indian woman I’ve ever set my eyes on.”
He grasped Lynda’s wrists suddenly and jerked her arms behind her. A couple of men who were standing nearby only laughed as he tried to kiss Lynda’s neck while she twisted away from him and kicked him hard in the leg. The man howled from the vicious kick and let go, bending down to rub his leg, while Bess picked up a bolt of heavier cloth and slammed it over the man’s head, the unexpected blow catching him off balance and knocking him to the floor.
The men who had been watching laughed even louder as the two women stepped back. “You get away and leave her alone,” Bess said angrily. She thought how angry her father would be if he knew about this, but she didn’t care.
Lynda watched the man with dark, hateful eyes. He got to his knees, then stood up. He glowered at Bess, incensed that two women had hurt him and knocked him down in front of the other men.
“You stupid little bitch!” He came closer and pushed Bess away with a swing of the arm, making her stumble against another counter, then reached for Lynda again; but she had quietly grabbed up a pair of sewing shears while he was bent over. She raised her hand, threatening to stab him if he came closer.
The man hesitated, grinning. “Well, well. The squaw bitch is a fighter, is she?”
Suddenly he felt a pistol in his ribs. “Get away from these women,” a hard voice warned.
The man froze as someone behind him moved away.
“Step back,” came the voice. The man slowly turned. He looked into the dark eyes of Tom Sax. Bess Hafer watched in surprise, taken by the tall, handsome Indian, knowing instantly this must be the brother Lynda had mentioned.
“You’re lookin’ for bad trouble, boy.”
“I’d say it’s the other way around. You make a move toward them again, and you won’t need a mouth to breathe through. I’ll open a hole right in your lungs!”
The man swallowed, seeing the determination in Tom Sax’s eyes. “Just havin’ a little fun, boy. You Indians shouldn’t be in a place like this. This is a supply store for white folks.”
“My father was here long before you ever stepped foot in Texas, mister. And we aren’t too crazy about the trash that’s coming in these days! You get your smelly body away from my sister!”
“Sister?” The man grinned. “Sure, boy. But you’d best keep a better eye on her. Everybody knows Indian women is for the takin’, and when they look like that, it sets a man’s desires kind of rushin’ on, if you know what I mean.”
Tom waved the pistol and spoke through gritted teeth. “Get the hell out of my sight before I open up your gut!”
�
�You want some help, Lou?” one of the onlookers asked Lynda’s attacker. “The boy can’t take all three of us.”
“Maybe I can even up the odds,” said another voice behind them. They turned to see a menacing Indian man in buckskins towering over them, his hand resting on the handle of a huge knife.
Both men swallowed and one of them scowled. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m not fightin’ two Indians,” one of them grumbled. “Indians fight dirty.” Both onlookers quickly moved past Caleb, whose steely blue eyes moved then to the first man, who was still held at gunpoint by Tom. The man put on a grin, trying to be casual and look unafraid.
“I give up,” he said kiddingly. “Just have trouble controllin’ myself around pretty women,” he added. He moved his eyes to Lynda and Bess. “Sorry, ladies.” He turned and quickly darted past Caleb, wanting nothing more than to get away from the two Indians. “Damned savages,” he muttered on the way out.
Tom looked at his father and shoved his pistol into his belt. “Bastards. What kind of people are coming to San Felipe? We never had this kind of trouble before.”
Caleb walked up to Lynda. “Are you all right?”
Lynda blinked back tears, bending down and picking up the cloth. “Just angry,” she said in a shaking voice. “I wanted to kill him!”
Bess stood aside, nearly in tears herself. She felt like an outsider—one of the new people the younger man had complained of. Lynda turned to face her. “Thank you, Bess, for sticking up for me.”
Tom’s eyes moved to the young white girl, truly noticing her for the first time. His cheeks suddenly felt hot, and pleasant urges rushed through his body. She was beautiful. She filled out the bodice of her green dress in a most enticing way, and her eyes were large and tender as a young doe’s.
“This is Bess Hafer,” Lynda was telling them. “She tried to help me. She even hit that man over the head with a bolt of cloth.” She laughed lightly then. “It seems funny now.” She reached out and grasped Bess’s arm, drawing her closer. “Bess, this is my brother, Tom. And this other man is my father, Caleb Sax.”
Bess tore her eyes from staring at Tom to glance at Caleb. “How do you do, Mister Sax. I’m new here, too, but I’m not like those men.”
Caleb grinned in amusement. “I have no doubt of that. Thank you for trying to help my daughter.”
The girl shivered. “That man was terrible. I was embarrassed at the way he talked to Lynda.” She looked back at Tom then, as though he were some kind of hero, “But your son stopped him from hurting us.”
“Oh, he shoved you, didn’t he?” Lynda said then. “I just remembered. Are you all right?”
The girl put a hand to her chest. “Yes.” Her eyes were still on Tom. “I’m glad to meet you, Mister Sax.”
Tom nodded. “You, too.” Their eyes held. Tom’s experience with women had been primarily with a Mexican woman named Rosy back at the ranch. Rosy was a widow who welcomed anyone to her bed, especially the handsome Cheyenne patrón, the Spanish word for “boss.” She knew the extent of his commitment to her did not go beyond the sexual pleasures she afforded him, and she didn’t mind. And there had been a couple of prostitutes in town he favored. Tom knew a great deal about women, or at least he thought he did. But this one …
He raised his chin, angry with himself for letting this girl make him feel so uncomfortable and nervous. “Where do you live?” he asked her.
