While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  Sebastian's young face was eager, the emerald eyes flashing with enthusiasm. Leaning forward in his chair, he confessed, "When Father first mentioned Texas, I had my reservations. I could have gone to England and taken over some of Mother's estates, or Father even thought I might like to try my hand at running the plantation in Virginia, but neither appealed to me." He gave a rueful laugh. "It seemed so tame. When I said as much to Father, he suggested that possibly I might find it more to my liking if I created my own lands in the manner I saw fit. He said, in that rather dry way he has, that Texas was as good a place as any for a young man of my talents." Sebastian grinned. "He wasn't wrong. I can't begin to tell you how eager I am to start carving out my own estate. It gives me, I think, much the same feeling Father must have had at the prospect of taming Terre du Coeur." After taking a sip of his brandy, he finished with "I guess that I am feeling the same urge that he did to take raw land and subdue it and form it into one's liking... or dreams, if you care to call it such."

  The thought of taking untamed, wild land and making it into the stuff of dreams woke an emotion that had been slumbering deep inside of Rafael for some time. He admitted for the first time that he wanted to do exactly as Sebastian was going to do. To take untamed land and form it into dreams...

  Cielo was beautiful, that was undeniable; but the land had been tamed long ago, and he took no pride in the gracious hacienda with its sumptuous furnishings, nor in the million or so acres that teemed with herds of cattle and horses, as much because of his hatred of Don Felipe as due to his Comanche upbringing.

  But the Comanche days were past, and Rafael discovered that he no longer yearned for them. He had made his own modest fortune over the years, trapping and trading as had his American grandfather and capturing wild horses to sell for more than a tidy profit. It was a fortune he could call his own, a fortune that owed nothing to Cielo and Don Felipe. The lands and money he had inherited from his maternal grandfather, Abe Hawkins, had increased in size to commendable proportions, making Rafael a man of substance without touching the Santana wealth. As he and Sebastian sat talking, Rafael thought of the land he owned some miles north of Houston in the eastern part of the Republic, land he had purchased after Texas had gained her independence because Abe had thought it would round out his own smaller holding nicely.

  It was part of an old Spanish rancho that had failed. Some thirty-five years previously, Abe had staked out about a hundred and fifty thousand acres for himself, including the crumbling, abandoned hacienda. When the adjacent land came up for sale some thirty years later, Abe had insisted Rafael purchase it. At the time Rafael hadn't known why it was so important he buy the additional two hundred thousand acres of woodlands and meadows, but now he did. Abe had known there would come a time when he would want his own land—not land inherited, but land he had bought with money earned by his own sweat and blood.

  Thinking of it, thinking of the pine forests and lakes, of the dogwood that bloomed in the spring, of the hardwood and palmetto forests, he knew with stunning certainty that it was there he wanted to be—not at Cielo with its painful memories, nor on the plains with the memory of what could never be, but at Enchantress, the name his grandfather had given the lands some thirty-odd years before when Black Fawn, his wife, had been alive.

  Almost self-consciously Rafael mentioned the land, telling Sebastian how he had come to own it and how his grandfather had named it Enchantress after his Indian wife.

  "What do you intend to do with it?" Sebastian asked idly. "Sell it? Or have you considered working it?"

  Rafael stared moodily into his glass of whiskey. "I don't know. It depends on..." He stopped, realizing how very far he had come in his thoughts. Frowning he said slowly, "I think I might ride up there some time in the next few weeks and see what condition the old hacienda is in, and possibly hire some men to start clearing the land. It's good land for either cattle or crops, but first it has to be cleared." Smiling wryly, he said, "It will take months of backbreaking labor before anything can be done with it. But in time..." There was an odd note in Rafael's voice that caused Sebastian to glance at him.

  "Are you considering this seriously?" he demanded in surprise. "If I didn't know it was impossible, I would think you were considering settling down... at Enchantress."

  The gray eyes hooded, Rafael said lightly, "All things are possible, amigo. Sometimes it takes a man a while to discover what he really wants out of life. Enchantress seems as good as any place to find out if a life of respectability appeals to me."

