Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  “He is right, señora, you should be resting,” Rosita said from the doorway. “Davita is preparing a special cup of tea for you.” She eyed Matt deliberately, and he understood.

  Rosita’s “special tea” would put Angela to sleep and let her rest for a time. And pray God, when she woke—

  “Well, all right,” Angela said reluctantly. “I guess I am a little tired. I can look some more later.”

  Rosita helped Angela change back into a nightgown while Matt straightened the mattress. Davita brought the tea. While Angela sipped the hot, fragrant brew, Rosita nodded at Matt. He understood what was needed, but didn’t know quite how to start.

  “Angela.”

  “Yes?” She looked at him so openly, her green eyes so big and trusting.

  “Angel, I…You’ve got to listen to me, sweetheart.”

  “I’m listening, Matt. What is it?”

  “Angel, when I said you…lost the baby, I didn’t mean you had…misplaced him.”

  “Him? It’s a boy? Oh, I’m so glad, Matt. I was hoping for a boy.”

  “Angela, listen to me.” God. He’d rather face a firing squad than look into her gentle eyes and say what had to be said. He muttered a quick prayer for strength and guidance. “It was a boy, but he died, sweetheart.”

  “No! I don’t believe you.” She shook her head, her mouth formed in mutinous lines.

  He brought her hand to his lips and buried a long, slow kiss in her palm before raising his head again to look at her. “I’m sorry, Angel, but it’s true. You only carried him about four months. It was too soon for him to be born, but he came anyway, and…and he was dead, Angel.” Matt swallowed heavily. “I know it’s hard to accept, but that’s what happened.”

  “Matt,” Angela said as if explaining something for the tenth time to a small child. “That’s not the way things happen. I carried the baby inside me until he decided he was ready to be born. Babies know these things, Matt. If it was too soon, he would have stayed where he was.” She interrupted herself with a huge yawn. Rosita’s tea was already working.

  “You’re tired, sweetheart,” Matt said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “All right,” Angela said, snuggling down under the blanket, her hand still in his. “But I’m right, you’ll see. When I find him, you’ll see I’m right.” Her eyes closed, and she was asleep.

  Matt raised his gaze to Rosita and found tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “What do we do now, Rosita?” he whispered. “What do we do?”

  Rosita took a deep breath and crossed herself. Her control restored, she said, “We let her sleep. Davita, put this room back together, quietly.”

  Rosita led Matt into the hall. “I don’t know what to do, Matt. I’ve heard of this happening before. I think it just takes time. Time for her to learn to accept the truth. Maybe el médico in Tucson knows of some remedy, but I do not, except for time, and prayers.”

  Matt rushed outside and told Jorge to go for the doctor. “And hurry, Jorge. I don’t care what he’s doing when you find him. If you have to bring him here a gunpoint, do it.”

  As it turned out, the doctor offered no objects and went with Jorge readily. Jorge was extremely relieved. It was not a popular thing to do in this part of the country, to threaten a doctor. There were too few doctors as it was. No one wanted them scared off.

  But as fast old Doc Harding got to the Triple C, he wasn’t much help. He, too, had seen it before, but knew of no sure cure. “Sometimes having another child helps them forget,” he offered.

  “Another child!” Matt was appalled. “She almost died losing this one. She’s not recovered from that yet.”

  “I know, son, I know. I didn’t mean right away. I meant later on, in a few months. The only other thing you can do is talk to her. Try to get her to accept the truth. Don’t humor her, Matt. Don’t go along with her on this, or she might not ever get over it. What did you do with the child, by the way?”

  “Do with it?” Matt clenched his jaws, then his fists, fighting the memory of the tiny casket, the tiny grave. He blinked rapidly and tore his gaze away from Doc Harding’s piercing blue eyes. “We buried it—him.”

  “Good.” Doc gave a sharp nod. “If she doesn’t come around soon and face the truth, you might try showing her the grave.”

