Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Serena just shook her head and walked away. When Angela turned she saw Pace standing nearby with a large bundle draped over his shoulder. He watched his sister leave. There was a look of disgust on his face.

  “Pace, do you know what’s bothering her?” Angela asked. She hadn’t seen much of the boy since she’d arrived, but maybe he could tell her something.

  “I know,” he said solemnly.

  “Well?”

  Pace studied Angela a moment, then looked back to Serena’s retreating figure. “I told her this would happen. This is what was supposed to happen. But, well, pardon me, but sometimes girls are just plain dumb.”

  Angela blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “Rena thought when she grew up Matt would marry her. Now, here you are, and he’s gonna marry you. I told you it was dumb. A girl can’t marry her brother, even if he is just her stepbrother.”

  “Stepbrother? But I thought…never mind. I understand. Thanks for telling me, Pace. Do you mind that I’m marrying your brother?”

  Pace seemed to look right through her, an uncanny, faraway look in his pale blue eyes. “No, I think you’re supposed to marry him.” Before she could ask what he meant, he thrust his bundle at her. “Matt said to give you this. It’s to sleep on.”

  She took the weight of it in her arms and found it surprisingly heavy. As soon as she had it, Pace disappeared.

  Temporarily dismissing Serena’s problem and Pace’s odd words from her mind, Angela carried the bundle into her new wickiup and dropped it onto the téesk'e'.

  If her friends in Memphis could see her now, she thought with a chuckle.

  That primitive feeling washed over her again as she gazed around the tiny hut. Pride rushed through her veins—pride in her own accomplishments. She had taken pride in things before, but making a dress or arranging merchandise neatly on the shelves of her father’s store was a far cry from building a home.

  It wasn’t much of a home, to be sure, and she hadn’t done it alone, but she was still proud. Those primitive women of long ago would have understood her feelings, just as she knew the women who helped her build it understood.

  She bent down and unrolled the blanket-wrapped bundle. No wonder it was so heavy! Heat washed over her as she ran her hands through the thick fur of the huge bearskin, which Pace had said was “to sleep on.”

  …On their bed of furs.

  Vivid pictures flashed through her mind and made her blush. Two naked bodies entwined in a lovers’ embrace, surrounded by dark fur. One body was small and feminine—hers. The other was the large, muscle–bound form of Matt Colton.

  Angela gasped and forced the pictures away. Whatever had possessed her to think of such a thing? Good heavens! This was going to be a marriage of convenience, an arrangement, a…a business agreement. It wasn’t going to be real!

  A tiny, irritating little voice in the back of her mind whispered, But with a man like Matt Colton, don’t you wish it was?

  “No!”

  Angela nearly ran from the wickiup. She left so fast the buckskin flap over the door gave an audible snap in her wake. Gradually her thoughts quieted and her mind calmed. She went in search of Serena, but couldn’t find her. Instead, she found Nod–ah–Sti, who took her to the women’s bathing pool. The water had been warmed by a day in the sun. It soothed her skin and her mind.

  Nod–ah–Sti showed Angela how to pound yucca root to use as shampoo. When Angela was scrubbed clean, Nod–ah–Sti wrapped her in blankets from head to toe so no one could see any part of her.

  They went to Nod–ah–Sti’s wickiup, and the other women were there to help with the final preparations. Serena came in while the women were removing the tangles from Angela’s waist–long hair, and Angela motioned for them to stop.

  “Serena,” she said softly. “I talked to Pace earlier, and he told me what was wrong.” She knelt down in front of the girl. “Oh, Serena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you wanted Matt for yourself.”

  Serena jerked. Her eyes darted around to the other women. She blushed beneath the deep tan of her face.

  “It’s all right,” Angela said. “They can’t understand, can they?” The girl seemed to relax a bit. “If I’d known how you felt, Serena, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry Matt. I never thought we’d be hurting anyone this way. But I gave my word. You wouldn’t want me to go back on my word, would you?”

