My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains

by Susan Page Davis

  Chapter Six

  They were moving slow—too slow to suit Freeland, but he couldn’t ask Carmela to increase the pace. The poor girl had been through enough already. Still, he doubted they were making more than a couple of miles an hour. He hated the discomfort and embarrassment the handcuffs caused her, but he couldn’t think of a way to get them off without a key or tools. If he still had his gun, he’d shoot through the chain, but that possibility had galloped off with the outlaws.

  They’d been slogging along for more than an hour when the wind freshened and he thought he caught a different smell in the air. He stopped, and Carmela paused, too, not speaking, but looking warily up at him.

  He swiveled his head, looking hard for something different.

  “There.” He pointed to the left of the trail. “I can’t hear it, but I think there’s water over there. See all the bushes?”

  “I think so.”

  “They may be treetops. I’m hoping they’re down in a streambed.”

  She matched his stride without question. Freeland liked that about her. Though she made her living as a speaker, Carmela seemed to be a woman of few words when she had a choice.

  In the darkness, it was hard to distinguish the dark shapes around them, but when they came to a drop in the terrain, he stopped, pulling her up short.

  “Right down there.” He could hear a faint murmur now, and there was no mistaking the glimmer of starlight on the ribbon of water that wound between the rocky banks.

  “Is there a river?” she asked.

  “Probably a spring somewhere. But this is enough for us.”

  He cast about for the easiest way down the six-foot bank and held tight to her hand while they descended, slipping and lurching. They reached the bottom still upright—a roaring success. He led her to the rivulet and hunkered down. Carmela crouched beside it.

  Freeland scooped a handful to his mouth and tasted it. “It’s good water. Drink all you want. We can fill the skin.” It was nearly empty, and he had wondered if they would be able to make it to the next station if they didn’t find more.

  She drank several handfuls and then eased down, half sitting, half lying on the rocky ground.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  “I sure am. How’s your head?”

  “Not so bad, but I still feel it.”

  She nodded.

  The water was only an inch or two deep. He searched his pockets and found he still had the handkerchief his mother had passed him as he walked out the door two days ago. He unfolded it and dipped it into the sluggish stream. He squeezed it out the best he could with one hand and held it out to her. “It’s clean. It might feel good to bathe your face.”

  “Thank you.” She sat up straighter, took it, and gingerly patted her sunburned cheeks. She let out a little sigh that he took to mean she had found some relief.

  “We could rest awhile,” he offered.

  She looked around doubtfully. “It will get hot quickly after sunup. I would like to bathe my feet before we go on though.”

  “Of course.”

  She held out the damp handkerchief.

  “Why don’t you keep that for now and let me get your shoes off. Everything’s just plain awkward with these cuffs on, but I think I could do that.”

  She opened her mouth as though she would speak then closed it for a moment. “All right, I won’t argue.”

  He soaked the handkerchief again for her and squeezed it out. When she had it in her hand, she lay back, limp.

  “I’m sure it will be an unpleasant job, but go ahead.”

  He smiled in the moonlight. “I don’t think I’ll notice any smells if that’s what you mean.”

  He untied her ankle-high shoes and eased off the one nearest him. Carmela winced and caught her breath as he pulled it free.

  “You’re hurting,” he said.

  “I think I have a blister.”

  “You should’ve said something.” Carefully, he eased the lace on the other shoe looser and gently pulled the shoe off. He started to grasp her stocking, but she sat up quickly when he touched her ankle.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “All right.” He sat back a little, keeping his left arm floppy so she didn’t feel any resistance as she moved. He realized he was staring as she worked her stocking down and quickly looked away. “The stars are fading. Must be getting on to dawn.”

  She paused and looked up for a moment. “Likely you’re right.”

  She kept working, and when she had both stockings off, she scooted closer to the water. As her feet slipped into the stream, she gave a little gasp.

  “All right?” Freeland asked.

  “It stings, but I’ll be fine.”

  He wondered how far he could carry her if her feet gave out. Asking her to walk any farther rankled him. But they couldn’t stay out here forever. He thought about taking his boots off and joining her in the footbath, but he wasn’t sure he’d get them back on. Fatigue swept over him, and he leaned back on his elbow.

  “I’m thinking we should try to rest a bit. Find a place to shelter and try to sleep.”

  She looked at him, her lips parted, and he realized he could see the warm brown of her eyes. “Are you sure? What if someone comes along and we miss them?”

  “I don’t think we would. But I could put my boots in the trail, so anyone would see them.”

  She smiled, a nice smile if not for the ugly markings on her face. “We could make an arrow in the dirt, pointing down here.”

  “Yeah, we could.”

  She pressed her lips together then met his gaze. “I think we should keep going.”

  He considered it and nodded. “All right, then, dress your feet.”

  She put her left foot across her knee to put the stocking on again, and he could plainly see pressure sores on her sole.

  “Your foot’s all raw. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It wouldn’t have done any good.”

  Freeland exhaled and shook his head. “You must have learned that attitude when you were a captive. You shouldn’t be walkin’ on those feet.”