  Just the thought of it made Matt quail. “Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

  “It can be, yes. But sometimes a severe shock like that will get through when nothing else will. Give it some thought.”

  Matt nodded reluctantly, but doubted he’d ever find the strength to do it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Three days later Sheriff Pugh rode out from town.

  “Interestin’ fella you turned over to me, Colton.”

  “I don’t think I’d call a kidnapper and murderer interesting,” Matt spat.

  “Oh, this ‘un is. Got a list of aliases as long as yer arm. Abe Miller, Miller Scott, Abe Stockton, Sam Miller. List goes on and on. Wanted in Tennessee for assault and robbery. And git this—wanted for stranglin’ his own Pa. A real cold bastard, he is. And sittin’ in his cell just like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Judge’ll be here the first of February, and we’ll have us a trial. After we’re through with him, Tennessee gets him. We’ll need your testimony, and your wife’s, too.”

  “I’ll be glad to testify,” Matt said. “But I don’t know if Angela will be up to it or not.”

  Pugh wanted to know why. Matt reluctantly explained, making sure the sheriff knew her condition was only temporary. It had to be temporary!

  “Real sorry to hear that, Matt, real sorry,” Pugh said, shaking his head. “I’ll send word out when I know the exact date of the trial. We oughta be able to nail him on kidnapping with just your testimony, but without your wife, we probably won’t be able to make the murder charge stick. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”

  The days passed slowly, with Angela doggedly insisting that she would find her lost baby. The atmosphere over the entire ranch was one of hushed waiting. Matt, too, waited. He waited for Angela to accept the truth. But no matter how many times he explained it to her, it didn’t help.

  She didn’t cry or yell or argue. She just quietly insisted that Matt was wrong.

  About everything else, Angela was totally reasonable and rational. But not about the baby. He was simply lost, and she would find him.

  Matt tried everything. He tried cajoling, pleading, praying, yelling. Nothing got through to her. He wished Dani were home. Maybe she’d know what to do.

  Angela soon went back to reading to Jason every day, and it broke the older man’s heart every time she talked about finding the baby. He, too, had tried to convince her of the truth, to no avail.

  “I’m really embarrassed by all of this,” she confessed one afternoon.

  “Embarrassed by what?” Jason asked cautiously.

  “Well, this is your first great grandchild, after all, and I have to go and do something stupid, like lose him.” She fiddled nervously with the pages of the book in her lap.

  “Angela—”

  “But don’t worry, Jason. I promise I’ll find him, and when I do, you’ll be one of the first to know. In fact, if you don’t mind, that is, I’d like to name him after you. I mean, if it’s all right.”

  Jason had to clear the lump from his throat. “I’d be honored, honey.” He just couldn’t tell her again that the baby was dead. He just couldn’t. With the half of his face that still worked, he forced a smile.

  When he blinked the moisture from his eyes, he saw Matt standing a few feet behind Angela, a grim, tortured look on his face.

  If the prayers of an old man carried any weight at all in heaven, then this terrible ordeal would soon be over, for Jason had never prayed so hard in his life.

  The next day dawned as cold and gray and dismal as Matt felt. Despair and helplessness weighed on him, threatening to overwhelm him. With heavy steps and a heavier heart, he met Angela for breakfast.<
br />
  “Have you seen my quilt?” she asked right off.

  “What quilt is that?”

  “The little one,” she explained patiently, as if any idiot would have known. “It’s for the baby. I haven’t put the ruffle around the edge yet, and when I find him, he’ll need his quilt.”

  Matt laid his fork down and stared at his plate. God, how much more of this could he take? And Angela—what must it be like for her?

  “Matt,” she insisted. “Have you seen my quilt?”

  There was one thing he hadn’t tried yet. He didn’t want to do it, but he’d tried everything else. With dread and hopelessness—and fear—making his stomach churn, he answered. “Yes,” he said. “I know where the quilt is, Angel.”

  “You do?” She smiled. “Good! Now I can finish it. Where is it?”