  Serena lowered her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I guess not. I guess I knew I was too little for him anyway. It just kinda, well, it kinda hurts a little, you know?”

  “Yes, honey, I do know.” Angela paused a moment, then asked, “How old are you?”

  “Ten. Why?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you a secret. When I was ten, I had a problem just like yours, almost. I didn’t have any brothers, but I had an uncle. He was the most wonderful man alive, next to my father, of course,” she said with a sad smile. “I remember asking him one time if he would marry me when I got older.”

  “What did he say?” Serena asked with interest.

  “He said he’d be honored to marry me.” Angela’s mouth twisted in a wry grin as she remembered the episode. “Then he patted me on the head and sent me back to the other children. A month later, he married somebody else.”

  “What did you do?” Serena’s eyes were big now, their pale blueness shining with curiosity.

  “Well, I remember crying a lot at first. But then, something happened that made me forget all about wanting to marry a man so much older than me.”

  “What was that?”

  “I discovered boys. Boys my own age, that is.”

  “Boys?” Serena asked, a note of skepticism in her voice.

  “Boys,” Angela assured her, smiling. “Of course, they could never compare to my uncle, but I realized it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask him to wait till I was old enough to get married, and if I really loved him, I’d want him to be happy. So I made friends with boys my age, and you know what? It was fun.”

  “What happened to your uncle? Was he happy with his new wife?”

  The other women were growing restless. The sun was down now and she knew they felt she should hurry, but Angela ignored them. Right now Serena was more important. “Yes, he was. She made him much happier, I’m sure, than I could have.”

  “How did she do that?”

  Angela chose her words carefully. “Well, I think it helped that they were close to the same age and had a lot in common.”

  She cringed inwardly at what she was doing. She was trying to convince Serena that Matt would be happy with this marriage, when the whole thing was just a pretense, a lie. When it was all over and Angela left for wherever it was she would go, Serena would hate her. But that was better than having the girl be hurt now by wanting something she would never have.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Serena admitted. “Anyway, please don’t tell Matt,” she begged. “He’d just think I was silly. Besides—he needs a wife now, and I’m still too little.” She thought for a minute longer, then giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Angela asked, her own lips curved in a smile. It looked like the crises was over.

  “If Matt was a real Apache, instead of just an adopted one, I could be his second wife when I got old enough.”

  “Would he do that?” Angela asked, alarmed. Not that it mattered to her. This marriage was only a pretense, after all.

  “No. Not Matt,” Serena said. “But anyway, it’s okay that you’re gonna marry him. That way you’ll be my sister. I always wanted a big sister.”

  My goodness. How was it possible to become so attached to someone so quickly? Angela already knew she would miss this child when she and Matt went their separate ways. She hugged the girl to her chest, feeling a hard lump grow in her throat. “And I always wanted a younger one.”

  When Angela turned back to the other women, the frenzied preparations for the wedding resumed. The mock wedding, which everyone assumed was real. She wondered what k
ind of ceremony these people had, then remembered they usually had none at all.

  Why would a perfectly normal, decidedly handsome man like Matt Colton choose to spend his time among these savages?

  Angela immediately regretted the thought. So far, these people had been nothing but good and kind to her. The only thing she had to base her low opinion of Apaches on were the rumors and newspapers back home. Her father had always told her to believe none of what she heard and only half of what she saw. In the case of the blood–thirsty, savage Apaches, it seemed her father’s advice was justified, except for Tahnito and his friends.

  It was dark by the time Angela was dressed in her borrowed clothes. And what clothes they were! How very generous of Nali–Kay–deya, mother of Cochise’s youngest son, to loan out her own wedding dress! Angela had always dreamed her wedding gown would be soft, but instead of the satin or silk of her dreams, she wore buckskin. But it was soft. Soft as butter.

  Dyed a soft, muted, yellow, the fringed skirt and poncho–style top were decorated with rows of colorful, delicate beadwork. Hundreds of metal cones, bugles, Serena called them, each no longer than the first joint of her little finger, jingled and tinkled with each breath Angela took. A musical dress. A magical dress.

