Again Caleb Sax was proving to be more man than Hafer had bargained for. He had to make this work. He needed the money—wanted the money. But Caleb Sax was not an easy man to fight, physically or intellectually. He noticed Tom linger as Caleb and the others turned to ride off. Tom was still watching Bess.
“Get out of here,” Hafer growled at him. “Get out before I shoot you.”
Tom turned his horse. “You’re a bastard, Hafer—a bastard and a thief.”
He rode off, and a Hafer man raised a gun to Tom, but Jess Purnell reached out and pushed it down. “Don’t be the first to fire,” he told the man. “Mister Hafer said to let them be first. You know that. Then we can say they started it.”
He watched after the Sax riders. He didn’t like this dirty work. It sure wasn’t any way to get on the good side of Caleb Sax’s daughter. He hadn’t forgot her. How did a man forget that one? He wondered if she’d had the baby yet—how she was doing. And he wondered how much longer he could go on working for Hafer.
“Get in the house,” Hafer shouted at his daughter.
Bess scurried inside, going to her room and throwing herself onto her bed, breaking into tears. Tom! She’d seen Tom! But her father was being so mean to them. How could they ever, ever be together?
Hafer followed her inside. “How dare you come out of the house when that boy is here,” he yelled. “You know I forbid you to see him. Why did you encourage him by going out there?”
She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t understand you any more, Father. He’s nice. The Saxes are all good people. Caleb Sax saved me from that awful man. Why are you so mean to them?”
He clenched his fists in frustration. “Damn it, Bess, you don’t understand. You just don’t understand. You’re ruining everything! If not for you I could—”
He stopped and walked to his desk, sitting down and taking out a quill pen and a piece of paper.
“What, Father? You could what?”
He turned, glowering at her. “I could do what I came here to do.”
Their eyes held. “Came here to do? I thought you came here to settle and start over—to forget Mother and Charles’s deaths—enjoy the money from selling the farm and—”
“Oh, you’re so damned innocent, Bess—and ignorant! Haven’t you noticed how much money I have now? I could buy you anything, send you to the best schools, give you anything you want. You didn’t have to come to this godforsaken place with me. You could have stayed in St. Louis and had the best of everything. You still can, and you will. I’m sending you back. I saw how that boy looked at you. I’ve got to get you out of Texas. Besides, there’s going to be war around here soon—and not just with the Mexicans. It will be with the Saxes.”
Her heart tightened. St. Louis! “Father, don’t you want me here with you? I thought you loved me—needed me.”
“You know I love you,” he answered, his back to her as he wrote. That has nothing to do with it—on second thought, it has everything to do with it. I want what’s best for you, and Texas and Tom Sax are not it.” He kept writing. “Damned Indians,” he grumbled.
She sniffed and fought an urge to sob uncontrollably. She had to tell Tom. But how could she? “What … what did you mean about the money, Father? Where did you get it?”
He sighed and stopped his writing. “From a man who is paying me to settle right here. I won’t tell you any more than that. But it’s a lot of money, and I am finally out of debt—for the first time in my life.”
She shook her head. “But why would he pay you?”
“Never mind that.”
“Father, give them their water back. Give it back and I’ll go home without complaining.”
“I can’t do that. And you will go home, complaining or not. I’m writing a letter to that school, and another to the man I’m working for. I want you to give his letter to someone at the school and have them deliver it. It’s very important.”
“Is he rich? Who is it?”
“Never mind. In a week or so there will be a boat leaving San Felipe for the coast. I’ll take you to San Felipe myself and see that you get on it and pay the captain well to make sure you get on the right ship to take you through the Gulf waters to New Orleans and on up to St. Louis. I’ll send a couple of my men along for protection—men I know I can trust, not someone like that Stu Clements. He was the worst choice you could have made. That’s what I mean about you, Bess. You’re too ignorant and trusting. That Sax boy is an Indian and once he got to you he’d hurt you, cheat on you, abuse you—God knows what all. I won’t have that kind of life for you. It was a mistake to bring you here. I thought it could work, but you aren’t happy and my own job here is not getting done.”
She turned away, crying quietly. “And what is that job, Father?” she asked, weeping. “Hurting the Saxes? Killing Mister Sax? I don’t understand … how you can be this way.”
“When you’re older you will. You’ll know the importance of money—and the worthlessness of Indians.”
He kept writing then, saying nothing more. Bess just stared at him, amazed at his coldness, wondering at the way money could make a man change. Her mother would never put up with this. But she was a daughter and had no say. Tom! If only she could get to Tom! She’d never come back to this place and to this man who was like a stranger to her now. She broke into harder crying and Hafer gritted his teeth, wondering if he ought to just kill Caleb Sax outright. He had to consult Byron Clawson about all this right away.
Chapter
Thirteen
* * *
It was December 28, 1833, when Lynda went into labor in the middle of the night. Eighteen hours later she still lay groaning in labor, her cries of agony mixed with weeping for Lee. Every time she sobbed his name, pain ripped through Caleb’s heart. He kept watching the curtained doorway, where Lynda lay in his and Sarah’s bed, Sarah and Ada Highwater helping with the birth.
