Frontier Fires

by Rosanne Bittner

  He smiled warmly, seeing a ray of hope but reminding himself to tread carefully. Lynda was scared to death of caring about anyone again, and she would run away like a frightened deer if he made the wrong move.

  “Well, I’d ride a hundred miles for good apple pie.” He dismounted again, glancing at Tom and Bess, who were hugging and kissing. He cleared his throat and turned away to lead his horse to better grass. “Thanks for the invitation. I’ll be right back.”

  Caleb had returned and was walking with Sarah, leading her to higher ground where they could get a good view of the Valley.

  “It’s so beautiful, Caleb,” she told him, looking out over the Valley, watching the horses run wild and free. “All of this fits you—such big country, so wild.”

  He sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders. “A little too wild sometimes for a family man. I’m sorry about all the hardships, Sarah.”

  She put an arm around his waist. “We’re together. That’s all that matters. Tom is healed and he and Bess are so happy.”

  He glanced over at Lynda, who sat playing with Cale. “I just wish our daughter could find that same happiness.”

  “She will. She’s slowly coming around, Caleb. And I’ve seen her watch that Jess Purnell when she thought no one noticed. She’ll be fine, in time.”

  “Jess is a good man. I’d like to see those two together.”

  “Well, don’t tell her that. She’ll just get even more stubborn about it.”

  “How well I know.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “It’s such a beautiful day! It feels so good—spring, life, love.”

  He leaned down and kissed her lightly, then ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “You’re my strength, you know. I might look big and strong, but that’s only on the surface. With you at my side I feel like I can do anything, without you—”

  She touched his lips. “We won’t talk about that. It will never be that way again—for either of us.”

  Both felt the old pain of separation. He hugged her close then. She was right. He would die before he ever let it be that way again.

  “Let’s go enjoy that food,” he said, leading her to where Jess Purnell was sitting down near Lynda.

  The situation between Texas and its mother country remained stagnant. Texans were anxious to lash back at Santa Anna for squashing their every effort to have their own laws, courts, and constitution; and again there were rumors that Santa Anna meant to disarm all of them, this time by more forceful means. The only thing that kept the Texans from revolting was the pleading of Stephen Austin himself, through letters he was allowed to write from his prison cell, in which he urged the settlers to remain peaceful.

  In his absence, Sam Houston was gaining more and more popularity, looming forward as the most important leader of the Texas colonists. It was Houston who wrote letters to President Jackson, hinting that the purchase and annexation of Texas to the United States should be considered. But Jackson wanted no war with Mexico, and it was obvious to Houston that if there should be one, Texas was on her own and, if she should win such a war, would be an independent republic.

  The odds in favor of winning seemed small indeed for a handful of American settlers to go up against Santa Anna’s Mexican army. It was a disturbing thought, and like Austin, Houston believed the only thing to do for the moment was to tolerate Santa Anna’s constant threats and abide by his tighter ruling. But the Americans were a proud, independent people who would not tolerate dictatorship.

  It seemed only a matter of time until it would all surely come to war. Already there was a dangerous division growing between the settlers who opted to continue trying to keep the peace, and those who were eager to go to war.

  But for several weeks all the shouting grew dimmer, and the influx of even more volunteers halted almost completely when the cholera epidemic swept through Texas. Suddenly the problems with Mexico seemed, for the time, secondary, as the ugly hand of death moved through the settlements taking, in some cases, entire families.

  It visited the Sax family in June 1834. For weeks they had lived in fear as the disease swept through the Cherokee first. All they knew about preventing the disease was rumor—boil drinking water, burn everything the victim touches, including his or her clothing and bedding. No one really understood the disease, except that it was a terrible way to die—diarrhea, vomiting, loss of body fluid that often led to shock and death. Why the ugly disease visited some and not others was perplexing and frightening, and when Caleb and Sarah were sure they had been spared, Bess came down with the awful vomiting.