  “It’s…with the baby.”

  “The baby?” Her green eyes grew large in her face. “You found him? Oh Matt! How wonderful! Where is he?”

  “Get your shawl, and I’ll take you to him.”

  “My shawl?”

  “Your shawl.”

  With no further questions, Angela went to get her shawl. Matt spent the brief moment she was gone praying this was the right thing to do. When she came back, he led her out into the dim, cloudy day, across the courtyard, and on toward the low hill past the bunkhouse.

  “It’s awfully cool out here for a little baby, Matt. It’s a good thing he’s got his quilt, or he might catch a chill. But Matt, the quilt wasn’t finished yet. It wasn’t ready.”

  Neither was the baby, Angel. Tears stung Matt’s eyes and throat, and he fought to hold them in. “He’s not cold, I promise.”

  He held her hand as they walked. When she saw where they were headed, she tried to pull away.

  “No!” she cried. “I don’t want to go there. You said you were taking me to the baby. My baby’s not there.”

  “Trust me, Angel.” Matt wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close to his side. “If you want to find the baby, we have to go this way.”

  They walked on, but as they approached the low adobe wall around the family cemetery, Angela’s eyes darted all around. She looked everywhere except at the grave markers. Matt led her a few steps beyond the gate and stopped. Angela buried her face against his shoulder.

  “Angel,” Matt whispered.

  “No!” She tried to pull away and run, but he held her tightly. “Let me go! My baby’s not here! He’s not here, Matt! He’s not! I won’t look! You can’t make me look!”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His throat thickened. Tears finally overflowed and ran down his cheeks. “So sorry.”

  When Angela saw the look of utter pain and helplessness on his tearstained face, her eyes closed tight over her own tears. “No, no, no,” she whispered. She went limp for a moment, then jerked free of his arms. She turned to run, but her legs wouldn’t hold her, and she fell, landing hard on her hands and knees. She raised her head, preparing to get up, and stopped cold at the sight before her.

  It was something she would never forget for as long as she lived. Burned into her mind, just as they were burned into the wooden marker over the tiny grave, were the words:

  Matthew Jason Colton

  Infant Son

  Born and Died, January 9, 1873

  Angela faced it then, the truth, just as she faced that marker. It was true. Deep down inside, maybe she’d always known it was true, but it was just too cruel to think about. Her son! Hers and Matt’s! He never even had a chance at life!

  “Oh God oh God oh God!” Angela clutched at her empty womb and rocked back and forth as the tears came, then the sobs, quietly at first, then more forceful. The grief and pain took over completely, and Angela screamed out her anguish to the gray, uncaring sky.

  Matt dropped to his knees beside her and she fell against him. He felt her sobs and shudders to the core of his being, and his tears mingled with hers as they dripped down onto the tiny mound of bare earth.

  Matt wiped his face on his shirt sleeve. He tightened Angela’s shawl around her shoulders, then carried her back to the house. He lay down on the bed with her and held her until they both slept. The fact that it wasn’t even midmorning yet made no difference. They were both emotionally drained.

  As his eyes closed to the sound of Angela’s soft, even breathing, he sighed. Now they could put this all behind them and go on with their lives. And he swore to himself that if it was at all within his power, he would see that nothing and no one ever hurt his Angel again.

  But there were hurts he couldn’t prevent, simply because he didn’t know they existed. From the moment Angela acknowledged the death of their child, she began to draw up inside herself. To a passing stranger, she might appear to be a normal wife going about her daily routine. But to those who knew her—Matt in particular—she wasn’t Angela.

  There was no light in her eyes, no ready smile on her lips. There were no more lingering touches or looks of longing. There was only a shell of the bright and beautiful woman he’d fallen in love with just a few months ago. Matt felt lost, abandoned, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  He made the mistake once of asking her what was wrong. He would never do that again, he thought with a shudder. Her eyes had glazed over and turned inward, and the hideous travesty of a smile she’d given him was so false, and so obviously for his benefit, it made him want to cry.