Tom, who waited in the outer room with his father and young John, knew how difficult the situation was for Caleb, who spoke little while he paced nervously and smoked his pipe. Tom knew his pacing was not all because of Lynda. Caleb Sax wanted his water back. He had planned to ride directly to San Felipe to complain about what Hafer was doing, try to get something done legally before taking the law into his own hands.
But that would all have to wait now. He would not leave until Lynda delivered. He fumed over the fact that once he did go to town, he would have to spend money on feed. The good, green grass in Blue Valley was not going to last unless he got his water back. The river was too far away in that section to try digging canals like Hafer was doing, and the grass wasn’t nearly good enough in any other section.
Tom sat by the fireplace, lost in his own thoughts, his fondest of which was the best way to kill Charles Hafer. Yet how could he bring harm to Bess’s father? The whole situation seemed hopeless, and seeing Bess for that brief moment and then leaving had been torture for him.
“You gonna get the water back, Pa,” John asked Caleb, interrupting the man’s thoughts. The boy stood at the table cutting himself a piece of bread. Caleb took his pipe from his mouth.
“I will get it back, all right. I will try it the right way first, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll take every Cherokee settler on this place and all the men who work for me and get it back by force. I’ve got plenty of help if you count the Cherokee I have let settle on the southern range.”
John grinned. “Can I go when you do?”
“I don’t think so, John. It will be too dangerous.”
Another groan came from the bedroom, followed quickly by another. “Push now,” he heard Ada tell the girl.
The baby must be coming. Caleb waited nervously, watching little James crawl to John to be picked up, and then beg him for a piece of bread. James was six months old now, a fat, happy baby who showed little trace of Indian, nothing like Tom and John. John gave the boy a piece of bread and picked him up.
“You’re getting heavy, little brot
her,” the boy told him. “Hey, Pa, James is really growing.”
Caleb nodded. Family. Another addition was coming. A grandchild. He and Sarah had a six-month-old child of their own, yet soon would have a grandchild. It didn’t seem so long ago that he was only nine years old himself, wandering alone deep in the woods of the north.
Caleb was nine years old when Tom Sax found him and adopted him, teaching him the white man’s ways. What a different world his Indian life had been.
Where were those Cheyenne now? They had been pushed westward by white settlement, but were still no doubt riding the plains where he had found them and lived with them after he left Fort Dearborn. They had played a significant part in the war against the British, with both British and American fur companies bribing the Indians to help them. The Cheyenne had been used then and would be used again, then cast aside the way Andrew Jackson was now doing to the Cherokee.
He heard a baby’s cry and his heart swelled with pride. He looked at John, who grinned. Tom stood up, going to the curtained doorway. “What is it?” he asked anxiously.
“A boy,” Sarah answered. Caleb could hear the joy in her voice and he smiled. “Just give us a minute,” Sarah told them from behind the curtain.
They all waited anxiously, then heard weeping again. Caleb’s heart filled with fear until Sarah came out with a smile on her face. “You are a grandfather, Caleb Sax. How about that for a man who had hardly any family at all a couple of years ago?”
Caleb frowned. “Why is she crying? Is the baby all right?”
“She’s crying because she’s wishing Lee could be here to see his son. He’s beautiful, and strong. I think he’s going to look just like Lee. She wants to see you first.”
John wrinkled his nose. “I want to see it,” he complained.
“You’ll get your turn. Let your father go in first.”
Caleb put his hands on her shoulders and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Sarah.”
Their eyes held. “Thank Ada. She helped Lynda most. Just remember when you go after Charles Hafer that you have a big family back here. Be careful, Caleb.”
She saw the bitterness in his eyes at the mention of Hafer. “I’m always careful. He’s the one who will have to be careful.” He left her and went inside the bedroom, where Lynda lay cradling the baby beside her. Ada tucked blankets around her and moved toward the door.
“Not too long, Mister Sax. I have to come back in a while and check for more afterbirth. And she needs lots of rest now.”
“I know. Thanks, Ada. You go get some rest yourself.”
She smiled and left, and Caleb moved his eyes to meet Lynda’s.
“Oh, Father, look at him! He’ll look just like Lee.”
The sight tore at the old wound of Lee’s death. How he wished Lee could be here for this. Lynda had had him for such a short time, suffered so much before finding her mother and then Lee. It wasn’t fair.
He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, studying the baby. “He’s beautiful, Lynda. Lee would be proud.”
“He is proud. He knows, Father. I’m sure of it.”
Caleb nodded. “Yes. I think he does, too.” He took her hand. “Does it help—having the baby?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She sniffed and spoke louder. “I am going to name him Caleb, after his grandfather. Caleb Lee. We’ll call him Cale, so you won’t both come running every time I call for him.”
Caleb frowned and looked away, squeezing her hand. “You sure you want to name him after me?’
“Of course I’m sure. Why shouldn’t I? Don’t you want me to?”
He turned and met her eyes. “Lynda …” He swallowed. “Now that the baby has come and we’re over the risk of losing it …” He hesitated. “Damn,” he whispered.
“Father, what is it?”
