Red Buffalo drew away and lifted his ravaged face skyward. ‘‘So you have lost her. I’m sorry, Hunter. It’s my fault.’’
‘‘Not yours alone. This would have come to pass no matter what. Red Buffalo, I have to make sure my woman makes it safely to her wooden walls. Only a few men can be spared to ride with me. Warrior needs to be here these next few days, with his children. I must trail the tosi tivo, make certain they do not harm her and her Aye-mee. If things go wrong, we may have to attack. I need your strong arm. Can you set your hate for her aside and ride beside me?’’
Red Buffalo wiped his cheeks dry with the heels of his hands. ‘‘You want me beside you? After all I’ve done?’’
Hunter clamped a hand around his cousin’s arm. ‘‘I’m afraid to go without you. Her life depends on us.’’
Red Buffalo straightened his shoulders. ‘‘Then I am with you.’’
Hunter nodded. ‘‘Once again my brother, yes?’’
Red Buffalo pushed to his feet. ‘‘Yes—your brother.’’ He clasped Hunter’s hand and met his gaze, fresh tears spilling down his face. ‘‘About my hate . . .’’ His mouth quivered. ‘‘I will not only set it aside, I will bury it. If I must, I will die for her.’’
Hunter blinked away tears of his own. ‘‘I have lost too many already, cousin. Do nothing boisa to prove your loyalty to me. Protect her, yes. But guard your back while you’re at it.’’
Where was Hunter? The question repeated itself in Loretta’s mind hundreds of times with each passing day. As the mercenaries escorted her and Amy ever closer to Fort Belknap, Loretta’s uneasiness grew. Hunter wasn’t dead. She knew he wasn’t. Sometimes she would have sworn he rode just behind them, but when she looked over her shoulder, she saw nothing. At other times she felt his gaze on her and glanced up, convinced she would see him, astride his horse, only a few feet away. He was never there.
To avoid the horrible nightmares of the attack that had begun to haunt her sleep, Loretta lay awake at night beside Amy, staring at the starlit sky. Through Amy, Loretta had learned of the death of Maiden of the Tall Grass, and she mourned for her. Losing Many Horses had cut Loretta deeply, but at least he had lived a full life. Maiden of the Tall Grass, with her gentle eyes and sweet smile, hadn’t. Loretta prayed that she had gained passage into the land of the dead, that she was now at peace. She also prayed for Warrior and his children, that God would give them the strength to go on without her.
While she prayed, she listened—for Hunter, for some telltale sound that he was indeed out there, as she sensed he was. She knew, as surely as if Hunter had told her, that he was watching over her. She knew as long as the white men did her and Amy no harm, he was content to ride shotgun, watching over them from a distance.
On the last night out, Loretta’s faith in Hunter was rewarded. As everyone settled down to sleep, a coyote yipped nearby, his voice lifting in a mournful call that shivered along her spine and made the hair on her nape prickle. She rolled onto her side, back to the fire so she could scan the darkness. A shadow moved beyond the firelight. The coyote yipped again.
Warmth spread through her. As unobtrusively as she could, she linked her forefingers in the sign of friendship. If Hunter was out there, he would see and know the song her heart sang.
A rock jabbed Hunter in the belly, but he scarcely felt it. Pressing low to the earth, he kept his attention on the glow of firelight and the small woman who lay by the flames, her face turned in his direction. In his mind he was beside her, cupping her cheek in his hand, whispering his love to her. He wished now that he had taught her how to recognize his animal calls so she would know he was with her, that he had been for over six days.
Hunter leaned his head back and yipped again, letting the cry trail skyward. When he lowered his gaze, Loretta was smiling. She linked her fingers, her eyes fixed on where he lay. She had recognized his call. Perhaps he had taught her more than he knew. Pain lashed him, a pain so sharp and so deep that he couldn’t breathe. The sign of friendship. In a few short days her heart would never sing a song of friendship for him again.
Two days later, the mercenaries delivered Loretta and Amy to Fort Belknap. After receiving a letter from Mr. Steinbach, attesting to the girls’ safe delivery, the ruffians traveled south to get their reward money. At last, Loretta and Amy, escorted by Steinbach, were able to make the last leg of their journey home.