  There was more news concerning the Comanches in the morning, but it told the Texans little more than they had known already. A Mrs. Webster, having been captured with her son and infant daughter the year before when her husband and the party they had been traveling with had been ambushed and killed at Brushy Creek, near Georgetown, had managed a daring escape from the Comanches. She had stolen a horse and, with her small daughter clinging to her back, had ridden with haste and fear to San Antonio, arriving on March 26. She was a pitiful sight, famished, her clothes in rags and her eyes full of remembered terror. She'd had to leave her son behind, and that, more than anything, distressed her. Having disregarded Rafael's advice once, Colonel Fisher now seemed determined to have his counsel on everything. Consequently, Rafael was there when Mrs. Webster was interviewed by the military. The information she imparted that her son, Booker, had been adopted by a Comanche family gave Rafael hope that some of the white captives would escape death, but beyond saying that there were many captives among the Comanches and that the Comanches had been grief-stricken at the news of the massacre at the Council House, she could tell them nothing more.

  Two days after Mrs. Webster's return, the Comanches came. But, devoid of leadership as Rafael had said, they were helpless, and instead of wreaking the violence and death that they could have, they simply swarmed the hills northwest of the city, full of rage and uncertainty. There were close to three hundred of them, each screaming his defiance and hatred, and yet without their chiefs, with their councils divided, there was no one to lead an attack.

  One minor chief, Isimanca, braver—or perhaps more foolhardy—than the others, galloped into the middle of the public square and for several moments he and a companion rode around the plaza, shouting challenges to the astonished onlookers. Stopping in front of Bluck's Saloon on the northeast corner of the square, his black paint distorting his proud features, his naked chest heaving with emotion, he stood up in his stirrups and, shaking a clenched fist at the bystanders, he raved and shouted at them, determined to fight with someone. Everyone seemed more bemused than afraid, and after a bit, an interpreter informed the Comanche that if he wanted a fight he should go to the Mission San Jose and that Colonel Fisher and the soldiers would be glad to oblige him. Glaring at them, the black eyes flashing with fury, he nodded curtly, and with a shrieking whoop he and his fellow Comanche rode out of town at breakneck speed.

  Captain Redd and his men were surprised when shortly thereafter some three hundred screaming and threatening Comanches thundered up to the limestone walls of the mission. The troops were eager to start firing, but Captain Redd, aware the truce had officially three more days to run, ordered his men to hold their fire. There was much grumbling but the soldiers did as ordered, as the Comanches galloped madly about hurling insults and challenges, their lances upraised in aggressively, some notching their arrows to their bows. Despite all their hostile actions, the Comanches were not daring enough to start a battle with the men safely ensconced behind the high walls of the mission, and eventually they rode off in frustration.

  Beth was oblivious to most things, but by the time Nathan had been buried a week, common sense told her that she was accomplishing nothing by remaining in a half-drugged state. Her guilt had not lessened: she stopped taking the laudanum during the daylight hours, but she couldn't face the night without it. She was aware that she should do something, make an effort to pick up the pieces of her life, but she seemed helpless to do anyth
ing but accept the sympathy and kindness of the Santanas. That it was Rafael's hospitality she accepted she preferred not to acknowledge, and with Sebastian and the older Santanas in the house it was easy to pretend it was their hospitality that she accepted.

  No one appeared in any hurry to break up the small gathering in San Antonio. Sebastian was busy seeing about his land patents and overseeing the buying of various implements to start carving out his estate near Cielo; Dona Madelina always enjoyed being in town and she was constantly visiting her acquaintances. Don Miguel frequently accompanied her and he was as eager as she to postpone their return trip to Cielo. Senora Lopez was happy to continue her not very arduous duties of companion to Beth rather than return to the loneliness of her quiet little house; she secretly hoped that Rafael would allow her to stay indefinitely.

  Rafael had his own reason for being, if not content, at least satisfied to have his family filling the empty rooms of the house in San Antonio. It gave him a sense of belonging for the first time in his life and he found it a good feeling, one he did not wish to disrupt. He and his father had exchanged more conversation in the past week than they had in all the years that had gone before, and even Dona Madelina, confronted by a man who was a gracious and considerate host, lost her fear of her tall intimidating stepson and acted more relaxed in his presence.

  As for Beth, the possibility that she should return to Natchez never crossed anyone's mind except her own. During the days that followed Nathan's death, it was assumed that she would remain in San Antonio indefinitely. Unaware of it, she was being gently absorbed into the Santana family.

  Sebastian had the most logical reason for believing that Beth would never return to Natchez. Rafael's tale of their long-time association made him assume that with her husband dead Rafael would see to her future—and what better place for her to be than San Antonio? He experienced a shaft of pain every time he thought of their liaison, but time was healing his bruised heart and he had determinedly put Beth Ridgeway out of his plans for the future.

