The Peacemaker

by Chelley Kitzmiller

  "I've been so worried about you," he whispered, nuzzling his lips into her hair. "The men were ordered not to speak to us, so I didn't know if you were dead or alive. It was hell."

  "For me too," she murmured, savoring the sweet seconds in his arms. "Jim," she said, sudden intense emotion bringing tears to her eyes. "I love you. If anything happens ... to either of us, I want you to remember that."

  "I love you too, Indy. But nothing is going to happen to us. We've both been through enough. Everything is going to be all right now. I'm sure of it. It will just take a little time."

  Captain Aubrey Nolan walked over to the door and asked Prudence to step inside a moment. "When I get back," he told her, "We're going to get to know each other a little better."

  Prudence looked up at him and smiled. "I'd like that, Captain."

  "Good," he said, smiling down at her. "But just so you don't forget me . . ." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard. When he was through, Indy thought Prudence looked positively stunned and delighted.

  Reluctantly, Indy pushed herself out of Jim's arms and hurried the men on their way. "Go on now, both of you. We don't have any more time to waste."

  Jim made for the door, Aubrey in front of him. He stopped and looked back, his gaze full of emotion. Then he was gone.

  The two women hurried out after them. Prudence insisted she help Indy to her quarters and Indy let her, knowing she was fading fast and might have trouble getting back into her room. They made it, however, without incident but Indy was in so much pain, she could hardly breathe.

  Prudence searched Indy's face. "I should get Doc. You look terrible."

  "No," Indy protested vehemently. "I'll be all right. You can do as much as he can. Besides, we don't want to cause any kind of disturbance. They need time to get away. How long do you think the guards will sleep?"

  "A long time. Doc put an awful lot of laudanum in that bottle."

  Chapter 18

  From her bedroom window, Indy watched her father march determinedly across the parade ground toward the guardhouse. Clearly, he had been informed of the prisoners' escape and was going to investigate.

  She wondered what action he would take and worried that the two guards would be severely punished for their drunkenness.

  In all her life Indy had never seen her father appear in public or private looking anything but immaculately groomed and clothed. This morning, however, his uniform was rumpled and dirty, obviously slept in. His boots were dull and dusty, and his hat askew on top of his head. There was nothing about him that in any way resembled the Colonel Charles Taylor she had known in St. Louis. There was nothing about him that resembled the father she had once loved.

  He was a stranger to her now, a cold, hard, stranger.

  She had meant to question Doc about why Jim had accused her father of having had smallpox, but had forgotten. How could Jim have discovered such a thing? she wondered. If there were scars, yes, but there were no scars. Had her father said something to Jim, or had he just guessed it? Something must have happened; Jim wasn't the kind of man to make unwarranted accusations. If he had accused her father of having smallpox, then he had.

  In which case, that meant . . .

  She gasped. Shock grabbed her and held her rigid. No! No! He wouldn't, couldn't, she thought, vehemently denying the most probable explanation. He was her father! Surely to God he wouldn't have blamed her for something he had done. Would he?

  He would.

  He had.

  She could see that now. All these years he had let her believe she had been the one to bring the smallpox home. And maybe she had, but he had brought it home first. She remembered now that he had been away for several days. Army business. On his way home, he had stopped by the orphanage to ask her to be sure to come home for supper. He had good news.

  She had been late. Supper was over and her father had already retired to his room, complaining of fatigue. The next day Justice came home and the next thing she knew the doctor was at the door.

  Indy closed her eyes, trying to remember.

  "Smallpox," he had said.

  It wasn't until after the funerals that her father accused her of being the one to bring the dreaded disease upon them. And every day after that—in one way or another—he accused, blamed, condemned.

  Indy bowed her head and prayed. "Dear Lord. Forgive him."

