The question shook him. He forced it away. He would never know the answer.
This had to be LaRisa Chee. No one but Chee’s daughter would call Spence’s brother, Matt, her uncle. “I didn’t realize we looked so much alike,” he answered, speaking of her mistaking him for Matt.
It was a cinch no one was going to mistake her for her father, Spence thought. She must take after her mother, a Mexican who had died years ago and whom Spence had never met. There was none of the hard, craggy warrior in the delicate features of this girl. Her face was narrow, with proud, high cheek bones and a chin just pointy enough to be called stubborn. Maybe the chin was Chee’s.
Spence had learned that when the children first arrived at Carlisle, one of the first items of business was to cut the boys’ long hair off to a “civilized” length. Apparently the girls were not subjected to the same treatment. This girl’s hair was thick and glossy black, entwined into a braid long enough to wrap around her head. The style left her bared neck looking delicate and fragile, and made her black eyes look huge in her dainty, coppery face.
Staring at the man before her, LaRisa didn’t need his words to make her realize her error. It had been more than eight years since she had seen her father’s closest friend, Matt Bear Killer Colton. She’d been but a child at the time, but she remembered “Uncle” Matt’s brown eyes and the scar he bore as a reminder of the bear that had given him his Apache name.
Without realizing what she was doing, LaRisa raised a finger to the man’s taut right cheek beneath his bright blue eye. “Too smooth,” she whispered as she traced her finger there. “No scar.” A jolt of heat shot from her fingertip straight down to her toes. An odd tingling shimmied through her muscles. She jerked her hand away, appalled at her bold behavior, disturbed by her body’s reaction to touching him.
The man gave her a fleeting smile, then sobered. “I’m Spence. Matt is my brother.”
A chill of premonition bloomed at the base of her neck. “Doctor Spencer Colton, the one my father wrote me about?”
Spence heard the hesitancy in her voice. Her English was too flawless, and tinged with the slightest Western accent—like Chee’s—for her to have learned it at Carlisle. She must be his daughter. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “Are you LaRisa? LaRisa Chee?”
LaRisa swallowed as the coldness crept down her spine. “Yes. What…Why are you here? Has something happened to my father?”
“LaRisa!” Miss Latimer’s sensible walking boots clomped across the floor toward LaRisa. “I told you to go to your room.”
But LaRisa couldn’t look away from the steady blue gaze of the man before her.
“It’s my fault, ma’am,” Spence offered. “I detained Miss Chee.” He then introduced himself to Miss Latimer.
The woman’s gaze snapped to LaRisa. “Another admirer, LaRisa?” she asked caustically.
LaRisa flushed and lowered her gaze. What she wouldn’t give to yank Prune Face Latimer’s store-bought hairpiece right off that nearly bald head. She settled for grinding her back teeth together to keep from screaming in rage.
Spence stiffened and narrowed his eyes at Miss Latimer. Since first reaching him out in the hall, her voice had been nothing but caustic. “As I’m sure you overheard a bare moment ago, Miss Chee and I have only just now met.”
Miss Latimer pursed her lips. “My apologies. LaRisa, you may go to your room now.” To Spence she said, “Please come in, Mr. Colton, and tell me what brings you to the Carlisle Indian School.”
“It’s Doctor Colton, and LaRisa needs to stay, as it’s her I’ve come about.”
Miss Latimer arched one nearly hairless brow. “Indeed? And what kind of trouble has she caused this time?”
LaRisa stiffened, her anger growing. Judging by the look on his face, Spencer Colton was none too pleased with the situation, either, although why, LaRisa wasn’t sure.
“If you’ll quit jumping to conclusions and slinging accusations long enough to listen, I’ll be glad to state my business. I would like your cooperation,” he added, “but I’ll tell you plainly, I’ll proceed without it if I have to.”
“Indeed.” With her back arched and her scrawny neck stretched its full length, Miss Latimer led the way back inside the office and resumed her seat behind the desk. “State your business, Doctor Colton.”