  She stared at him for a moment then turned her face away, but not before he saw tears well in her eyes. An ache grew in Freeland’s chest. Here they were, out in the desert with no help in sight, and the girl had just lost her uncle to a band of cutthroats. She must have been horrified by Dix’s deception and the idea that she might end up chained to a dead man if his head hadn’t been so hard—not to mention what she went through years ago on that wagon train with her family. Then she’d been terrified by an Apache, and now he’d added another load to her distress.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” She turned toward him. “It’s not your fault my feet hurt. Or that you’re shackled to me. If you were alone, I’m sure you’d be at the next station by now.”

  He looked away, unable to confirm or deny that. “If I was alone, that Apache might have lifted my scalp.”

  Carmela sighed and finished pulling on her stocking. She worked the other on, and they sat in silence for a long moment. He hated to press her to put her shoes on and cause her more pain by walking, so he waited.

  She pulled her feet up under her dark skirt so that her knees were bent and leaned forward, resting her arms over them. “I remember when I spoke in Tucson five years ago, right before the war broke out.”

  “I remember, too,” Freeland said.

  She eyed him sharply. “There was a boy. He came out in the alley behind the building, and he found me crying. He told me he had a brother who could help me.”

  Freeland sighed. “That was my younger brother, Will McKay.”

  She nodded. “He looked like you. Same hair, same eyes.”

  Freeland hesitated, not sure how to word what he ought to say now. “Will came to fetch me, but when we got back to the saloon, we were too late. You and Mr. Holden were gone. I hoped at the time that you would be all right, but I didn’t see that I could do anything under the circ
umstances. I mean, I was new at the job and afraid to overstep my bounds. I was young. If I’d had the experience I have under my belt now … Well, anyway, the town was a little rowdy that night, and I had a prisoner in the jail.” He shook his head. He’d been the practical one, set off against Will’s idealism. “I’m sorry we didn’t get there in time.”

  “Where is he now?” she asked.

  He swallowed hard. “He was killed in the war.”

  Her eyes flared. “But he was so young!”

  “Yes. Eighteen when he died. He was with Hood’s Texas Brigade at Gettysburg.”

  Carmela didn’t move for half a minute. Freeland remembered how badly his brother wanted to save this girl. Maybe now he had the chance to do that. Was that why God let him come on this odd journey and lose his prisoner?

  “Were you in the war?” she asked.

  “Yes. I went before Will. He was too young when it started. By the time I got home, he was gone. Mama was alone when she got the word. It was real hard, losing him.”

  He looked at her scuffed shoes. How could they go on with Carmela’s feet in such bad shape? He was weak with hunger. He wouldn’t be able to carry her far. But he wouldn’t leave her out here alone. That was the last thing he would do.

  “If I could wrap my foot, I think I could walk some more,” she said.

  “Are they both bad?”

  “No, just the one. Maybe I can use your handkerchief.”

  “If you think it will help.”

  She smiled and glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “Your brother gave me his handkerchief, too. I still have it. That is, it’s in my trunk.”

  Freeland’s eyes burned, but no tears came. Maybe he was just too parched to cry. “Guess we McKay men all have a soft spot for women in need.”

  Carmela gave a little laugh, a soft, musical chuckle that lightened his remorse.

  The sun was rising now. She gazed toward the flagrant smears of red and orange in the eastern sky. “God is giving us another beautiful sight this morning.”

  Freeland looked toward it and watched the cloud shadows and hues change. “Yes, He is.”

  If he could just get the handcuffs off. Then he could be sure this wouldn’t be Carmela Wade’s last sunrise. He spotted a rock about the size of a potato and picked it up.

  “Let me see if I can spring these things.”

  Carmela willingly adjusted her position so that he could set the latch on his bracelet against another rock.

  “Do you think it will work?” she asked.

  “No. It may just make it so a key won’t unlock them, if I mash it too badly.”

  “What about the links? Wouldn’t they be more likely to give?”

  “We can try.”

  He hammered at the chain and the cuff for a good ten minutes. Sweat broke out on his brow and began to soak his shirt. Carmela watched in silence, her mouth tight.

  At last he flopped back on the ground. “No good. If I just had a gun.”

  “We should drink and fill the water skin and then go on,” she said quietly. “I’ll put my shoes on.”

  Carmela gritted her teeth and tried not to let her discomfort show on her face. The handkerchief in her shoe might help a little—or it might just make ridges of cloth to further irritate her tender foot. She could tear long strips from her petticoat; that might be more effective. She glanced at Freeland and decided she wasn’t up to that right now. She had already exposed her limbs to him and endured the humility of taking care of her basic needs with him a foot away. She would limp onward the way she was, for as long as she could.

  Freeland. It was a good name. Strong and suggestive of independence and optimism. Still, she wasn’t sure she could call him that. She would work on it mentally, until she got used to it. His brother Will’s name had been much easier to handle—but then, she hadn’t known Will’s last name.

  A wave of sorrow for the gallant boy surged through her, and her hands trembled as she tied her shoelaces.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Freeland asked.