  For an instant her eyes closed and that primitive feeling washed over her again. Indeed, she did feel primitive, and even a little wicked, for she wore absolutely nothing beneath the dress, not even her own petticoat.

  On her feet she wore an exquisitely beaded pair of moccasins. Serena called them kébans. She could see the circular, upright tabs on the toes as they poked out from beneath the bottom fringe of her skirt.

  Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and down her back. The women had placed a soft doeskin headband, dyed the same muted yellow as the dress, around her forehead.

  With a start, Angela realized it was time to go. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why should she be nervous, anyway? It was all a charade, wasn’t it? For show? To convince the tribe that Matt was married, and to prevent trouble not only between Cochise and his hotheaded warriors, but between the Apaches and the army.

  It was important, but it was still only for show. There was nothing for her to be nervous about. She was just going to go out there and marry a white man who ran around dressed like a half–naked Apache, that’s all.

  The mere thought of the last time she’d seen Matt, with that deer draped over his shoulders, was enough to turn her knees to jelly.

  Dear Lord, please let him have some clothes on.

  Chapter Nine

  Matt approached the ceremonial log, outwardly calm, inwardly agitated. He wished the women would have stayed out of it. He’d wanted to get this over with as quickly and quietly as possible, but the events surrounding the wedding had slipped beyond his control. The entire rancheria was here for the ceremony. Meat had been roasting since yesterday, and a feast and celebration were planned for immediately afterwards.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Come on, Bear Killer, she’s a nice enough looking girl. Just relax and enjoy. Having a wife around all the time does have its compensations.” Chee gave him a leering wink.

  “It isn’t like that, and you know it,” Matt said. “It’s not like it’s for real. It’s only temporary, just to get her out of this mess. It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal.”

  Natzili-Chee studied his white friend closely. So that was the plan, was it? A white man’s temporary, uncomplicated marriage for convenience? Oh, my friend, that won’t do at all. What good would all this careful maneuvering do if Bear Killer showed up next spring with no wife? The trouble would simply start all over again.

  No, it just wouldn’t do at all.

  Dee-O-Det approached and the crowd quieted. When Angela stepped from the wickiup, all talking ceased. The flames in the central campfire crackled and popped, and off in the distance a coyote begged the moon to send him a mate, but there were no other sounds.

  Matt’s breath halted as he stared at the vision approaching him. His heart pounded a slow, steady accompaniment to the beat of drums and the bell-like jingling of a thousand tiny bugles that kept time with her footsteps.

  She had no parents to walk beside her, so she walked alone. He thought he detected a slight trembling. Her borrowed clothes, so carefully prepared and donned, went unnoticed by the groom as Matt studied his bride.

  She wasn’t “a nice enough looking girl,” as Chee said. She was beautiful! Her skin was a soft golden tan, with a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her face was slightly oval, with a daintily pointed chin and a pert, short nose. Her lips were full and lush. Her bright green eyes, almost emerald, were wide with apprehension.

  Was she blushing? His eyes roamed over her face slowly, and then were drawn, spellbound, to her hair. He’d never seen such hair in his life. It hung loose and thick, clear down to the tops of her thighs. Firelight danced off it, turning it a golden bronze, but he detected pale, sunbleached streaks here and there. More than anything in the world, he wanted to bury his face in those long wavy tresses and lose himself there.

  Dee-O-Det cleared his throat; Matt breathed again, then turned to face the shaman. He was suddenly glad he’d put on his best buckskins for the occasion. It wasn’t a suit and tie, but he’d been told he looked good in the form-fitting buckskins. Angela’s eyes roamed over him as if studying the close fit of the garments, the bulges and contours of muscles beneath, and his chest swelled a little.

  He was twenty-one, financially well-off, and a beautiful girl was practically devouring him with her eyes. And she was about to belong to him!

  His chest swelled a little more.