When they arrived at the Masters farm, Loretta and Amy’s journey home was over. They dismounted from the horses they had borrowed from Mr. Steinbach and were swept into Rachel’s arms for welcoming hugs and tearful kisses. Rachel, gaunt and hollow-eyed from ceaseless worry, could scarcely keep her hands off Amy and seemed loath to let the child out of her sight. Amy hedged when she was asked questions about her ordeal in Santos’s camp, and Rachel seemed content to let the matter slide.
As pleased as Loretta was to see her aunt, she went up the sagging steps with mixed emotions, glancing over her shoulder at the horizon, watching for Hunter. He would come for her now. An inexplicable eagerness filled her. She was anxious to go home—back to the village, back to their lodge, back to his arms. Home wasn’t here at this little farm anymore. Home was where Hunter was, anywhere he was, even if it meant living with her parents’ murderers. She might never forget. She might never forgive. But she couldn’t live her life around the past.
Aunt Rachel and Henry asked Mr. Steinbach, who had escorted the girls from Belknap, to come in for dinner. After seeing to his horses, he accepted happily. Though weary from the grueling trip, Loretta washed up and helped Rachel get the meal on the table, feeling oddly disoriented in the once familiar cabin. The walls and low ceiling seemed to close in on her. She yearned for fresh air and the openness of Hunter’s lodge. On hot nights like this, one could lift the side flaps and enjoy a gentle breeze.
‘‘So, young ladies, how does it feel to be home again?’’ Mr. Steinbach asked.
‘‘I reckon it’s nice,’’ Amy replied solemnly. ‘‘I’m right glad to see my ma, anyhow.’’
Rachel turned from the hearth. ‘‘Amelia Rose, you sound almost gloomy! Show the proper gratitude. Those brave men risked their lives to rescue you, and Mr. Steinbach made a long ride escorting you home from Belknap.’’
Loretta clenched her teeth and set a trencher down on the table with more force than she intended. ‘‘We appreciate Mr. Steinbach’s help, Aunt Rachel, truly we do, but if you expect either of us to be grateful to those mercenaries, get ready for a long wait. Those brave men didn’t come to rescue us. They came to kill Indians. Women, children, babies, and old men. Most of the warriors were away hunting. I’m sure the mercenaries knew it. They rode in to slaughter people, and that’s what they did.’’
The ensuing silence clapped like thunder. Henry fastened appalled eyes on Loretta. Rachel pressed her fingertips to her lips. Mr. Steinbach looked uncomfortable.
Amy, who was sitting with the men at the table, blinked back tears. ‘‘They killed Many Horses, Hunter’s father, Ma. And Warrior’s wife, Maiden of the Tall Grass. She made the outfit Loretta’s wearin’. They were our friends.’’
Henry flushed. ‘‘I hope you’ll excuse my girls, Mr. Steinbach. They been through a tryin’ time. They’ll come right here in a few days.’’
Steinbach cleared his throat. ‘‘No need to apologize. There may be a lot of Indian haters in Texas, but I’m not one of them. I’ve never seen a more disreputable group than those men from Arkansas. Looked like border ruffians from up Kansas way to me. Whoever hired them was plumb loco.’’
‘‘Comanches took their kin,’’ Henry retorted. ‘‘You ever seen what they do to a captive white woman? If you ask me, them Injuns got exactly what was coming to ’em.’’
Mr. Steinbach lifted a quizzical brow. ‘‘You ever see how some white men treat a squaw?’’
‘‘It ain’t our doin’ that Injuns sell off their women to no-accounts.’’
‘‘Marry them off,’’ Steinbach corrected. ‘‘Ind
ians don’t sell their women, Mr. Masters. They accept a bride price, which is entirely different. The gifts are taken in good faith, and the woman is, according to their beliefs, taken as an honored wife. They expect her to be treated as such.’’
‘‘Bride price!’’ Henry snorted. ‘‘Same thing as sellin’. Heathen animals, ever last one of ’em.’’
Steinbach smiled. ‘‘Perhaps. But then they would say the same of us and the dowry a woman brings into marriage. The way they see it, we pay to get rid of our daughters, which is just as heathenish and doesn’t say much for our women.’’ He took a slow sip of coffee, then shrugged. ‘‘It’s apparent your girls received kindly treatment with Hunter’s band. It’s a shame the good Indians pay for what the bad ones do.’’
Amy threw a rebellious glance at her stepfather, then eyed her mother, who was placing a pot of stew on the table. ‘‘It ain’t finished yet. Hunter’ll settle up with them mercenaries. Just you watch. They’ll die. Ever’ last one of ’em. And I hope Hunter takes his time killin’ ’em.’’