  To Tom it was as though someone were standing her up and holding a gun to her head. There was nothing he could do but watch her suffer. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. He insisted on caring for her himself, and Caleb lived in terror that Tom would also get the disease. But it was not Tom who came down with it. Two days after Bess contracted the disease, young John also woke up sick.

  The silence of impending death hung over the Sax ranch. Not only was there the agony of trying to save two loved ones from death, but also the waiting and watching to see if little Cale might come down with it, or baby James.

  Tom could think of nothing worse than watching his new, young wife shrivel with each day of diarrhea and vomiting, watching her scream with the pain, hearing her beg him to help her end it all quickly. But there was always that hope, that chance she might survive. She was young. Sometimes the young lived through this.

  On the fifth day of Bess’s agony she seemed somewhat better, her color better as she lay lovingly watching Tom while he again changed her bedding, carrying the old bedding outside and burning it. How she loved him. How patient he had been, so kind and understanding, by her side every minute. She could not have picked a better husband. How sad to leave him behind all alone.

  He came back inside to see her watching him, her eyes looking brighter. He smiled for her, forcing back his fear and worry. She would be all right. He came to her side, kneeling next to the bed.

  “Are you feeling better, Bess?”

  She touched his hand with her own weak, bony hand. His was so big and strong, and so dark. She managed a smile. “Promise me something, Tom,” she said in a near whisper.

  He leaned closer. “Anything you ask.”

  “Be strong, Tom, like your father. He … lived through … so much loss. He … loved again. Promise me you will love again, Tom.”

  Tom frowned. “I don’t have to promise that. I have you, and you’re going to make it, Bess.”

  She studied him, her eyes glittering as though full of some free, new spirit. “No, Tom.” She swallowed at the horrible sorrow in his eyes. “Don’t feel … sorry for me. I’ll be someplace … peaceful and happy. It’s you I’m worried about. My beautiful … Tom. You’ve been … so good to me. My handsome … Indian man.” Her eyes teared. “I’m just … so sorry … I never gave you a son. I wanted to do that … more than anything.”

  “Stop it, Bess,” he almost growled. “You stop that talk! You’ve made it through the worst. You’ll be okay now.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Thank you, Tom. For … taking care of me like you have … for loving me. I prayed … you wouldn’t get this too …” Her voice broke and she swallowed before going on. “I just know … God will spare my Tom. Many wonderful things … are waiting for you, Tom Sax. Go … and find them.”

  Tears were streaming down his face then. “Bess, I wish you wouldn’t talk this way. I love you. I need you. I can’t … I can’t live without you now.”

  “Yes, you can. Just like your father did … when he lost your Cheyenne mother … and when he lost Marie. I was just … your first love.” She felt the ugly pain moving through her bowels again and she gasped and shuddered. “Let me go, Tom,” she groaned. “Tell me … you’ll be strong … you’ll be all right. Tell me you’ll … love again … so I can go in peace. I have to be free … of this pain.”

  He just sat there trembling, holdin
g her hand and shaking his head. She met his eyes again. “Tell me, Tom.”

  He swallowed, hardly able to find his voice “I’ll … be all right. I’m a Sax, aren’t I?” he tried to say kiddingly.

  She smiled. “Yes. That’s why I know … you’ll be just fine. You’re so strong, Tom.”

  He forced a smile through his tears. “Sure. Don’t you worry about me, Bess.”

  She just watched him then, a strange light in her eyes. “I … love you so much,” she whispered, before her eyes closed and her body suddenly jerked, then began shaking violently.

  “Bess!” Tom stood up and leaned over, grasping her arms and trying to hold her still. Suddenly the shaking stopped, and a long gasp of air exited her lips.

  “Bess?” His grip tightened on her thin arms. “Bess? Damn you, answer me!” He shook her, but he already knew there was no life there. He moved back then, staring at her for several long seconds before screaming out her name and stumbling outside.

  Lynda was the first one to see him heading for the main house, holding his arms around his head like a crazy man. She ran to him and grasped him.

