Beverly Byrne

by Come Sunrise

  She started to sob, and he relented sufficiently to lead her out of the sun into the shade of the building. There was a pile of stone slabs waiting to be used by the restorers. Rick made her sit on them and stood over her. "Talk," he said. She still wept.

  "Here." He held out his handkerchief. "Blow your nose. Then start telling me the truth. It's the last chance for us, Amy," he warned. "I mean every word I say. There's no going back, not this time."

  "Tommy's brother Luke is a priest," she stammered. "Before he joined the Dominicans I was in love with him. He loved me too, but he wouldn't admit it until it was too late." The words poured out like water rushing over a broken dam. "I married Tommy to spite Luke. He loved me, but I didn't love him. I only knew that I couldn't have Luke, so I wanted to hurt him. I never even thought about what that would do to Tommy."

  She paused for breath. "Go on," Rick said. "That can't be all of it."

  "Before he took his first vows Luke came to see me. I was married by then, but Luke said we'd made a terrible mistake, that he'd leave the priesthood and I would get a divorce and we'd go away together. Only I was expecting a baby and I knew neither of us would ever be able to forget Tommy. Not with his child always there to remind us. Luke went back to the priory and took his vows. Then I saw the advertisement for Santo Domingo."

  She told him about her inheritance and how at first Tommy didn't want to buy the ranch. "Then he wanted to inspect it before we bought it. I wouldn't listen to anything. I just wanted to get as far away from Luke as possible. The war was on and I couldn't go home to Africa, so I was determined to come west. When I lost the baby Tommy blamed himself, and because of that we bought Santa Domingo."

  "Was it his fault you miscarried?"

  She shook her head and pressed the handkerchief to her face. It smelled of Rick, and she held it very tight. "No. We had a fight about Luke. Tommy accused me of wanting his brother to be the baby's father. I denied it, but it was true. Tommy knew. Then I fell, and he didn't realize I was hurt and he stormed out of the house. "

  Too long had Amy hidden from the past. She couldn't stop now that she'd started. She explained about their disappointment when they first saw Santo Domingo, and the way Tommy finally taught himself to ride and make a success of it.

  "That should have been the happy ending," Rick said. "Why wasn't it?" His tone didn't soften. "Keep talking, I want it all."

  "Tommy knew about Luke coming to see me that time after we were married. I never told him, but he knew. He must have wondered and wondered why I never mentioned it. Don't you see? It confirmed all his worst fears."

  "Ok, so he knew you still loved his brother, even after your marriage. I still don't see how things got the way they are between the two of you. When you were first married, did he drink then? Run around with other women?"

  "No, nothing like that. It was only after I ..." She swallowed hard. This part of it she could not tell him. "I can't," she moaned. "Let me be, Rick. Please, I can't ..."

  He took hold of her shoulders again. They felt pitifully fragile beneath his hands. "Yes, you can," he said. He searched her face for the missing pieces of the tale. "What about sex?" he demanded. "How was that between you and Tommy?"

  Amy shivered. "At first it was normal," she whispered.

  "Normal! What does that mean, for God's sake? And what do you mean 'at first'?"

  "After a while . . ." She moistened her lips and tried again. "It got so ..."

  "Tell me!" He shook her once, fiercely, then waited.

  "I couldn't stand for him to touch me," she said in a small voice. "I couldn't help it. I tried to be a good wife, but I couldn't hide my feelings. Tommy knew. He said I was still dreaming of Luke and he was right." She let the humiliating admission slide into the space between them, then rushed to cover it. "He said it was because I was part Indian. I've never told you, but I had an Indian grandfather. That's maybe why I'm so unnatural. I never wanted you to find out. I didn't want to see you look at me the way Tommy did, not ever."

  Rick stared at her in horrified disbelief. "You little fool," he whispered. "I don't know who's crazier, you or Tommy."

  She didn't answer, just kept crying. He crushed her to him and murmured endearments. "Mi amor, mi corazon. It's nothing like you think. You're the victim of ignorance." She was sobbing as if her heart would break, great shuddering sobs that made her tremble from head to foot, and he knew that she could not yet comprehend the meaning of his words.

  The sun had crept round and destroyed the shade in which they were sheltering. Rick looked for some place cooler to take her and spied the opening of a kiva. He gathered her into his arms, carrying her as if she were a small child.

  "I want to show you something beautiful," he said. "Almost as beautiful as you are." He kissed her cheeks and her forehead and her eyes as he walked across the empty courtyard. He stopped kissing her only long enough to negotiate the descent into the underground cavern.

  "This is the place I promised to show you," he said. "It's the heart of the Pueblo Indian world." They were in a vast pit dug out of the earth. Rick spoke to her in a low voice, more as a calmative than anything else. She didn't seem to hear. "First the kivas were only the scenes of religious ceremonies," he said. "Eventually they became the place where all social life of the pueblo centered."

  This one was a circle about seventy feet in diameter. It was lit by a series of holes in the ceiling, and kept from collapse by four massive timbers. There were many fire pits and stone benches, and numerous niches in the walls. Once they'd housed statues of gods and saints. But even denuded of the pulsing life it had formerly know, the kiva remained enormously impressive and haunted by an air of mystery.

