Frontier Fires

by Rosanne Bittner

  Young John rode beside Tom, his own long, dark hair flying in the wind, a bright blue band tied along his forehead. He wore cotton pants and a blue calico shirt. Both John and Tom wore Indian moccasins. John all but worshipped his older brother, who spent more time with him now that Lee was gone. John had changed since the Comanche raid. He did a man’s work, and he yearned to be as grown up as Tom and his father. He would never forget his father’s quick skills the night he was rescued, and he often tried to visualize some of the adventures his father told about in the days he rode against the Crow. There was an Indian spirit in both John and Tom that all the living like a white man would not quell, and both often talked about how much fun it would be to ride free on the plains.

  The Handels hurried over to greet Sarah and Caleb. A few men were already busily hammering pegs into holes in order to connect beams to the corner posts of the already-rising barn. Men on the beams turned to stare.

  “I’ll be damned,” one of them muttered. “Indians. I wonder who invited them.”

  Jess Purnell turned to look, feeling a little flutter in his chest when he realized it must be the Saxes. “They’re neighbors to the south,” he told the man who had made the remark. “Hafer invited them.”

  “He did, did he? Now that’s damned strange.”

  Jess faced the man. “What do you mean?”

  The man shrugged. “I done heard him tell one man he intended to do something about Indians who owned land in Texas—said it wasn’t right. I tend to agree with him, and so do most folks in these parts. You got a partiality to Indians, Purnell? You’d best tell him if you have a soft spot for redskins.”

  The man sneered the words and Jess returned to his hammering. “I’ve got no soft spot for them—not the ones who make trouble anyway. But there’s no reason to stir up the peaceful ones. Texas has enough trouble right now.”

  Sarah handed Mildred Handel several loaves of potato bread and a deep kettle of frijoles, flavored with salt pork and her own choice of spices that enhanced the flavor of the pinto beans. Lynda offered three cherry pies made from wild cherry trees that grew near the river on Sax land.

  There were a few other people there Caleb and Sarah knew and many they did not know. Most were friendly but cool. Sarah knew why but it didn’t bother her. She proudly showed off three-month-old James, a fat, smiling boy who was more beautiful than any white baby there as far as she was concerned. James had his father’s blue eyes, and skin that was a lovely pale brown but not as dark as Caleb’s. His sandy hair was a mass of thick curls, totally unlike his father’s and brothers’ straight, black hair.

  It was the baby who warmed the situation and brought other women flocking, some out of curiosity, wondering how a white woman could sleep with an Indian man, but many secretly understanding. Even though they whispered about the “odd” marriage and the fact that Sarah Sax seemed genuinely happy, none could deny the handsome looks of Caleb Sax, nor the stirrings any woman felt in his commanding presence. But, the other women whispered, wasn’t it true Indian men were cruel to their women? Still, Sarah Sax certainly didn’t look abused. Whenever she looked at her man, love shone in her eyes like the sun.

  Some of the men grumbled among themselves about the fact that Caleb Sax was harboring Cherokee refugees from Georgia. Texas didn’t need any more Indians than it already had. Some thought he should send them to Indian Territory where they belonged, but none had the courage to tell him so. Even better, they would like to see Caleb himself go with them.

  Caleb, wearing buckskin pants and a deep blue calico shirt that matched his eyes, walked on long legs toward the barn, leaving Sarah with Mildred Handel. Lynda stayed with her mother, and John was soon playing with other boys his age and younger—children who still did not carry all the hatred and prejudice of their elders. But there were a few who were already on their way to such feelings and who would not play with John. They were boys slightly older, who stood off to the side, some of them smoking pipes and feeling very grown up, especially when they occasionally made remarks whenever John was near, joking about the “Indian bastard.” John struggled to pay no heed. He had been ordered by his father to start no trouble.

  Tom rode near the food table, his eyes scanning the group of people who had gathered, some coming for many miles just for the chance to visit and picnic. He finally spotted Bess. She was watching him and she blushed and smiled when he caught her eye. She looked delicious, filling out the bodice of her yellow dress with full, firm breasts Tom was sure had never been touched by man. It only made her all the more attractive to him, let alone the bright smile she gave him now, dimples showing in her fair but blushing cheeks. He rode closer.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Bess wondered if she would faint. One word and she felt weak. All her father’s warnings immediately meant nothing to her. She paid no heed to some of the women who turned to stare when she said hello to the young Indian man.

  “I have to go help with the barn awhile, but I will be back. Can I talk with you?” Tom asked.

  “I’d like that.”

  His grin grew wider, and his dark eyes scanned the array of food. “That all looks pretty good. What did you make?”

  She twisted her fingers nervously. “I baked a cake—and I made a potato salad.”

  “Then that is what I will eat first.” His horse whinnied and pranced nervously, and Tom yanked on the reins, patting the animal’s neck and talking to it soothingly. Bess’s skin tingled. What a mannerly and handsome young man he was. There was so much she wanted to know about him, about Indians, about his parents. “I’ll be right here,” she told him.

  He nodded. “I will look for you.”

  It was understood—so quickly.