  “Just hungry, I guess.” She finished the job and leaned toward the stream with him while he let water run into the leather bag.

  “If we could find some herbs, it might help my blisters,” she said.

  “What kind of herbs?” His eyebrows drew together.

  “I learned what the natives use for medicines. I believe if we could find the creosote bush, a poultice might help.”

  He frowned. “Is that what we call chaparral?”

  Carmela ran through the mental catalogue of plants she had studied. “I don’t know. The Yavapai use it for skin problems and as an analgesic. It might help relieve the sunburn, too, though I think aloe is best for that.”

  “Yavapai?” Freeland cocked his head toward his right shoulder. “Is that who you were with?”

  Carmela hesitated. “I’m not really sure. The Indian agent where the troopers first took me said my tattoos might be Yavapai. Or another tribe that they traded with.”

  “Mojave?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, this creosote bush, or aloe?”

  “There’s another plant they would dry and powder for poultices—curly dock.”

  “Sure, I know it. I don’t think there’s enough water for it here.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “But the creosote bush. We might find it. I looked it up after Uncle Silas took me home, and it’s a good one.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for it.” He held out his hand, and she took it, using his leverage to help her rise. She eased weight onto her left foot.

  “Well?” He bent his head and peered anxiously into her eyes.

  “I can do it.”

  They set out slowly, and she couldn’t help favoring her injured foot. They regained the trail and headed northwest. By the time they had gone a hundred steps, her limp was so pronounced, Freeland stopped.

  “No offense, ma’am—Carmela—but if we’re going to make it, you need to lean on me. If I could carry you, I would, but I don’t know if that’s possible with these bracelets. Just hold on to my arm, and I’ll give you all the support I can.”

  “A–all right.” She raised her right hand and tried to take his elbow, but the short chain between them wouldn’t allow it. So she looped her wrist instead around his forearm and grasped it firmly, feeling his muscles tighten.

  “That’s it. Now, put as much weight on me as you can.”

  Their gait was awkward, but she soon found a rhythm, and using Freeland’s arm as a walking stick did help. If he’d been on the other side, she might have been fairly proficient. As it was, they made better progress than she had hoped.

  “So you’ve been with your uncle since your ordeal with the natives?”

  Carmela’s pulse picked up, and the back of her neck tingled. “Since after my parents died. He came to get me at Fort Yuma.”

  “But you were with the Indians quite a while.”

  She hesitated, not wanting to lie to him. “I am told it was five years.” By Uncle Silas. Her own heart knew the truth.

  “That’s a long time.”

  She nodded and concentrated on the rough trail. How different would her life have been if not for Uncle Silas? He was not the benefactor he made himself out to be. If he had really wanted to help her, he would not have exploited her and forced her into a life of deceit. She was twenty years old now. Other girls her age were courting, marrying, starting families of their own. But she was obligated to do her uncle’s bidding.

  Without Uncle Silas, she might have found love by now, or at least a pleasing arrangement with a husband. So long as he was a decent man, provided for her, and let her be honest, she wouldn’t insist upon love.

  She glanced up at Freeland, and his eyes met hers for an instant. He seemed like a decent man. He had been nothing but courteous to her during this awful odyssey. He hadn’t blamed her for what Dix did, binding them cruelly together. If her life wer
e different, if she weren’t Uncle Silas’s ward, she might have met a man whom she could love and share the future with—maybe a man like this one.

  Her chest felt tight and she tried to pull in a deeper breath. Would she ever see Uncle Silas again? He may have bled to death by now, or the outlaws may have finished him off to get rid of him. What would she do if he never returned? She knew nothing about making a life of her own.

  “We must be near the station,” Freeland said.

  She halted and looked up at him. “You’ve made this journey before?”

  “Yes. I think we’re close.”

  “And if that station was burned, too?” she asked.

  He sighed and looked up the trail, as far as he could see. The ground rose before them, the path a beaten track of red clay. Across the hillsides grew clumps of brush and prickly pear, and saguaro cacti standing tall like sentries.

  “We’ll have to take it as it comes,” he said.

  She nodded. “Let’s get there, then.”

  “Your feet?”

  “Not too bad.”

  He grasped her hand. “You’ve got heart, Carmela. Most women would have folded up by now.”

  She smiled. The burned skin of her face hurt, and her lips cracked, sending out more shoots of pain, but she was ready to go on.

  “It we make it to the top of this rise and we can’t see the station, we’ll rest, all right?” he asked.

  “Fair enough.” She set out, determined to make it to the top of the long slope. Her breath soon came in quick gulps, and she clung to Freeland’s hand to steady her wobbly steps.

  “Want to stop?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Another hundred steps and they would top the hill.

  At last they stood looking out over more of the same—dry, barren acres, with no sign of life or habitation.

  “I guess we should sit for a while.”

  He guided her off the trail, into the shade of a large rock formation. They sat down side by side, and he passed her the water skin.

  Carmela took a drink, not nearly as much as she wanted. She passed it to him, knowing they both wanted to make it last until they got to the stage stop. There might be a stream or a well by the station. Most of them were built near a water source, so the teams could be kept comfortable.