My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains

by Susan Page Davis

  “Thanks.” Freeland took a drink. He winced slightly, and she didn’t blame him. The liquid was bitter, and by now it was probably not as hot as he’d like it, since Jerry had let the stove begin to cool down as soon as he’d finished cooking. She topped off her own mug, though she didn’t really want more, but it would give her an excuse to linger at the table. She preferred Freeland’s company to the comparative privacy of Price’s room.

  He set his mug down. Carmela had resumed her seat, and he gazed at her across the rough pine table. “So, you’ve been back what—six years?”

  “Closer to eight.” As soon as she spoke, she realized that might not tally with what she had told him before, or what she had let him believe about her ordeal.

  “Did you find it hard to come back to civilization?”

  She lowered her eyelashes. She hadn’t expected him to dive into the topic of her captivity. Her re-assimilation to the white culture was a favorite subject during question time at her lectures. To make the topic less painful, she compared her life before her parents’ death to her life with Uncle Silas.

  “In some ways,” she said, hoping the vague answer would prompt him to drop the subject.

  He leaned toward her and dropped his voice. “I know it’s difficult for you when people stare. I saw Jerry gawking at you last night.”

  “Did he say anything after I retired?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah. Asked me all about it. I told him I didn’t know much, but that you’d spent time with one of the tribes. I hope he won’t bother you, but don’t be surprised if he tries to strike up a conversation about it.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. I’m forewarned.”

  He sat back. “I expect you’re used to it. People can’t help but wonder.”

  Tears sprang into Carmela’s eyes. She would never get used to it, the staring, the questions, the smirking and leering. People thought they knew so much when they knew nothing, nothing at all.

  “I’m sorry,” Freeland said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No one ever does.” She managed a weak smile.

  His gaze fell, and she knew she had made him feel guilty. He’d been kind to her, and she didn’t wish to make him feel bad. In fact, he had saved her life when it came down to it. If he hadn’t rallied and brought her here, she’d be dead by now. And if she had let the Indian free her from the deputy, where would she be? Living out her nightmare—the lie she had told for the last eight years. Freeland deserved to know the truth.

  She glanced around to check on Jerry, at the window, and Price, who let out occasional snores from his blanket cocoon near the hearth. Windle was still outside. She ought to have told Freeland everything when they were alone in the desert, but as things stood now, she probably wouldn’t have a better time than this.

  She leaned forward. “My tattoos—they’re not real.”

  He blinked and leaned in, his face only inches from hers, his blue eyes keen. “Did I hear you correctly?” He flung a look over his shoulder. “They’re fake?”

  She nodded.

  He sat for a moment, studying her chin. “What about the rest of it?”

  She hesitated. Once she said it, she couldn’t take it back. Gazing into Freeland’s eyes, she wanted desperately to end the lie.

  “I was never with the Indians,” she whispered.

  Freeland stared at Carmela. She scrunched handfuls of her skirt in her lap, not returning his gaze. Her brown eyes had a feral look, as though she might bolt at any second.

  He wished he could take her outside for a walk, away from the others, but the chance of outlaws or Apache swooping down on them was too great. He rested his arms on the table and said softly, “Tell me about it.”

  Carmela sighed. “My father took us on a wagon train. He wanted to set up in California. He’d heard the best land was there. All of that’s true. We traveled all year, from spring to October. We were getting close, Pa said. And then he got sick. He and Ma both came down with it, and my brother. The wagon train stopped. They talked about what to do. We weren’t the only family that caught the sickness.”

  “What kind of sickness?” Freeland asked.

  “I don’t know. They just said fever. Now I think maybe cholera.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “They left us and two other families. My pa died, and they buried him before the rest of the train left. By the time we were done, there was me and a man named Mr. Basford and one of his boys. The whole Jessup family died, and my ma and brother. Mr. Basford took me into his wagon with his son. He was awfully weak, and so were Tommy and I, but we made it to Fort Yuma. When they were stronger, they went on. They left me there with the army chaplain and his wife. They sent for Uncle Silas, and he came to get me.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Freeland frowned. “So you were with the chaplain and his wife after your parents died, not after …”

  “There was no ambush.” She looked down at her hands.

  “So why did you say there was?”

  “Uncle Silas.”

  “This was all his idea?”

  She nodded. “He made up the story. What I told you before was true, about Olive Oatman. He got the idea from her. He figured we could get rich—that is, he could get rich—if he could train me to tell a good story.”

  Freeland’s breath puffed out of him and he sat in stunned silence. After a long moment, Carmela stirred.

  “Will you arrest me, Mr. McKay?”

  He stared at her. “Whatever for?”

  “Fraud. I lied to thousands of people, and we took their money.”

  “You didn’t have a choice, did you? That’s what Will meant when he said your uncle made you do things. He made you lie so he could rake in the money.”

  Her lips trembled and her chin sank. “That’s right.” Her tears flowed freely now.

  “You were a kid.” Freeland scowled and tried to figure the years. “You told me you were twelve, right?”