  General George Stoneman arrived at Camp Bowie three days later. He found the colonel absent, on patrol somewhere in the mountains. With Sergeant Moseley assisting him, he was quickly introduced to Commissioner Moorland, Doc Valentine, Indy, and Prudence, who filled him in on why he had been summoned.

  Indy found it painful to hear her father maligned in front of the general, but it was all too true. He was all the things they said about him and more. She had talked to Doc and learned about the scars on the palms of her father’s hands— testimony to him having had smallpox.

  After that first interview, the general approached her and offered her compassion.

  "Miss Taylor," he said, his expression compassionate, "I first met your father many years ago and I remember him as a fine, upstanding officer. I remember your brother, Justice, as well. He was a cadet at the Point—a very promising young man. As I recall, your father had great ambitions for him, but he and your mother were lost in a smallpox epidemic. A terrible tragedy," he said, sighing.

  The patrol, or what was left of them, returned at dusk. At the head of the column, was Major Jim Garrity. Beside him rode Captain Aubrey Nolan. Of the forty men the colonel had taken out, twenty-two, not including Jim and Aubrey, were returning alive.

  With her hand covering her mouth, Indy slowly walked to the center of the parade ground. She scanned the faces of the returning men but didn't see her father among them. Wearily, Jim dismounted and came over to her, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  "You don't need to see this, Indy."

  "See what? Where's Father? Tell me what's going on here!"

  "Aubrey and I found the patrol after Cochise attacked them in the pass. Your father is dead, Indy. We brought his body back for burial. We brought all of them back."

  "Take me to him."

  "No, Indy. Trust me. You don't want to see him."

  She twisted against him. "I have to see him, Jim. I have to. I need to tell him I forgive him!" She looked up at him, beseeching him to let her go.

  "We'll tell him together."

  General George Stoneman listened attentively to Captain Nolan, several of the enlisted men and officers, and finally to Major Garrity. He asked detailed questions and occasionally instructed the thin-faced, bespectacled man beside him to make a note.

  When he had heard all there was to hear, he officially addressed the group. "As far as the charges the colonel imposed on Major Garrity and Captain Nolan . . . they no longer exist. I find you both innocent on all counts." He paused. "But as to your past charges, Major Garrity, I'm a little at a loss as to what to do in spite of Commissioner Moorland's testimony that he knows you to be innocent. Though I have no reason to doubt him, I can't simply take his word for it and acquit you. He claims there's proof of your innocence and says he knows exactly where it's located. So, what would you say to surrendering yourself to my custody, coming back with me to Tucson, and waiting until the proof is located and brought forward? Then I will personally present you with your pardon."

  Jim looked across the room at Indy. They could never have any kind of life together unless he was granted that pardon. But what if the commissioner was wrong or the records had been lost? It had been six years after all. If the records couldn't be found, he'd find himself dangling at the end of a rope. It was a risk, he decided. Indy smiled at him and he knew it was a risk he was willing to take.

  "I say yes, General. On two conditions."

  Stoneman frowned. "You're hardly in the position to be making conditions, Major. What are they?"

  "One: that Indy and I be allowed to see each other in Tucson whi
le we're waiting. Two: that you send Captain Nolan back East to find and bring back the proof. He's the only one I would trust."

  "But he's needed here at Bowie, Major." He stared at Jim, then shook his head. "I suppose

  Sergeant Moseley could handle things for a short while, though it's highly irregular. All right, I'll accept those conditions after you accept one of mine."

  "Which is, General?"

  "While you're in my custody, I want you to teach me and some of my officers all you know about the Apaches and train us in Apache warfare. This is going to be a long and bloody war, and I want to be as prepared as possible."

  "Sounds like a bargain to me, General."

  "Shall we shake on it?"

  "I'd like that, sir. Just as soon as you put the terms of our bargain in writing."

  The general laughed and nodded. "Of course, Major."

  The white light of a three-quarter moon shone into Indy's bedroom. A soft breeze, redolent with the smell of rain, billowed the curtains. Indy held her breath as Jim quickly removed first her clothing and then his own. She couldn't help trembling with anticipation.