His eyes grew watery as they held her dark ones lovingly. “Lynda, I have to tell you something … you naming the boy after me and all …” He took a deep breath. “Maybe you won’t want to do that when I’ve told you.”
She smiled nervously. “Father, that’s ridiculous. What on earth could change my mind?”
She saw the sudden anguish in her father’s eyes and grew alarmed.
“Father, you can tell me. It’s Lee, isn’t it? There’s something more to what happened to him.”
Caleb closed his eyes and swallowed, squeezing her hand.
“I knew it. I knew by the look in your eyes when you first returned. Was he captured? Tortured?”
Caleb shook his head. “No.” He met her eyes again. “Lynda, when we went after the Comanche, they didn’t kill Lee … not outright.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He was badly wounded, just the way we said—from a lance. He was dying. No one would have doubted that. And we were right in their camp. We had to get out of there or all four of us would have been slaughtered. If I had thought he had a chance …” Her eyes widened and he kept hold of her hand. “He was dying, Lynda. He was in horrible pain, and he was dying,” he stressed again. “If I had tried to carry his body, we never would have got away fast enough. He knew that. But he also knew there would be a worse horror for him if the Comanche discovered him before he was dead. I couldn’t … I couldn’t … leave him there … like that …” His voice choked. “… dying but … alive enough to be aware of what they might do to him.” He kept squeezing her hand. “He begged me … to leave him there and get away … but not to … not to leave him there … alive.”
He rose then, letting go of her hand and turning away. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he stood breathing deeply for self control, waiting for shouted words of hatred from his daughter.
“My God,” she whispered. “You killed him. You killed Lee!”
He struggled to find his voice. “Quickly. It would have been crueler to let him die slowly … of the awful wounds he had … even if we could have got him out of there.”
“Oh, Father.” She almost groaned the words. “What a terrible thing for you to have to do. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He turned and looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t want you to know he had been wounded first … that he had suffered. And I was afraid of what you would think of me if I told you I’m the one who actually ended his life.”
“I know you well enough to know you must have done the right thing. You loved Lee like a son. You never would have done it if you thought there was a chance he could live. It must have been so terrible for you. It must haunt you in the night.”
He held her eyes, astounded, then nodded. “I have killed so many men—in my war with the Crow, British soldiers, Comanche. I killed my first white man when I was only sixteen. But none of them haunted me like Lee does.”
She studied her very Indian father, a man who could be as vicious as any Comanche, a man who moved about with an animal grace but who could be so gentle, who inside was so good. This was the man for whom she had searched for so many years, the mysterious father who had left her the blue quill necklace. Now he was taking off the necklace. He untied the leather ties and loosened it, laying it beside her.
“This necklace helped you find your mother and me. I gave it to your mother all those years ago as a love gift. You brought it back to me—a daughter I never knew I had. You keep it now—my love gift to you and Cale. Give it to him when he’s old enough to understand its meaning. It will bring him luck.”
She touched the necklace, tears in her eyes. “But it’s so important to you. Your Cheyenne mother gave it to you.”
He bent over and took her hand. “I’m sure she meant for me to keep passing it on.”
“Then you should give it to Tom.”
Caleb shook his head. “No. I’m giving it to my first grandson. Tom would understand.”
She held his eyes. “Will you teach Cale the Indian ways—teach him about the Cheyenne?”
He nodded. “I’ll teach him. But he should learn about the Cherokee, too. His father was Cherokee.”<
br />
Her eyes teared more. “I miss him so,” she cried.
“I know. I know damned well how it feels, Lynda, and there isn’t anything anyone can say to make it any better. Only time makes it better. Now you have Cale. And you always have us. You will be all right, Lynda. And someone will come along who will love you just as much as Lee did.”
She managed a half smile. “You will be careful about Mister Hafer, won’t you? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She saw the determination in his eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to your father, Lynda. Don’t you worry about that. You just lie here and rest now. Tom and I are going into San Felipe to see the Council there. I might have to take this all the way to the ayuntamiento at San Antonio. We’ll see. Otherwise there is only one way to settle the matter, and that’s to ride over there and fill those canals and tear down the dam he built.”
Their eyes held. Both knew what that would mean.
“What do you hear about Sam Houston?” Caleb asked Wil Handel, who accompanied him into San Felipe. Their breath made white vapors against the crisp December air. Their horses snorted thicker clouds of vapor as Tom and John rode thier own mounts next to Caleb and Handel.
“Ah, they say he has claimed some land over along the Trinity River. And he has set up a law practice.” Handel laughed. “What good is a law practice if there are no laws but Mexican laws, I say.”
Caleb grinned. “I met the man a few weeks ago. He is very sympathetic toward our problems with Mexico, and he is also very supportive of Indians who want to settle. He is going to try to form a militia, and thinks we’ll need one before too long.”
“He is probably right,” the man said in his cupped manner of speaking.
“Maybe he can help me with my land dispute,” Caleb told the man.
Handel shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think he is a pretty busy man with all these problems with Mexico. To you your problem is very great. To others—” He shrugged. “I am sorry to say I think you will have to settle that yourself, Caleb. Right now they will not think it is very important. If there is anything I can do, you come and tell me.”
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