Rachel quickly crossed herself. ‘‘You mustn’t say such, Amy. Surely you wouldn’t wish a fate like that on anyone.’’
Amy shot up from the bench. ‘‘I wished it on the Comancheros! Was that wrong?’’
‘‘That was different.’’
‘‘No it wasn’t. They hurt me, and Hunter killed them. Are you sayin’ he shouldn’t have?’’
‘‘No.’’ Rachel pulled the lid off the kettle with a shaking hand, her eyes searching Amy’s, her face draining of color. ‘‘If Santos and his men—’’ She broke off and touched her daughter’s shoulder. ‘‘Amy, darling. What did they—’’
‘‘What they did to me ain’t important! What’s important is that Hunter came and got me, Ma! And then he fought for me. And you’re sayin’ he was wrong?’’
Rachel let her hand fall to her side. ‘‘No. If Santos and his men—if they—’’ Her eyes darkened. ‘‘They would’ve been hung. I reckon it’s no worse that your friend Hunter punished them for us.’’
‘‘But it’d be wrong if he punished those mercenaries?’’
Loretta stepped forward. ‘‘Amy, love, this subject might be better left for later.’’
‘‘No! I want to talk about it now!’’
Rachel’s face had blanched chalky white. ‘‘Who have the mercenaries harmed, Amy? They’re on our side.’’
‘‘Our side? They killed babies, Ma! And little children! Are you sayin’ Indian babies ain’t the same as our babies?’’
‘‘No, of course not.’’
‘‘Then what are you sayin’?’’ Tears welled in Amy’s eyes. ‘‘You weren’t there! You don’t know! But I was! I saw what those men did. I saw their faces while they was doin’ it. I hope they die. I hope they die slow and horrible!’’ She whirled away. ‘‘I wish I was back with Swift Antelope, that’s what!’’
With that, Amy flew up the loft ladder, her sobs echoing throughout the tiny house. Loretta found herself the object of three accusing stares. Licking her lips, she said, ‘‘Amy has been through a trying time. It’s gonna be a while before either of us forgets, if ever.’’
Rachel turned toward the stairs.
‘‘No, Aunt Rachel, don’t. Leave her be for a bit. Give her a chance to settle in.’’
‘‘But she needs me. She needs to talk it out.’’
‘‘She’ll talk to you when she’s ready,’’ Loretta said gently. ‘‘She needs time. She knows you love her.’’
‘‘Amy talks about that bastard Hunter like he’s reg’lar people,’’ Henry hissed.
Loretta walked over to the window and unfastened the doeskin membrane to gaze out into the twilight. She curled her fingers around the windowsill, digging her nails into the wood. Gazing up at the rise, she remembered Hunter’s gentleness with Amy when he brought her back to the village after her ordeal with Santos. ‘‘Uncle Henry, you may as well know. That bastard you hate so much is my husband.’’ Wood splintered from under Loretta’s fingernails. ‘‘I married him before a priest, and I—I love him. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak ill of him in front of me.’’
Behind her, the cabin grew so quiet that Loretta could hear the others breathing. Rigid, she waited for the explosion. It wasn’t long in coming.
‘‘Say what?’’ Henry cried.
‘‘Hunter is my husband.’’ Repeating the words lent her courage. She turned from the window to face her uncle, who had lurched to his feet. ‘‘We’re married, and our union is blessed by the church.’’
‘‘He forced you?’’
‘‘Unlike some I know, Hunter has never forced me to do anything.’’ She met Henry’s gaze, well aware her meaning wasn’t lost on him. ‘‘He’s never mistreated me in any way, never intimidated me. I’m proud to be his wife. When he comes for me, I’ll be going with him.’’
‘‘Jesus Lord, she’s lost her mind,’’ Henry whispered. He sank onto the bench, looking like a billows that had just been emptied of air. ‘‘Go with him? Back to the Comanches? Rachel, talk sense to her. I never heard of such.’’
Making a visible effort not to follow Amy up the stairs, Rachel searched her niece’s eyes, then sighed. ‘‘I reckon if she loves him, Henry, all the talkin’ in the world won’t change it. Loretta? Are you sure of this?’’
‘‘Yes. I love him, with all my heart.’’