  “Yes. It took us a while to get ready. I had to study, and Uncle Silas spent months planning everything out. He made me say I was younger when it happened, to account for my time with the savages, you see.”

  “Sure.”

  She swallowed hard. “He made me say I was with them five years, but it isn’t true. When people heard I was younger at the time of the … tragedy, it seemed more plausible that I stayed with them and didn’t escape. I was too young to know better, according to Uncle Silas.”

  “But if you were twelve, and you knew what you were doing was wrong …” He let it trail off.

  “Yes, I knew. I didn’t want to do it, but he forced me.”

  “How?”

  “I told you. He said my father owed him ten thousand dollars.” Freeland’s brain was reeling. She had told him earlier that her uncle claimed her father owed him a lot of money, but ten thousand dollars? That was astronomical.

  “Where would he get that much money?” he asked. “And why would your father borrow that much?”

  “I don’t think he did,” she said with a glance toward Jerry. The young man slouched by the window, giving no sign he could hear them. “At first I was too shocked and frightened to reason it out, and I was only twelve. I couldn’t really comprehend how much money that was. But now I think Uncle Silas made up the debt to use against me.”

  “Did he threaten you otherwise? What if you’d just said no?”

  Her mouth twitched twice before she spoke. “I did at first. He … he hit me. Not on my face, but he hurt me awfully. He said if I didn’t do as he said, it would be worse.”

  “But you seemed so—so cordial to each other.”

  “It’s been a long time,” she reminded him. “I stopped fighting him years ago. It was useless. We came to an understanding. I would work off the debt, and then I could do as I pleased, if I was of age. That won’t be for another year. I just turned twenty, and I’ve worked off the ten thousand.”

  Freeland nodded. “And he told you your expenses went bey
ond that. You did say something about that.”

  “Yes. But I made up my mind that the day I turn twenty-one, I will leave him. If he tries to make me stay, I’ll go to the authorities. But now …” She faltered. “Mr. McKay, what am I going to do?”

  “Easy, now. And you don’t have to stop calling me Freeland because you told me the truth.” He reached over and patted her arm awkwardly. “It’s not your doing. As far as arresting you, Mr. Holden’s the one who committed the fraud.”

  “I told the lies.”

  “Under duress,” Freeland said.

  She inhaled deeply. “Yes.”

  He had no doubt she was telling the truth.

  “I was clumsy at first, and I knew so little about the Indians. Uncle Silas made me memorize speeches. When we got back to New England, I spent the first winter studying. Everything he could find, I committed to memory. Some of the narrative pamphlets he bought were from the days of the colonies and the eastern Indian tribes, but that didn’t matter. He told me most folks back East wouldn’t know the difference, that savagery was savagery. But he found more and more accounts of the West—journals and articles and a few books. He scoured newspapers for new information and had me learn beading and pottery making.”

  Freeland put his hand up and rubbed the bump on the back of his head. It was getting smaller, but it still hurt some.

  “Did you stay mostly in the East?”

  “During the war, yes. We kept mostly to New England then. We made enough to get by, and Uncle Silas was eager to try a wider audience. Last summer, we went to New York and Philadelphia, then took the train west. And when we got as far as Texas, I realized how little I knew and how inaccurate some of my speeches were.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Studied more. Uncle Silas has pushed me every single day. I wrote out descriptions of the activities in the Indian villages, so I could practice and get better at it.”

  “You’ve worked hard.”

  “Yes,” she said with an uncertain air. “For the wrong reason.”

  “Maybe for the wrong goal, but it sounds like you had to do it. Don’t blame yourself. And as to what you should do, wait and see if your uncle survives this, I guess.” He pushed back his chair. “Why don’t you get some rest? I think I’ll go out and see if I can help Mr. Windle.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” She stood and smiled ruefully. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and watched her walk to the curtained doorway, then he turned and strode to the window.

  “Guess I’ll go out and help Windle,” he told Jerry.

  “I’ll cover you. It looks like he’s putting the mules in the lean-to. Harder to steal them if they’re inside.”

  Freeland glanced back at the curtain, but Carmela was out of sight. How on earth was he going to help that girl? He’d thought at first getting her to Wickenburg alive would be enough, but now he knew his commitment lay deeper. He’d reckoned on trying to rescue her uncle so that Holden could take care of her, but it looked as though he’d had it all wrong. If Holden survived his time with the outlaws, Carmela might need protection from him.

  Late that evening, Carmela lay on the bunk, reflecting on their day. Other than her conversation with Freeland, it had passed uneventfully—quite a boring day, actually. Her thirst brought vivid memories of their time in the desert. She had come to admire Freeland. He had looked out for her in many different ways. The man handled himself well and put the well-being of others ahead of his own.

  She couldn’t lie there all night thinking about the deputy marshal. She rose and patted the crate that served as the stationmaster’s bedside stand for her candle. Surely no one would mind if she crept into the other room for a drink of water. Maybe after her thirst subsided she could sleep.

  For modesty’s sake, in case they were roused in the night, she hadn’t undressed. She picked up the candlestick and felt her way to the doorway curtain. Now, if she could just make it to the stove and light the candle from an ember without waking the men, she could have her drink. She blinked, trying to orient herself in the faintest of light that came through the windows.