Realizing he was waiting for her to sit before taking a seat himself, LaRisa gingerly perched on the edge of the chair she had recently vacated. The old, dry leather still retained her body heat.
“I have come,” Spence said, “to take LaRisa to her father in Alabama. A telegram was sent to Captain Pratt yesterday explaining the situation.”
“I’m afraid what you propose is out of the question,” Miss Latimer stated. “Only Captain Pratt has the authority to release a student into your custody. You’ll simply have to wait until he returns.”
The cold creeping down LaRisa’s spine spread its icy fingers around her throat. “Something has happened to my father?”
“I’m afraid so,” Spence told her softly. “He’s very ill, LaRisa. It’s…serious. Matt sent word yesterday that Chee is asking for you. I’m afraid there isn’t time to wait for Captain Pratt. We have to leave right now.”
LaRisa squeezed her stinging eyes shut. Shitaa, shitaa, her heart cried. Father, father! But she did not say the words aloud, not in her native tongue, for to speak the Chiricahua language was forbidden at Carlisle. Kill the Indian, but save the child, was Captain Pratt’s philosophy, and he enforced it. But even after eight years of being forbidden her own language, her heart still spoke it.
In English, the tongue of the hated white men who had imprisoned her people and brought them white men’s deadly diseases, she forced herself to ask, “Is he dying?”
After a small silence, Spence said, “Matt thinks so.”
LaRisa swallowed hard. “Matt’s not a doctor. Would…would he know?”
Another silence, then, “Yes.”
Stunned, devastated by that simple word, LaRisa opened her eyes and looked up at Spence. He must be wrong. He had to be wrong. Her father was big and strong and the only family she had in the whole world. Once, before he settled on the reservation, he had been a fierce Apache warrior. He’d ridden with the great Cochise against the whites and Mexicans. He had never been bested, never been defeated. Had it not been for her, he would not have stayed on the reservation in Arizona after the Army kept breaking its word. He would have ridden the warpath with Geronimo and would never have surrendered. He could not die!
“If you can be ready to leave quickly,” Spence told her, “we can try to make it back to Harrisburg to catch the midnight train.”
From deep within, LaRisa gathered what strength she could. Spencer Colton was a white man and a stranger, but he was still a Colton. LaRisa would trust her life to Matt, and to Matt and Spence’s father, Travis Yellow Hair Colton, and to their mother, the one The People called Woman of Magic. LaRisa also remembered and trusted Serena Colton and her twin brother, Pace. Surely she was justified in trusting Spence, too.
She would go with him to the prison camp in Alabama, to her father. She was good at nursing; she’d helped in the infirmary at Carlisle for years. Maybe there was something she could do for her father. Maybe if she were beside him, he would find the strength and will to fight off the specter of death.
Maybe he wasn’t really so ill, her heart suggested. Maybe he had simply finally changed his mind and given in to her requests to come live with him.
The lifeless look in Spencer Colton’s blue eyes told her otherwise.
LaRisa swallowed. “I have very little to pack, and nothing to pack it in. I am ready to leave right now, if you are.”
Miss Latimer slapped the flat of her palm against the desk top. “Absolutely not!”
For LaRisa, the old rules suddenly no longer applied. She was going to her father, and she would not come back to this place. She turned her gaze on the woman behind the desk and let all her hatred show in h
er eyes. “You will not stop me. It is better for you if I am gone when Captain Pratt returns. Don’t you agree?”
Miss Latimer’s face paled visibly at the implied threat. The woman knew Captain Pratt would demand an explanation for what had taken place at the dinner party last weekend, and for LaRisa’s subsequent punishment.
Geraldine felt the padded leather arms of the chair give beneath the grip of her fingers. Oh, she wanted the little slut gone, all right. She would give anything to be rid of this perpetual thorn in her side. But to give permission without authorization…No, she dared not. Captain Pratt would dismiss her instantly.
“LaRisa,” she said placatingly. “Think, child. You’ve never met this man before. How do you know he’s telling the truth about your father? I’ve seen no telegram to Captain Pratt. I would never have kept such news from you, regardless of our differences. Surely you know that.”