Bess twisted at the purse strings again. “I could never find it by myself. It’s somewhere north of here, on the Brazos. I was just telling your sister that I think we’re neighbors. My father said something about buying land that joins land owned by someone named Sax.” He was beautiful! How she would love to know him better. Her father would think it wrong, but Tom Sax was so handsome, so brave but so soft-spoken. Bess began to redden under his dark gaze, and she looked over at Caleb, suddenly feeling exposed. “My father will be at the meeting. You can meet him then.” She wondered why she had said that. Her father hated Indians! Maybe with these people for neighbors, her father would discover they were not all bad.
Caleb nodded. “I would like to, if it’s true we’ll be neighbors.”
She looked back at Tom. “Thank you for stopping that man.”
Tom Sax had never seen such a pretty girl in his life. “You and my sister seemed to be doing very well on your own. It might have been interesting to see how much he would have suffered just answering to you two,” he told her, breaking into a winning smile.
Bess reddened more, and laughed nervously. “Actually I was scared to death.” She looked around the store. “Isn’t there any law here?”
“Not much.”
“It’s certainly not like St. Louis.”
“St. Louis? Is that where you’re from?” Caleb asked. “My wife is from there.”
“Well, we all have something in common,” Bess replied with a bright smile. “But we are not really from the city itself. We had a farm a few miles from town. My father sold it and came to Texas when my mother and brother died.”
“I see. I’m sorry about your loss.”
The girl’s smile faded. “It’s kind of lonely for me. There aren’t any women at our place. I was telling Lynda that I would like to come and visit.”
“I would like that,” Tom spoke up, still grinning.
Bess reddened and Caleb subdued an urge to laugh, but Lynda raised her eyebrows and shifted the bolt of cloth in her arm. “I bet you would, big brother. She’s the prettiest girl in these parts and you know it.”
Tom gave her a look of brotherly anger, and his dark skin did little to hide the color that came to his face. He shifted, putting on a manly, uncaring air. “I agree it must be lonely for her,” he answered. He looked at Bess again. “You come and visit any time.” He turned to his father. “We had better go to the meeting.”
Caleb looked at Lynda. “Did you find what you want?”
“I didn’t have much time. Give me a couple more minutes.”
“The meeting is starting. Why don’t we go and come back here after it ends? I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“All right.”
Tom looked at Bess again. “Is there someone supposed to be watching after you?”
Her heart fluttered with the realization that he was concerned for her safety. Tom Sax looked like a man who could protect any woman, a man of skill and bravery. She was sure of that already. “Some of my father’s men are outside, but those terrible men in here weren’t any of them. I’ll be fine. In fact, my father will be here any minute. All of you go ahead. I’ll look for you at the meeting.”
“Are you sure we can leave you?”
“Oh, yes. No one will bother me anyway. It was just because your sister is In—” She reddened again. “They bothered her because she’s Indian.”
Tom noticed her eyes moving to his own long, dark hair that hung from beneath his leather hat over the shoulders of the checked shirt he wore. He wondered what she thought of Indians herself, but this was neither the time nor the place to ask.
“Tom, we have to go,” Caleb spoke up.
Tom’s eyes moved over Bess Hafer again, drinking in her perfectly rounded beauty. “I guess maybe we’ll see each other again.”
The girl nodded. “I am glad to meet all of you. I feel better already about being here in Texas.” She looked at Lynda. “Good-bye, Lynda.”
Lynda took her hand and squeezed it. “Good-bye.” She moved to Caleb and he took her arm. Tom looked at Bess a moment longer, then turned to follow them.
“We have got to be more careful—and you watch your temper, Tom,” Caleb said when they got outside. “A lot of these newcomers are from the South, where they’re forcing all the Cherokee and the Choctaw out. They don’t like Indians owning land.”
“Bastards,” Tom muttered. “That son of a bitch had no right putting his hands on Lynda. I wanted to shoot him.”
“Take it easy here in town. Some of these people would love to see an Indian ha
ng.”
Caleb, Tom, and Lynda moved through a crowd that kept growing as they approached the platform. “There’s Sam Houston now,” Caleb heard someone in the crowd say, pointing to a tall, stately man on the platform.
“He’ll help us figure out what to do,” another put in. “Jackson himself sent him here.”
Tom hardly heard. His mind swirled with thoughts of Bess Hafer. Not only was she pretty, but she was also kind and brave. She had stood up for Lynda. A man didn’t have to know a girl like that long to realize she was good—a quality woman in the making. He had trouble making himself think about anything else as they moved through a rowdy crowd, keeping Lynda between them.
Caleb saw that Sarah had been right. San Felipe was fast growing into a meeting place for war talk, and these new volunteers coming in were not the kind of people he would like to see settling in the area. But not only was he disturbed by the kind of people filtering in and rumors of war; Caleb found the consequences such a war could have on all settlers disturbing. Compared to Mexican forces, there were very few Texans; and in war it seemed even the winning side had its share of losses, both in lives and in finances. Caleb had seen war before. Now that he had a family, it was the last thing he wanted, and he was sure a lot of the other settlers felt the same way. But some kind of confrontation was inevitable.
“Who is this Santa Anna?” someone shouted. “The bastard wants to take away my weapons—leave me helpless against the Comanche!”
“We agreed to settle this part of the country for them, and they turn around and take away our weapons so we can’t defend ourselves against Indians,” someone else shouted. “Where’s the protection they promised us? They don’t even send the soldiers who are supposed to help us. Then they try to take our guns.”
More shouting picked up until no one could be heard individually. Fists were raised and Caleb put an arm around Lynda’s waist, keeping her close.
The man on the platform above the crowd waved his arms for them all to be quiet.
“Shut up so we can hear Mister Houston,” someone yelled, joined by others.
“They say Andrew Jackson has a strong interest in Texas’s value to the States,” came another voice.
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