  "Look around you, querida," Rick said. "This place was built centuries ago. Can you still think all wisdom is contained in the brain of Tommy Westerman? Or that there's some shame in having Indian blood?"

  Amy studied his face as if the only answers she wanted were to be found there. Rick realized that she was emotionally exhausted, that all her strength had been used in the effort to tell him the truth. He was still carrying her. Now he laid her gently on the cool earthen floor. He knelt beside her and bent and kissed her mouth. When he lifted his head she started to say something, but he put his fingers over her lips. "Don't speak," he said. "Just close your eyes and trust me."

  He had not thought about what he was going to do, but once begun, the actions came to him as naturally as breathing.

  He loosened the bow at the neck of her blouse and undid its buttons. Then he slipped the garment from her shoulders. Amy lay very still and offered no resistance. When she was naked he took off his own clothes and lay down beside her. "Some men are selfish and ignorant," he whispered. "It's not your fault you felt the way you did with Tommy. And it's nothing to do with race." Gently he ran his hand the length of her small perfect form. "You are lovely, you give me pleasure. I want you to feel pleasure too."

  She had been his patient; in a sense the most intimate secrets of her body were known to him. The difference was that now he saw her with the eyes of a lover, and touched her with a lover's hands and lips.

  Rick kissed every part of her. He was very slow and very gentle. For long moments Amy didn't move or seem to respond. He understood that she had padlocked her feelings behind a false wall of shame, and that only love would open the gate. "Mi amor," he murmured over and over. "Mi corazon."

  Finally she sighed as though she was waking from a long sleep. Hesitantly she reached out her hand and touched his shoulder. It was the touch of a butterfly, precious and fleeting. "I ... love ... you," she whispered. The words were halting, as if she must relearn speech. "I've loved you for such a long time. But I was afraid."

  "You will never be afraid again," he said. He stroked her silken skin and trailed his fingers along her midriff to her breasts. They were white and tipped with pale pink. He tasted them and they were infinitely sweet.

  Amy put her hands on his hair. Like all of him it was dark and
strong and bristling with vibrant life. She had never known a man with so much life in him, so much joy. He lifted his head, and she guided his lips to her own. Their tongues mingled in long seconds of shared promise. When their mouths parted she whispered, "Now."

  Their eyes remained as much locked together as were their bodies. His movements were controlled and unhurried, and calculated to arouse.

  Amy felt herself filled by him. She knew that at this moment he was exposing his soul as completely as he had demanded that she bare her own. Her body found a rhythm that matched his. Her muscles tensed and quivered, and answered the spasms that she felt in his.

  They were together in flesh and spirit when they climbed to the top of the mountain and remained long seconds on its glorious peak.

  All around them was the mystic past of the kiva. Here ancient shamans and rainmakers had donned their horned headdresses and danced. The men sat on one side and the women on the other, and they sang and shook their rattles and their oiled bodies gleamed in the glow of the sacred fire. Now their ghosts laughed with delight.

  "When will you tell Tommy?" Rick asked on the journey home. Part of him was afraid of her answer, afraid that perhaps he'd dreamed all that had passed between them, and once more she would deny his claim.

  "As soon as he comes home," Amy said. Her voice, calm and matter-of-fact, dispelled all Rick's doubts. "He's been away for over a week, so he should be back soon." She shifted in her seat so she could study his beloved profile. "It may not be easy. He'll probably fight us. For spite, if nothing else."

  "We'll tell him together," Rick said. "Don't worry. Tommy's made a name for himself, but he's a new-comer. I'm Santa Fe born and bred. In New Mexico that makes a difference. He may fight, but he won't win. We will."

  When they arrived at Santo Domingo it was after midnight. The house was sleeping and silent, and there was no sign of Tommy. "I won't stay the night," Rick said. "Much as I want to, it's not wise. In the morning pack the kids' clothes and your own." He took her face in his hands. "Don't take anything else, querida, just your clothes. Will that hurt?"

  "No. There's nothing here I want."

  "Good. I'll be back about noon and take you and the children to Santa Fe. If Tommy returns before I do, don't say a word to him.

  You must promise me that." She promised, and he kissed her good night and left.

  Diego waited for his boss by the waterhole. They had not seen each other in four days. Tommy had taken one crew south while the Indian foreman led another along the eastern boundary close to the Pecos Trail. Tommy was alone when he rode up and reined in. "How'd it go?" he asked without dismounting.

  "Ok. Picked up a few strays near Buggy Cliff. No sign of trouble though, and the fence is holding."

  "Good. Let's make for home. I sent the others ahead. "

  Tommy started to turn the horse's head in the direction of the hacienda, but Diego's voice stopped him. "Boss ..."

  There was something unnerving in the Indian's tone. Tommy reined in again and waited. For a few seconds the boy didn't speak. "Spit it out, Diego," Tommy said.

  "I think you should know, but I don' like bein' the one to say it."

  "Too late, you've already said too much. What's up?"

  "It's Rosa."

  Tommy stiffened. "What about her?"