  Angela, her heart pounding, approached slowly and stood at Matt’s left, where Dee-O-Det pointed. Serena stood at her left elbow to translate. Angela glanced at the girl, and this time it was Serena who gave her assurance. Angela didn’t know what she would have done without her.

  The crowd, having begun to murmur, quieted again. Angela’s knees trembled so hard she feared she might fall. The bugles on her dress tinkled with every tremor of her body. But Matt was there, this stranger she was about to marry. Or pretend to marry, she reminded herself. She felt heat and strength emanating from his body, and it comforted her.

  The drums increased their rhythm, and so did her heart. She hadn’t noticed the drums before. The shaman chanted to himself, then picked up a bone-handled silver knife and held it high.

  The drums stopped, and with them, her heart. Nothing seemed real to her. A wedding was held in a church, or maybe a parlor. This wasn’t a wedding. Not her wedding. It was some kind of strange, primitive dream. Everything was happening in slow motion. A loud buzzing filled her ears.

  Dee-O-Det held the knife over his head, and Angela felt herself sway. Matt shifted his weight until his arm pressed against hers, steadying her. She wanted to look at him, to smile her thanks, but didn’t. She couldn’t take her eyes off that knife. Firelight danced along the shiny, silver blade, turning it gold, orange, red, then silver again.

  The old man lowered the knife to the log that separated him from Matt and Angela, then picked up a long stick with pine needles on one end and waved it over their heads. A cool puff of breeze released the pleasant aroma of pine. Some kind of golden powder dusted down on their heads and shoulders.

  Dee-O-Det knelt on his side of the log. Serena stepped forward and took Angela’s right arm, holding it toward the shaman, wrist up. At the same time, Pace, who had been on Matt’s right, took his brother’s left arm, pushed up the sleeve, and held Matt’s bared wrist next to Angela’s.

  When Dee-O-Det picked up the silver knife again, Angela followed it with her eyes, her heart thundering in her chest. He held her hand and quickly made a small incision on the inside of her wrist, then did the same to Matt.

  Angela stared at their wrists, transfixed by the sight of the blood welling from both cuts.

  Dee-O-Det turned Matt�
�s arm so the cuts were pressed to each other, then bound their wrists together with a wide strip of cloth.

  Whose pulse was that pounding to the beat of the chant raised around them? Matt’s, or hers? Angela couldn’t tell. Serena’s voice came to her as if from a great distance.

  “They’re singing for you,” the girl said. “They’re singing: Now for you there is no weather; for one is shelter to the other. Now for you there is no fear, for one is protection to the other.”

  The people kept chanting and Dee-O-Det sprinkled Angela and Matt again with his golden dust. He raised his hands in the air, and silence reigned in the clearing. The snap and crackle of the central campfire echoed in the stillness.

  Serena translated the shaman’s words:

  “You have two bodies, yet now there is but one blood, and you are one and the same person.”

  With a flourish, he whipped the binding from their wrists. “Nzhú!” he cried. “It is good!”

  The drumbeat picked up again. People surged forward, shouting and laughing, pounding Matt and Angela on their backs. The couple was carried along by the crowd as nearly everyone moved toward the food. A few broke away to begin a dance.

  Stiff pieces of hides, used as plates, were piled high with food and handed to the newlyweds. While Matt spoke with friends, Angela, with Serena at her side, picked a chunk of meat from her plate with her fingers. Her stomach was in such knots that food was the last thing she wanted, but people were watching. It would be rude to refuse her own wedding feast. With something close to panic, she bit off a piece of meat and chewed. It was tough, but surprisingly flavorful.

  “You like it?” Serena asked.

  Angela smiled and nodded. “It’s delicious. What is it?”

  Serena grinned. “It’s m—”

  “Ahem!”

  Angela turned to Matt at his interruption that seemed deliberate. He scowled at Serena.

  “Oh! It’s …jaandeezi.” Serena grinned first at Angela, then at Matt.

  “What’s going on, you two?” Angela asked. “What is jaandeezi?” And why do I get the feeling I’m better off not knowing?