LaRisa knew no such thing. In fact, she believed the exact opposite. Before she could speak, Miss Latimer went on.
“In all consciousness, even if we didn’t have rules here, I simply could not and will not allow an unmarried female student to leave in the company of a strange man. Why, LaRisa, anything could happen to you. No offense, Dr. Colton, but surely you see that your taking Miss Chee anywhere without a chaperon is simply unacceptable. If you try to take her, I’m afraid I shall have no recourse but to immediately report that you have kidnapped her. I assure you, sir, you will not get far.”
Spence saw in the woman’s eyes that she would do whatever she could to thwart him and keep LaRisa from leaving Carlisle. There was no time for all this foolishness. He had to get LaRisa to Mount Vernon as soon as possible. Yet if this woman sicced the Army on him, his and LaRisa’s trip could be delayed until it was too late.
“I’m afraid any delay would be unacceptable,” he told the woman. He looked at the girl beside him. “LaRisa, do you trust me?”
She met his gaze squarely. “Yellow Hair Colton is an honorable man. Are you your father’s son?”
He gave her a half-smile. “I like to think I am. I try to be.”
After another searching look, LaRisa nodded. “Then I trust you to take me to my father, Dr. Spencer Colton.”
Spence returned her look. “How old are you?”
Frowning, she answered, “Nineteen.”
He nodded, then turned to Miss Latimer. “I’m taking LaRisa to see her father. If you send anyone after us, both you and they are going to be highly embarrassed at having interrupted our honeymoon trip. LaRisa and I will be married before we leave town.”
Chapter Two
Miss Latimer’s voice rang with fury. “That is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!”
For once LaRisa had to agree with Old Prune Face. But LaRisa wasn’t so much furious as she was stunned.
“Why is it preposterous?” Spence asked calmly. “Our families have known each other and been close friends since before either of us was born.”
“You know that has nothing to do with it. You’re only proposing this outlandish idea because I threatened you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not serious.”
“Let’s just go, Spence,” LaRisa offered. “She can’t stop us.”
Spence turned to her. “You trust her not to send someone after us?”
LaRisa didn’t even have to look at the woman to know the answer. “No.” Miss Latimer would do whatever she could to make LaRisa’s life a living hell. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“That’s it, then,” Spence announced. “We’ll find a judge or a justice of the peace on our way out of town. Get your things together. We don’t have any time to waste.”
Later LaRisa would worry about the doctor’s arrogance in assuming she would blithely go along with his plans. Later she would examine her frightening and unwanted reaction to simply touching his cheek. For now she would keep quiet. She would marry the devil himself if it would get her to her father. She would even marry a white man. For now.
A few moments later LaRisa stood beside her bed and looked at her meager belongings laid out before her. Among her people she would be shamed by such a lack of property. One extra skirt and blouse, both brown, like the ones she had on; one extra set of undergarments, gray with age and many washings, like the ones she had on; one extra set of cotton stockings, black and much-mended, like the ones she had on. One comb, one brush, a sewing needle, a few lengths of brown thread, and nothing else.
Not so much as a leather pouch or a white man’s valise in which to carry her belongings. Not a basket or cooking pot or pouch to her name. Not even a knife with which to skin game. Not that she would know how to skin game or cook in a pouch over an open fire. She could handle a stove, though. A white man’s stove, she thought with dismay.
Some fine Apache she’d turned into. What would her father think of her, with her white ways? She didn’t even know how to think like an Apache any longer. She could still speak the language, somewhat, but what little she retained of her vocabulary in her native tongue was that of an eleven-year-old. In the past eight years she’d not spoken it aloud, except in whispers with others who had come here as children.
With a cry of anguish, she tore off her white apron and flung it to the floor. The sense of freedom that coursed through her veins at that one tiny act of defiance felt heady.
Now, how was she going to carry her belongings? Short of stealing a pillow case to stuff the items into, the only thing she could think to do was wrap them in her extra skirt.