  He didn’t have to know her well to know she was the most wonderful girl in the whole world. And she did not have to know him well to be sure he was the most wonderful man. The attraction was instant and powerful—as natural as breathing.

  Tom rode past her and she watched after him. She would be glad when the men all came down for their meal later in the afternoon. The hours beforehand would seem like days.

  Caleb set a beam in place, with the help of Jess Purnell. He held it steady while Purnell drilled a peg hole carefully, turning the auger with a strong arm, then removing the shavings and shoving in a peg partway, then pounding it hard.

  “This is good oak,” Caleb commented. “Hafer must have brought it in from the East.”

  “Yup. Only the best for Mister Hafer,” Jess answered. “That’s what they say.”

  “Any idea where he gets the money?”

  Jess shrugged. “Damned if I know. Some say it’s from the sale of his farm back in Missouri, but I never knew a farm that brought this kind of money. Some think somebody is backing him. Others say he was a wealthy man on his own. He’s kind of vague about it. I think someone is backing him myself. There’s plenty of men with money back in the States who are watching Texas, you know—waiting to see what happens, figuring this territory could be valuable some day.”

  “Well, that’s what white men are best at, sizing up the value of land and moving in for the kill.”

  Jess turned to look at him. “Not all of us.”

  Their eyes held, and Caleb studied Jess Purnell’s intently before returning to his work. There was an open honesty about the man that he liked.

  Purnell picked up the auger. “How is your daughter holding up?”

  Caleb was immediately wary. “She’s fine.”

  “How long has her husband been gone?”

  “Three months. Not long enough for her to be interested in anyone else, especially not someone who works for an Indian hater.”

  Purnell stopped drilling and looked at him again. “Look, Sax, I’m no Indian hater.”

  “You work for one. That’s the same thing in my book.”

  “You don’t know he’s an Indian hater.”

  “I’ve been through enough to know an Indian hater when I see one.”


  “Why did you come then?”

  Caleb lifted another beam with strong arms. “To give my wife a chance to visit—and to check out Hafer.” He laid the beam in place.

  More Hafer men moved closer then with still another beam and Purnell said nothing more. He had gotten off on a bad foot with Caleb Sax, something he had not wanted. Why shouldn’t the man think him an Indian hater when he worked for a man who apparently was? But then it didn’t much matter. Sax’s daughter was apparently far from ready to take an interest in any man. It was a source of irritation to Jess Purnell, who had not been able to get her off his mind since first setting eyes on her in San Felipe. She had a savage beauty about her that stirred needs in a man seldom satisfied in this desolate land.

  By late afternoon the men had most of the barn up—enough that Hafer’s men could finish it within a couple of weeks. Charles Hafer made the rounds introducing himself as the men climbed down from their lofty perches, thanking each of them with a handshake and a ten-dollar note. His eyes took on a challenging look when he slapped the money into Caleb’s hand.

  “Well, well, you really came. Glad to see you, Sax.”

  He was almost as tall as Caleb, but not quite. Both had broad shoulders, but Caleb was more slender and solid, whereas Hafer was a balding, barrel-chested man.

  “Appreciate the money, Hafer. But I didn’t come here expecting to get paid. A barn raising is a neighborly get-together. I’d rather have the use of some of your men in return—to rebuild the barn the Comanche burned down on my place.”

  Hafer put on a patronizing grin. “Oh, I’d oblige you, Sax, but I’ve got my hands full here. I really can’t spare any men. There’s an awful lot of work to do getting a place going. You surely know that. We’ve started a house, too.” He nodded toward a partially finished stone structure. “I want to get my Bess out of that closet of a cabin we’re living in. You understand.”

  Caleb shoved the bill into his pocket. “Sure. And we both know hardly any of these people would come to any barn raising I might hold, except maybe the Handels. But then they’re good, honest people who appreciate a man for what he is, not for his money or the color of his skin.”

  Hafer frowned. “Oh, now, you misjudge me, Sax.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hafer’s grin immediately vanished. Caleb Sax was smarter and more cunning than he’d figured.

  “I’m told you’re harboring quite a few Cherokees on your place, Sax,” he said defensively. “I’d be careful doing that, if I were you. You’re walking on eggs already, being part Indian yourself.”

  Caleb lit his cigar. “That so? You think you’re telling me something I don’t already know, making a friendly suggestion, or giving me a warning?”

  “Oh, a friendly suggestion, I assure you. It matters hardly at all to me. But if we’re going to be neighbors, I’d hate to see you having a lot of troubles, and it does make me a little uncomfortable having so many Indians right next door. You’re perfectly welcome, of course, but how do I know I can trust those newcomers who have nothing?”

  Caleb puffed the cigar. “You can trust them. They’re probably more honest than any white man you’ve ever dealt with.” His eyes moved to Tom, who was standing near Bess Hafer drinking a glass of water. He could almost feel the sparks flying, and he well knew the trouble that was brewing. But he couldn’t have kept Tom away without tying him to a post. Tom was man enough to make his own decisions, and Caleb suddenly didn’t care if Tom took an interest in the girl.