  I love him, she thought, reaching her arms out to him and pulling him near. She kissed his mouth, his chin, his implacable jaw. And he loves me. It was the strength of their love for each other that had given her courage during those frightening hours of her capture, sustained her through her recuperation, and helped her through the emotional upheaval following her father's death.

  "I love you," he whispered as he drew her into his embrace. She didn't need to hear him speak the words aloud; he spoke them in silence every time he looked at her and touched her. He loved her in a way no one had ever loved her.

  "I hope you know what you're getting into," he told her. "I'm not your St. Louis gentleman. You know that, don't you, Indy? There's so much I've forgotten about being a white man, I'm not sure I know how to act civilized anymore. I don't know that I'd ever be able to fit in again. And frankly I don't know that I want to. Those mountains out there—they're my home now. Do you understand?"

  She raised up on one elbow. "Are you trying to frighten me away, Jim Garrity? Because if you are—it won't work. I'll love you whether you're wearing a uniform or a breechclout, whether you're Major Jim Garrity or Shatto, whether we live in a wickiup or in officer's quarters. Do you understand?"

  "Toriano was right about you."

  "And who may I ask is Toriano?"

  "An Apache friend of mine who lives on the other side of that mountain." He turned toward the window. "The Valley of Thunder."

  "How does he know me?"

  "He was with me that first day I saw you."

  "So what did he say about me?"

  "He said you were such-a-woman. And he was right."

  Epilogue

  June, 1870

  It had seemed to Indy that this day would never come. The wait had been interminable, but winter and new Apache uprisings had made travel hard. Outside her quarters, Fort Lowell's infantry company was shining up, preparing themselves for the ceremony and the festivities afterward.

  Jim had been gone nearly a month, helping to build a road through the White Mountains that culminated at the new post, Fort Apache. It was there that the army was planning to set up a reservation.

  Captain Nolan had left for the East within a few days after the general had dropped the charges against him. Throughout the winter there had been only one message from him—an affirmation that he had found the needed proof and would be presenting it to the necessary officials at the War Department.

  He had returned a week ago with not only the pardon signed by the President himself, but with Jim's parents, who had insisted upon coming so that they could be present when their son received his pardon. Upon the captain's return, a detail had been sent to bring Jim back, using the pretense that General Stoneman had returned to Arizona and needed to speak with him about a new and desperate situation arising in Tucson.

  Indeed, General Stoneman had returned, leaving his new San Francisco headquarters as soon as he had received the news that Captain Nolan was on his way to Fort Lowell.

  "If you don't stop pacing, you'll wear holes in your shoes," Prudence Stallard told Indy.

  "I can't help it. I can't just sit and wait. I have to do something. What time is it?"

  "Patience, Indy. Jim just rode in. He'll have to clean up. You don't want him appearing before all those people covered with trail dust, do you?"

  "No, of course not." She shook her head.

  Prudence consulted her new timepiece, a gift from Captain Nolan upon his return. The way the two had greeted each other, there was no doubt that they had missed each other and would waste no time in renewing their relationship. Indy could not have been more pleased. Prudence had become a dear and special friend.

  "I suppose we could walk over there now," Prudence announced.

  Indy stopped in midstride, looked at Prudence, and took a deep breath. "Let's go."

  The room was crowded with spectators. Commissioner Moorland sat in the front row beside Sergeant Moseley and Doc Valentine. Captain Aubrey Nolan stood at the front door.

  "Are you all right, Indy? You look a little white."

  She touched the sleeve of his dress uniform. "I'm just nervous. This means so much to Jim, but I have to wonder if surprising him was such a good idea."

  Nolan smiled. "Everything will be fine, Indy. A little surprise never hurt anyone."

  "I hope you're right." She squeezed his arm, then walked away and took her seat. Prudence was beside her and Indy had never been more happy for her company.