  Time. Maybe she just needed more time.

  But Angela never thought of time as her friend. She’d proven herself a failure in every way, and her time with Matt was running out.

  She’d failed her parents by letting them die.

  She’d failed to keep herself from falling in love with Matt. She’d failed to keep him from another woman. She’d failed to keep from conceiving his child.

  And once with child, she’d even failed at that. And what tormented her now was the reminder that the only reason Matt had brought her home with him was the baby.

  Now there was no baby.

  She’d been trying to work up the courage to broach the subject with Matt, certain he would want her to leave soon, but she just couldn’t do it.

  At any rate, she knew he wouldn’t ask her to leave until after she testified at Miller’s trial. That was supposed to have been several weeks ago, at the first of February, but had been postponed twice. First because the judge who was to hear the case had died. Then, when a new judge was appointed, some irate witness at one of his first trials had smuggled a gun into the courtroom and proceeded to shoot up the place, managing to wound the judge during the fracas.

  They were now waiting for his recovery. The new trial date was set for mid-March, which was next week. Her time was running out.

  There was proof enough for her that Matt didn’t want her any more. They used to sit together in the evenings on the sofa in the salon and watch the fire blazing away in the fireplace. Now, if he didn’t lock himself away in his study, he sat across the room in a chair, leaving the space beside her vacant. As vacant as her lifeless womb. Occasionally they touched by accident, and when that happened, Matt would jump like he’d been scalded and move away.

  No, he didn’t want her any more at all. He used to put his arm around her, hold her hand, tease her, kiss her. Now he mostly just watched her, or left her completely alone.

  Another week went by. The trial was tomorrow. Angela was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She couldn’t stand it any more! She couldn’t just wait for him to tell her to leave. After all, she had some pride.

  Matt came to bed earlier than usual that night and caught her packing.

  “Angela?”

  She stiffened, her back to the door, when he entered. She didn’t turn around. After taking a deep breath, she finished folding the last dress and stuffed it into the carpetbag on the bed.

  His footsteps sounded as hollow as she felt when he crossed the room to stand beside her. “I doubt we’ll have to spend the night in
town, but you’re probably right. Better to be prepared, just in case.”

  He gathered an extra shirt for himself and added it to her bag.

  Tell him. Tell him, you coward. But in the end, she couldn’t tell him she was only packing because she wouldn’t be coming home with him after the trial. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t come back here to this place that felt so much like home and wait for him to tell her to leave.

  But she couldn’t say the words.

  Coward.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  They left the wagon at the livery stable and walked the several blocks to Courthouse Plaza. They were early, but a crowd was already gathering. There wasn’t much for entertainment in Tucson, outside of the saloons and “Maiden Lane,” the area where the brothels were located, so trials were quite popular.

  Benito had come with them. He and Matt shouldered a path through the crowd into the courtroom for Angela.

  After being seated, Angela stared at the witness stand, where she would be asked to tell what had happened to her father and then to herself. She gripped her hands together to still their icy trembling. She’d never been in a courtroom before, and here she was, the star witness for the prosecution.

  Matt noticed her pallor and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’ll do fine, Angela. Don’t worry about anything. All you have to do is answer the questions and tell what happened. It’ll be all right. Trust me.”

  For the first time in weeks, he was touching her, holding her. And she couldn’t even respond. She couldn’t take her eyes off that chair where she would have to sit and face a room full of strangers. Before she realized it, the judge had entered, the charges had been read, the opening arguments had been given, and the district attorney was calling her to the witness stand.

  Her knees didn’t shake nearly so bad as she thought they would. That was reassuring. Maybe she could survive this after all. She could face her father’s murderer and see him convicted. She could. She could. She would.

  After being sworn in, Angela seated herself in the witness chair. She searched the spectators and found Matt. He smiled as their gazes met and locked, and nodded his head in encouragement.