  “At any rate, I’m still grateful, Sax, for your coming today,” Hafer was saying. “I met your wife, by the way. Beautiful woman. Beautiful woman.” Caleb knew the man was wondering why on earth Sarah had married an Indian. “And a fine-looking baby boy you have there.” Caleb started to answer but the man interrupted him. “Sorry I can’t supply any men to help with your barn.”

  Hafer immediately and rudely turned his back on Caleb and began talking to the next man. Caleb was glad. It kept Hafer from noticing that his daughter was walking off with Tom Sax. Caleb just grinned to himself and left to find Sarah, as men began to line up for food.

  Chapter

  Ten

  * * *

  Bess leaned back against the stone wall of the unfinished house, which sat on a hill overlooking the crowd that had gathered for the barn raising. Below, everyone ate and visited. Here, she and Tom Sax were alone and unseen, where they could talk without whispers and stares. Still, the whispers and stares didn’t much matter to her. She barely noticed. Tom Sax had come straight to her when he came down from the barn and asked her to walk with him. He didn’t even want to eat first. She felt light-headed, almost dizzy. His arm had brushed hers once and a wonderful tingle moved across her skin.

  “It’s such a beautiful story—terrible but beautiful,” she told him. He had been telling her about Caleb and Sarah, and how they had found each other again after thinking each other dead. Tom stood near her, almost too near, his hand resting against the wall behind her so that he leaned close. “And your stepmother is so beautiful, Tom. I met her while we were preparing the food table. She’s so—so elegant for a woman out here. I found it easy to talk to her. She makes me miss my mother.”

  “She is a good woman.” His eyes moved over her. “I hardly know you, but I think you are much like her. And you are very beautiful yourself.”

  She smiled and looked down. “Thank you.” She swallowed, every nerve end, every part of her body feeling so alive. “I’m glad you decided to come today. It has been so lonely out here. I love having all the people here. It’s too bad we can’t do these things more often.”

  “It would be nice. But there is so much work to do that most people don’t have much time for these things. We don’t even get into town very often. Life out here is very hard. It must be hard for you, coming here from St. Louis. I know it was hard for Sarah, but then she had my father and that was all that mattered. You came out here with only your father, and no friends.”

  She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes. “I’m making a friend right now, aren’t I?”

  He grinned, fighting a terrible urge to kiss her. “I hope so. When I saw you back in San Felipe, I couldn’t forget about you. I wanted to see you again, talk to you more.”

  “That’s why I came up here. We could never talk down there.”

  Their eyes held again, speaking without words. “What will you do here now?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t even know. I’ve been kind of lost ever since my mother died.” She kept trying to explain about her brother but was afraid to bring it up. Still, he had a right to know before their friendship went any farther. “I left some good friends back in Missouri, but I just couldn’t let my father come here alone,” she continued. “He needs me right now. He is very lonely. He has been wanting to get away from the old farm, where everything was too familiar. He … he had been drinking a lot because of my … my mother’s death. I thought it would be exciting coming here, but father is so busy all the time, and the only woman around is an old Mexican woman whose husband works for my father. She is usually busy with her own family. I just sit in the cabin reading, waiting for Father to come home to eat. I don’t dare go running about too much. Father says I should stay away from the hired help.”

  “That’s a good idea. You’re very beautiful, and some of those men haven’t seen anything but their horse’s … I mean … sometimes they can be pretty rude. You should be careful. Now I am going to worry about you.”

  She held his dark eyes. “You are?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “But why? You hardly know me.”

  “You’re easy to know—and to like. But my father says I should stay away from you.”

  She studied the dark eyes. “Why?”

  Her blood raced when he took hold of her hand. He put it up against his cheek. “See the difference? That is why.”

  He lowered her hand but kept hold of it.

  “You mean �
� because you’re Indian?”

  “You know that’s what I mean. I don’t think your father cares much for Indians. And my father has been through some pretty terrible things because of men like that. He thinks it would be wise for me not to become friendly with you.”

  Their eyes continued to hold. “And what do you think, Tom?”

  “I think I don’t care about what’s wise. I think I’d like to see more of you, if you will let me.”

  He squeezed her hand and saw her visibly tremble.

  “Yes. You may come and see me any time you wish.”

  “Perhaps your father will let some of the men he trusts ride you to our place, so you can visit with my mother and my sister. It would be good for you—get you away from here—give you something to do.”

  “Oh, I’d like that.” Perhaps now that her father had met Sarah Sax today, she could approach him again. After all, Sarah Sax was white, and a beautiful, refined woman. Surely her father would let her visit.

  Tom grinned. “Good.” He sighed deeply then. “We had better go back before people talk. I don’t think your father even knows we’re up here.”

  “I know. But I hate to leave.”

  His eyes sparked and his jaw flexed in reaction to painful desires that swept through him. “So do I.”

  He still had hold of her hand. He drew it to his chest and leaned closer, kissing her cheek, then waited for a slap. It didn’t come. But she did redden and pulled her hand away.

  “You must think I’m terrible, letting you do that.” She looked down at the ground. “I don’t know what got into me. I’m just so lonely—”

  “I could never think of you as terrible. I know better, Bess.”

  She looked up at him then. “You wouldn’t fool me, would you? Do you really want to come and see me again?”