  Jim's parents turned around and smiled at Indy. In just the few days she had known them, she had come to care for them as if she had known them all her life. It had been nearly seven years since they had seen their only son and she knew they were as anxious as she. They were also proud.

  From the side door General George Stoneman entered the room and took his seat behind a large, imposing desk. He squared his broad shoulders and gazed out over the assemblage, his expression void of emotion of any kind.

  He lifted his head and looked straight at Captain Nolan. "Bring in Major Garrity, please."

  "Yes, sir."

  Moments later the door was opened and Jim Garrity stepped inside. He stopped abruptly and surveyed the scene before him. Indy bit down on her lip and turned her head ever so slowly.

  "Good evening, Major," said Stoneman. "Won't you come forward? I have some news that I think you'll find to your liking."

  With a nonchalance that made Indy smile, Jim walked past the assembly to the front of the room. "And what might that be, General?"

  "I'm a man who keeps his promises, Major. I have here, from President Grant himself, a paper that gives me the authority to grant you a full pardon—to reinstate your rank and your privileges." He held out the paper. "On behalf of the army, Major, I would like to extend an apology for all that you have suffered."

  "I didn't suffer, sir, except maybe for this last month." He turned around then, faced the assembly. Indy was halfway to him, smiling and crying at the same time.

  Outside a finger of wind circled the building, tapping lightly at the windows and doors.

  Only Jim heard it. Only Jim heard it whisper, “Peacemaker.”

  Excerpt for The Seeker

  THE QUEST

  The time had come. He knew it, felt it deep within him. For months he had been at odds with everyone including himself. He had lost his sense of purpose and no longer believed he could live up to his own ideals. Worst of all, he had begun to doubt the reason for his existence. He had to go. Now. Before it was too late.

  He left on foot with only his instincts to guide him. Those instincts were strong—thanks to his grandfather, Gianatah, who had taught him to trust in himself. It was Gianatah who told him the story of Wind Cave—a cave inhabited by the wind spirit. Of all the Mountain Spirits, Wind was the most elusive—hiding itself from those who sought its power.

  He carried
only the essentials, a bow and a quiver of arrows, a knife and flint. He would have no need of food until he returned. In spite of the threat of rain, he dressed simply in the breeches his mother had made for him and a muslin shirt he'd bought in a Tucson mercantile. His clothing, like himself, was of two worlds—the Apache and the pinda lickoye, the White Eyes.

  He walked throughout the day, never stopping, never slowing his pace. Late afternoon found him on the jagged shoulder of a mountaintop where the earth ended and the sky began. From this vantage point, he could look down into the heart of Arivaipa Canyon, where Wind Cave lay hidden among the rocky walls.

  His gaze found a stream that meandered along the canyon floor like liquid silver, alternately narrow then wide, swift then slow.

  Just before sunset, he made his descent and headed upstream, moving deeper and deeper into the canyon. Near midnight, at the moment the moon reached its zenith, a coyote howled and a chill wind touched him with icy fingers, then sped past him into the night. He paused and glanced behind him as if to watch it go.

  And he knew.

  Wind Cave was near.

  He continued on and after rounding a sharp bend, the canyon walls yawned wide open and the stream spilled into a placid, grass-fringed pool. Without warning, a blast of wind hit him—pushing him against the wall and pounding him with tornado-like force. The wind burnt his face and battered his body. He didn't try to fight it for he knew this was no ordinary wind, but an emissary of the wind spirit. And it was testing him.

  The wind subsided slowly, as if reluctant to be done with him, then gathered itself into a whirl and danced away.

  He peeled himself away from the canyon wall and stumbled toward the water's edge, then plunged headfirst into the pool to wet his parched mouth and soothe his wind-burned face. Feeling refreshed, he walked onto the shore and shook himself off.

  Then he saw it, a large, gaping hole in the canyon wall.