‘‘You’ll go with him over my dead body,’’ Henry blustered.
‘‘That can be arranged,’’ Loretta replied softly.
Henry’s face flamed. He started up from the bench again, fists doubled, then remembered they had company. But even if Mr. Steinbach hadn’t been there, Loretta wouldn’t have been afraid.
‘‘Does this mean I’ll never see you again?’’ Rachel asked in a thin voice.
Loretta tamped down her fear that she might be living too far away to return home. ‘‘I’ll come see you here. Hunter promised he’d bring me often, and he never breaks a promise.’’
‘‘Over my dead—’’ Henry bit the words off, his neck swelling. ‘‘If you cross that doorstep to leave, Loretta Jane, don’t never let your shadow fall across it again. Any woman who takes up with them animals ain’t fit to be around decent folks.’’
Loretta straightened her shoulders. ‘‘If that’s how you feel, then I’ll wait for my husband outside.’’ Turning, she moved toward the door.
‘‘You’re mighty sure of yourself, ain’t ya?’’ Henry barked. ‘‘I mean it, young lady. Walk out that door and you ain’t welcome back. What if he don’t come?’’
‘‘He’ll come.’’
Loretta lifted the bar, stepped out onto the porch, and closed the door behind her. She sat down with her back pressed against the well to wait.
Over an hour later Aunt Rachel brought her a trencher of stew. Loretta accepted it, trying not to show her unease. Hunter should have been here by now.
‘‘Loretta Jane, if you’d like to come back in, Henry said you could. All you gotta do is apologize.’’
Loretta glanced toward the rise again. Hunter would come. ‘‘Thank you, Aunt Rachel, but no. I’ve made my choice. Besides, he’d only say more things about Hunter, and I’d be out here again before I knew it.’’
‘‘You truly do love him, don’t you?’’ Rachel bunched her skirts in her fists and sat down, settling her back against the well. ‘‘Tell me. Help me understand.’’
Loretta smiled. ‘‘Why I love him, you mean?’’ Her smile faded, and she sighed. ‘‘Oh, Aunt Rachel, how do you explain love? Hunter says it springs up from a hidden place, and I think he must be right. I sure didn’t set out to love him or even like him.’’ She shot Rachel a sidelong glance. ‘‘I hated Comanches worse than Uncle Henry, remember? But Hunter’s a good man, a wonderful man. What more can I say? If only you could have seen him with Amy after— Has Amy talked to you yet? About what happened with the Comancheros?’’
‘‘Words aren’t necessary. I’m her moth
er. It was there in her eyes. So much—hate, and fear. I didn’t know what to say to her, she took me so off guard. They raped her, didn’t they? The whole bunch of them?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
Rachel took a steadying breath. ‘‘And Hunter killed them all?’’
‘‘To a man.’’
Curling her hands into white-knuckled fists, Rachel averted her face for a moment. ‘‘I’m likin’ him better by the second.’’
‘‘Hunter was so good with Amy.’’ Loretta’s voice grew husky as she related the story. ‘‘Amy will never be truly over it. I reckon what happened will be with her forever. But Hunter gave her back her pride, Aunt Rachel.’’
‘‘I reckon.’’ Rachel turned haunted eyes on Loretta. ‘‘Who is Swift Antelope?’’
Upon hearing the name, Loretta smiled, and a feeling of warmth spread through her. ‘‘Amy’s special friend.’’
‘‘Special?’’
‘‘Her beau.’’ She cleared her throat, reluctant to reveal too much. ‘‘Amy’s right fond of him. And he’s been wonderful for her. I reckon that’s all I should say. The rest must come from Amy.’’
Rachel seemed to accept that. ‘‘Is he—’’ She broke off and heaved a ragged sigh. ‘‘Lord, I can’t believe I’m askin’ this, but is he a nice young man?’’
‘‘As fine as you’ll find anywhere. But what counts most, Aunt Rachel, is that Swift Antelope doesn’t care about what the Comancheros did to Amy—not in the way a white boy would. He’s sad she’s suffered, of course, but in his mind she’s still chaste and sweet and wonderful. That counts for a powerful lot with Amy, especially now, while she’s healing. You shouldn’t talk against Swift Antelope. You understand? Let things take their natural course. The Comanches believe yesterday is gone on the wind. Amy’s ordeal is gone with it. She needs to believe that.’’
Comanche Moon Page 43