  “Tom, don’t go in there!”

  He looked at her with wild eyes, and Lynda felt sick herself at the horrible grief she saw there. “She’s … dead,” he groaned. “My Bess …”

  She tightened her grip on his arms. “John is dying, too, Tom. Don’t go to Father yet.”

  He shook his head and stumbled backward. “No. Why! Why, Lynda?”

  She struggled to stay in control. Someone had to be strong for the moment. “I don’t know, Tom. I asked myself the same thing when Lee was killed.” She choked back tears. “I’m so sorry, Tom.” She walked closer and he suddenly grabbed her and hugged her tightly, weeping on her shoulder.

  Two fresh graves were dug on the little hill where Marie and her mother, David, and now John and Bess were buried. There was a headstone there for Lee, but no body, and there were the several graves of others who had died on Sax land. A sprawling, tree-size mesquite bush shaded most of the graves.

  Tom stood staring at Bess’s grave. He was still in shock. His eyes moved to the grave of his young stepbrother. He had two people to grieve for. How could he live without the woman who had become his life’s blood? He’d promised Bess he would be strong, he would go on with life. But how could he keep that promise?

  Six months. He’d had her only six months. So much joy and beauty had been packed into such a short time. An agonizing ache swept through him in painful spasms every time the reality of it hit him.

  Bess was gone. She was dead. She was not coming back. There would be no sons and daughters. The cabin they had finally finished building for themselves would not be used. He had known grief, but never of this magnitude. Sometimes he wondered where his next breath would come from, for the heaviness in his chest was almost stifling. It was as though a huge boulder was crushing him. Nothing seemed real. Nothing mattered.

  Tom looked over at his father, who knelt by John’s grave. John had died in his father’s arms, only three hours after Bess’s death. He wondered how the man had borne all his own losses. Two wives … two sons and another unborn child who had been in Marie’s belly when she was killed. And there had been others he had loved and lost in his lifetime. But Caleb Sax just kept going. Could he be that strong? At the moment it seemed impossible.

  Caleb got to his feet slowly, as though he were ill. Sarah helped him up. Thank God their son James had been spared, as had Lynda and Cale. But the whole land smelled of death. Again the reality hit Tom, bringing the knot to his stomach, the awful ache to his throat as he fought the unmanly urge to weep like a child. Tom made the mistake of meeting his father’s eyes. He knew. Caleb Sax knew the devastating grief; he understood it better than most. It took only that quick look to bring the floodwaters of grief to Tom Sax.

  Caleb saw it coming, walked over and embraced his son, who could not hold it back now. He cried like a small child, withering in his father’s arms and wanting to be held like that child. Caleb did the holding, tightly. How well he understood. And somehow having to help his son cope with his grief helped soothe Caleb’s own torturous sorrow over losing John. Both his Cherokee sons were dead. The only remnant of the Cherokee family he had once loved was Cale, Lee’s son. How thin was the line between life and death.

  Lynda moved her own eyes to the headstone they had erected in Lee’s memory. There was no body. God only knew what had ever happened to it. A year. It had been a whole year now since Lee left and never returned. She turned away. She could not bear the pitiful sight of her father and brother. Death! How it angered her. It was not fair. It was never fair. She walked away, heading down the hill and going to stand alone beside a small creek. There was a little water in it now because it was spring. But by midsummer it dried up. Died. Just like people. At least it came back to life every year. None of her loved ones would come back to life. How she ached for poor Tom. At least she had Cale, some remnant of Lee. Tom had nothing. All that suffering he had gone through for Bess. All for nothing.

  “Lynda?”

  She turned to see Jess Purnell standing behind her. She turned away again. “Go away.”

  He sighed, stepping closer. “We’ve gotten to be pretty good friends, you and me.”

  “What do you want, Jess?” she interrupted.

  He swallowed. In spite of all his efforts, Lynda Whitestone had remained as elusive as a butterfly, defensive, stubbornly independent. He didn’t know how to approach her, how to get through her barriers.