  "She ain't there."

  "At the cabin, you mean?"

  "Yeah. I checked when I was close to the place. Like you always tell me to."

  "Maybe she went into town for the day."

  Diego shook his head and stared at the ground. "No, it ain't that. I met somebody told me she's gone off."

  "Gone off where?" Tommy asked. His voice bespoke calm reason, but the knucklesof his hands were white where they gripped the reins.

  "To her pueblo, San Felipe. They say she's gonna marry some guy from there."

  "Do they indeed?" Tommy said quietly. "You go on home," he added after a moment. "Get a night's rest, then take a crew west. Somebody saw a dozen strays going in that direction."

  "What about you?" Diego asked.

  " I'll be along when I can."

  The cabin told him little except that Rosa bad left. Her clothes and her jewelry were gone, as well as a gold framed picture of La Conquistador which she treasured.

  Tommy made himself a pot of coffee and drank it laced with some malt whiskey he found in the kitchen.

  Then he went out back and washed in the tepid, scummy water of the half-filled butt. It was his custom to leave a clean shirt and a pair of jeans in the cabin; they were hanging in their usual place behind the door of the bedroom. He changed and mounted up. He knew he should be tired, but he wasn't. He felt fine. Even his leg didn't hurt.

  Pueblo San Felipe was a dusty, impoverished chain of single-story mud huts. They framed a small plaza, distinguished only by a few struggling cotton-wood trees. At one end was a locked and bolted church. There was also a kiva, but its opening was purposefully disguised from intrusive eyes. Tommy Westerman did not suspect its existence. He saw only a few squat brown people with hooded eyes and expressionless faces. They moved aside when he rode into the plaza.

  "Where's Rosa?"

  The Indians stared at him and did not reply.

  Tommy got off his horse and tied the animal to a nearby tree. Then he collared a boy who stood watching. "Go tell her I'm here."

  The lad looked at the expression in the eyes of the gringo and did as he was told.

  Nothing moved on the earth or in the brittle blue sky. The houses and the people seemed part of the landscape, immutable and covered with red brown alkaline dust. Finally a door opened at the end of the row of dwellings, and Rosa stepped hesitantly into the road. Tommy shaded his eyes with his hand and peered at her. She wore a rectangular manta of black cloth with a blue border. It was belted tightly at the waist and short enough to expose her strong brown calves and bare feet. Her hair was braided and hung down her back.

  At that moment he almost turned and left. She wasn't anyone he knew, this woman. For a few seconds Tommy saw himself a stranger in an alien environment. The notion of assuaging his pride in this place struck him as absurd. Then Rosa walked toward him.

  As she moved her confidence increased. Her hips swayed with the old insouciance; she thrust her heavy breasts forward. When she was a foot away from him her red lips parted and revealed her white teeth and her darting pink tongue. She laughed softly. "Go away, Anglo. I'm through with you."

  Tommy slapped her twice. All his strength was behind the blows, and the red marks of his fingers stained her cheeks. "Get your things. I'm taking you home."

  "This is my home. I'm staying here."

  He raised his arm to hit her again, but from behind a hand reached out and arrested the motion. Slowly Tommy turned around. He faced a man about his own age, but shorter. Instinctively Tommy knew that it was the man he'd seen riding away from the cabin months before, the one Rosa said treated her like a "human being." The Indian face was creased with lines of fury. "Leave her alone! Get out of here. Go back to your own kind."

  Tommy spoke slowly and distinctly. Only those who knew him well would recognize the controlled rage in his voice. "What makes you think you can give me orders?"

  "Rosa is going to marry me," the man said.

  Tommy shook his head. "No. She's a slut and a whore, but she's mine. I'm taking her back where she belongs. "

  The man uttered a strangled gasp of fury and lunged. Tommy straight-armed him to stop his forward plunge, then hit him with one vicious left jab. The body of Rosa's intended husband crumpled to the ground. Rosa whimpered softly.

  There were about a dozen people in the street. They huddled in doorways and watched and made no sound until a youth of about sixteen bolted into the road. "What's the matter with all of you?" he shouted. "Are you going to let this pig come here and attack our women and do nothing?" He wore trousers, but no shirt. His broad shoulders rippled in the glare of the sun. He had long hair, restrained with a woven head-band, and
it swayed when he dashed forward.

  Rosa screamed. Tommy raised his arm to meet the boy's attack. Then a voice cut the air with authority. "Stop!"

  They did. The tableau was like a scene caught by camera. Only the man who had uttered the command moved. He approached the place where Tommy and Rosa stood. "I am Pedro, the cacique. I make the rules here. You are not welcome. Go."

  "That's what I intend to do," Tommy said. "But I'm taking her with me." He jerked his head in Rosa's direction and studied the cacique.

  The man was about sixty years old, maybe more. He had a thin, wiry body and old, strangulated sinews that stood out on his neck and his hands. He wore a loose open weave shirt and trousers, and his hair was cut short around his face, but long at the back. He looked like every Indian Tommy had ever seen, except for his eyes. They were pale blue, evidence of some mixed blood in his ancestry, and they stared into Tommy's with riveting force.