With the palm of her hand, she smoothed the extra skirt as much as she could, then started placing her remaining garments on top of it. Her movements were slow and deliberate. Every time she leaned forward too far, or stretched her arm just so, or moved incautiously, the pain in her back took her breath away. She was nearly finished rolling the flat pile into a roll she could carry, when Miss Latimer appeared at the doorway.
“Use this.” The woman ungraciously handed LaRisa a worn and faded carpetbag large enough to carry several times more belongings than LaRisa had ever owned.
LaRisa wondered why Miss Latimer was suddenly helping by offering the bag, when she was so opposed to LaRisa’s leaving. But one glimpse into Miss Latimer’s eyes, and LaRisa knew she wouldn’t ask. There was no point. Any answer would only be caustic. The white doctor downstairs had probably badgered her into providing the bag.
Oddly enough, Doctor Colton had nothing to do with Geraldine’s decision to see the couple hurried along their way. It had come to her that if LaRisa did actually marry the man who had come for her, the girl would not be allowed to return to Carlisle. That was worth whatever repercussions might fall on Geraldine’s head.
If she was careful, there would be no repercussions. If only she could be certain the marriage actually took place.
But of course! She would go along as a witness, to make sure LaRisa’s best interests were served, of course. That would be what Geraldine could claim. And the girl was willing enough to go through with it. There would be witnesses aplenty to swear to that.
If a worn bag from the trash heap would help get this heathen gone for good, it was the least Geraldine could offer.
LaRisa placed her scant belongings in the bag and closed it. Then, with Miss Latimer dogging her, and in deliberate defiance of the woman’s earlier orders, LaRisa passed the stairs that led back to Spencer Colton and made her way to the infirmary. She could not leave without saying good-bye.
Only two beds were occupied, and both children were asleep. Sleep came so hard for them, she knew she couldn’t wake them. Too soon, at least one of the two would sleep forever. The smell of measles was in the air. Measles, and death.
The poor little boy, she thought, saddened. Little Wolf had come last spring from the Lakota. The ten-year-old would not see his eleventh winter.
Saddened but not surprised—few of the students ever recovered from the white man’s diseases—she turned to the day-nurse whom she had worked with the last fe
w years. “I’ve come to say good-bye, Mary.”
Shock and dismay showed on the nurse’s careworn face. “You’re leaving Carlisle?”
LaRisa nodded. “My father…he’s very ill. He’s asking for me.”
“Oh, child. I’m sorry he’s ill, but I’m glad you’re getting to see him. You’ll write to me, won’t you? You’ve been my best helper. You’re at least as good a nurse as I am.”
She gave Mary’s hand a squeeze. It was the first time LaRisa had voluntarily touched the nurse. “Thank you,” LaRisa whispered. Funny, but when she looked at Mary, she didn’t see white skin. Those all-knowing eyes didn’t look at her and see Indian. With a sudden uncharacteristic show of emotion, LaRisa dropped her bag and threw her arms around the nurse. “Thank you. I’m going to miss you. I promise I’ll write. Tell the children…”
Mary returned the hug, then stepped back and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ll tell them. You take care, honey.”
The sting of tears startled LaRisa, embarrassed her. She turned away with a nod.
Doctor Spencer Colton stood in the doorway, a muscle bunching along his jaw. His gaze flashed over the beds along the wall, then back to her. With a tightening in his gut, Spence refused to look at the children in the beds. God forgive him, he didn’t have the strength to see another dying child and know he couldn’t help. “Hurry up. We’ll miss our train.”
If there had been a question lingering in LaRisa’s mind as to what kind of man this Colton was, it had just been answered. He was not like the rest of his family. The other Coltons she remembered were kind and generous people. For a doctor to be able to dismiss those poor children in their beds without a second glance, with a totally emotionless look in his eyes, he must have had a heart of stone. If he had a heart at all.
At two minutes past midnight that night, the train pulled out of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, headed south. Among the half-dozen passengers in the second coach car were the newly wedded Dr. and Mrs. Spencer Colton. This close to Carlisle, Indians were a common enough sight that after a few curious stares, no one paid much attention to the newlyweds.
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