  “I want you to let me hold you.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “Somebody has to,” he added. “Don’t you ever need holding?”

  She moved her blue eyes toward the spot on the hill where Caleb still stood holding Tom. “Up there,” she said quietly. “That’s the reason I don’t want anyone holding me. That’s all it brings—terrible grief.” She looked back at Jess. “Death is around us all the time. I don’t intend to care that much again, Jess. I can raise Cale just fine by myself. I want and need no one in my life, certainly not another man.” She turned away. “You give your heart and soul to someone, and then God decides to take him away. That leaves you with nothing but an empty shell for a body. That’s what I am; an empty shell, with just enough emotion left to love my son. It’s hard enough living with the constant fear of wondering if he will be next. Without little Cale I think I truly would end my life.”

  She walked past him and he grabbed her arm. “I love you, Lynda. You’re a fine, strong, beautiful woman, and some day you’ll belong to me. I’ve waited long enough to say it. Now it’s done.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No.” He yanked her close, grasping her wrists and forcing them behind her, pressing her against himself. “Not yet.”

  She met his eyes defiantly, but he kissed her anyway, a long, hard kiss to remind her of what she was missing in her life. He felt her stiffen, yet she did not truly try to get away from his lips, at least not at first. He sensed a tiny bit of surrender before she finally shook her head violently, leaning away from him.

  “Bastard! You bastard,” she wept.

  He let go of her. “I’m not sorry. No, ma’am, I’m not sorry at all. I don’t just love you, Lynda. I need you. I’ve got nobody. You have your parents and a son and brothers. I lost my folks a long time ago. You’re the first woman who’s come along who I want for my own more than anything in this world. You think about it, Lynda Whitestone. You think real hard about it.”

  She rubbed her lips with the back of her hand. “How dare you,” she said in a shaking voice. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t … you wouldn’t try so hard to make me care again! You would understand and let me be happy!”

  “Happy? Are you happy, Lynda?”

  Her chest heaved with heavy breathing as she struggled not to cry openly. “Yes,” she almost hissed. “As long as I can keep from feeling anything, I’m very happy!” She turned and stomped away. H
e watched with an ache so fierce he wanted to bend over. One taste of her lips and he knew his nights would be miserable for a long time to come. But there had been that tiny hint of surrender. True, she was angry. But he had given her something to think about, and surely he had stirred old passions just a little. That was better than nothing.

  He looked up at the little graveyard. Tom Sax had crumbled right to the ground. “Goddamned unfair,” he muttered to himself. In a sense Lynda was right not to want to care again. But a man or a woman couldn’t go through life alone and lonely just because of what might happen. Life couldn’t go on that way. Lynda would realize that soon. He’d make sure of it.

  Byron Clawson looked up from his desk as the man he’d sent to Texas came inside his office. He hadn’t heard anything from Charles Hafer in a long time.

  “Sit down,” Byron told his informant.

  “Thanks.” The man moved into a red leather chair, fumbling with his hat nervously. He was a common drifter. Byron had picked him purposely because he looked like everyone else, didn’t stand out in any particular way. He was unkempt and ragged, a man who would fit right in as a hired hand in a place like Texas. Byron wanted the truth, wanted this man to mix in on the Hafer ranch and find out if Hafer was doing his job.

  “Well, Kent,” Byron asked. “What did you find out?”

  Stuart Kent seemed hesitant. “Charles Hafer is dead, sir,” he finally answered.

  Byron paled visibly. For a moment the messenger thought he might be sick right then and there. He could see Clawson struggling to keep his composure. Finally Byron took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve heard there has been a lot of cholera in Texas—”

  “Not cholera, sir,” the man interrupted. “A man by the name of Caleb Sax killed him outright.”

  He saw a look of utter defeat and near terror in Clawson’s murky gray eyes.

  “Tell me all of it,” Byron told the man. The words came out in a near squeak.