  “Can’t sleep, miss?”

  The voice startled her, and she nearly dropped her candle.

  “M–Mr. Windle?”

  “That’s right,” the blacksmith said. “It’s my watch.”

  She could make out his form then, silhouetted against the small window where the men took turns watching the yard.

  “I thought I’d get some water,” Carmela whispered. “I was going to light my candle.”

  “Let me help you.” He walked toward her and touched her arm, and Carmela pushed the candlestick into his hands. He went over and opened the lid on the stove’s firebox. She could see his face in the dim glow of the embers. On the floor across the room, one of the other men stirred and rolled over.

  Windle came over and handed her the flaming candle. It seemed overly bright, since she had been in darkness so long. He went to the water bucket and dipped a ladleful for her.

  “Thank you.” Carmela took it and sipped the tepid water, wishing he would go back to his post.

  “Them Apache that hit the station down the line weren’t friends of yours, were they?”

  She gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard the deputy say you was with ’em awhile.”

  “I wasn’t with the Apache.”

  “Oh. All right, then.”

  She hoped he wouldn’t press her about her captivity. He laid a hand on her sleeve and leaned in close.

  “I reckon you got pretty friendly with ’em, hey?”

  Carmela jerked away, dropping the ladle with a clatter. “I don’t know what you mean.” She whirled and made her way back to the small bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bunk. Her hand shook as she set the candlestick on the crate.

  In the outer room, she heard low voices. So she had woken someone. Or maybe it was time for them to swap off the watchman.

  She blew out the candle, rose, and crept to the curtain, where she stood trying to calm her pounding heart enough so that she could make out their words.

  “Just leave her alone.” That was Freeland, she was sure of it.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Windle replied. “She came out here to get a drink of water.”

  “Shut up,” someone whined from across the room, and she thought it was Price.

  “Go back to sleep,” Windle said, louder. “You, too.”

  Was he speaking to Freeland now? After a momentary pause, Freeland said, “I’m up next, and I’m wide awake. Might as well spell you now.”

  “Fine by me,” Windle said. She heard footsteps.

  When all was quiet, Carmela pushed aside the very edge of the curtain with one finger. After a moment, she could make out the placement of the two small windows. The man at the nearest one had his back to her, but she was sure Freeland held the shotgun now. She exhaled carefully. She would be safe as long as he was on watch. She tiptoed to the bunk and lay down as quietly as she could.

  Chapter Ten

  Carmela allowed Jerry to escort her out to the necessary the next morning. He was nothing but polite and embarrassed. Back in the station, she waited until Windle went out to feed the livestock before venturing to the cooking area for her breakfast. Freeland was still dozing, but Price grinned at her as he flipped a pancake in his cast iron skillet.

  “Morning, Miss Wade. Care for a flapjack or two?”

  She returned his smile. “That sounds good, thank you.”

  He nodded and eased two golden cakes from the pan onto a tin plate and held it out to her. “Bacon in the fry pan there.”

  “Thanks.” She reminded herself that she must open the seam on her jacket hem before they left and give the stationmaster part of the concealed money. She didn’t have much, but Price had been kind to her and deserved to be paid for the supplies he had shared with her and Freeland.

  “You sleepin’ all right on that bunk? The mattress is
none too soft.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “If I have trouble sleeping, it’s because I’m worried about my uncle.” And my future, she thought, but did not voice that concern. “Thank you for giving up your bed for me. I feel a little guilty.”

  “No sense in that.” Price carefully poured more batter into the pan. “If the stage line takes off, we plan to expand and have a better place for the passengers to stop and for the drivers and tenders to stay, but right now we’re just eking by.”

  She nodded. “I don’t suppose you can invest too much until you know if it will bring a profit.”

  “That, and if the Injuns will leave us be.” Price shook his head, and his gray hair swung about his cheeks. “I dunno if we can survive out here or not. Giving it a go.”

  “I admire your ambition,” she said. “And I’m certainly glad you were here when Mr. McKay and I needed you.”

  Jerry had taken up the post at the window once more. He called without turning around, “Sounds like someone’s coming!”

  Price drew his revolver and yelled, “McKay! Company.”

  Freeland sat up at once and reached for his boots. “Do we know who?”

  The door burst open, and Windle ran in, panting. “Looks like the celerity wagon’s coming in from Wickenburg.”

  “Hallelujah,” Price said.

  They all trooped outside and stood in a row as the driver brought the team and wagon into the yard at a trot. The unpainted coach looked a bit road weary, but Carmela was delighted to see it arrive with four armed men riding inside and two more on the roof. Behind it came eight mounted men, also bearing weapons.

  “It’s the marshal,” Freeland said. He stepped forward to greet the leader of the horsemen.

  “Everything all right here?” the marshal called as he pulled his palomino in.

  “We’re fine, but there’s trouble down the line,” Freeland said. He quickly apprised Marshal Duffield of the situation while Price conferred with the driver of the celerity wagon. Carmela edged up beside Freeland and hung on the marshal’s words.