  If Sebastian had a logical reason for assuming that Beth would be staying in San Antonio, Don Miguel had an entirely irrational one. He wanted Beth to marry his son. Not only did he find her an enchanting creature but she was also a wealthy widow and her father was an English lord, so why shouldn't this lovely, eminently suitable woman become a member of the Santana family? He had about given up hope of his son ever marrying again, but every action Rafael had taken since Beth had come into his life filled Don Miguel with optimism that this woman had captured his son's stubborn, savage heart. That Beth and Nathan had been invited to stay at Rafael's house gave a strong indication that his son was more than a little interested. Don Miguel could remember at no time in the past had Rafael ever had anyone stay at the house, even other members of the family. The note requesting that his family come to San Antonio when Nathan had been wounded was the most significant clue—Rafael's actions were those of a man determined to lessen and soothe the pain of a woman dear to him. It was true that Rafael gave no overt sign of his feelings—in many ways he ignored Beth's presence—but Don Miguel had noticed the way his son's gaze often strayed in her direction. Dona Madelina had noticed it too. At night as they lay in bed like two conspirators, exchanging the bits and pieces of events that they hoped would result in a marriage, Don Miguel dared to scheme and pray that out of tragedy would spring happiness for his son.

  It was true Beth had been widowed barely a week, but in a land where death was a way of life, so was the forging of new life. As Don Miguel and Dona Madelina had discussed only the previous night, a few months' time would be a respectable interval between the death of one husband and the taking of another. This was not Spain, with its rigid, interminable, black-robed obeisance to death—this was Texas, where every moment of every day was to be lived.

  Rafael hadn't gotten that far in his thoughts; in actuality, marriage was the farthest thing from his mind. But he did begin to make plans to go to Enchantress. There were men to be hired, supplies, wagons, livestock such as chickens, pigs, and milk cows to be bought, as well as myriad other things to be seen to.

  Don Miguel had been displeased when he heard of the scheme, but beyond pursing his lips in vexation, there was nothing he could do. His voice dry, he asked, "Isn't Cielo enough for you?"

  Rafael glanced at him and answered bluntly, "No, and it never will be. Cielo belongs to the Santanas, but Enchantress will be mine."

  Looking at Rafael's set face a few minutes later as they walked over to Bluck's Saloon for a bit of entertainment and whiskey, Sebastian inquired, "Enchantress has come to mean a lot to you, hasn't it?"

  Rafael shrugged. "I don't know whether it's that, or simply that it has come to represent my freedom from Cielo."

  Sebastian understood what Rafael meant. Hadn't he come west to escape the overpowering influence of his own father?

  Together they walked into the saloon and made their way to the bar. A few men here and there called out a greeting to Rafael, but Sebastian noticed there were those who threw his cousin a nervous look, as if they expected him to turn into a bloodthirsty Comanche before their eyes.

  They drank in companionable silence. Rafael lounged with his elbows and back resting against the wooden bar and lazily surveying the room. Sebastian assumed the same position and, glancing around, he became aware of someone who looked vaguely familiar sitting off at a table in the shadows. Turning to Rafael, he asked, "Isn't that Lorenzo sitting over there next to the blond fellow in the red shirt near the side door?"

  Rafael's eyes moved around the room. Finding the man Sebastian referred to, he returned, "Probably. Lorenzo's like a snake, always slithering into view when you least expect him."

  Sebastian whistled under his breath. "There really is enmity between you two, isn't there? I thought Lorenzo was exaggerating, that night at Cielo when he said he must leave before you arrived. He wasn't, was he?"

  Rafael's gaze sharpened. "What night at Cielo?"

  "Why, the night that I arrived with the Ridgeways. Is it important?"

  The smoky gray eyes bleak, Rafael shrugged. "No, but I find it interesting." Driven by the need to know, he asked, "Did you notice if Lorenzo paid any particular attention to the fair Mrs. Ridgeway?"

  Sebastian didn't like his tone and feeling as if he was stumbling through a field pitted with traps, he said. "Not that I observed." Frowning as he tried to remember that evening, he added, "If anything, Beth appeared to dislike him. It wasn't anything you could put your finger on, but she avoided him and did not have a great deal to say to him."

  "No, perhaps not."

  His face troubled, Sebastian probed, "It seems that there is something you know about Lorenzo and Beth that I don't. Should I?"

  Rafael snorted. "No. Let's just say that I'm growing suspicious of every man who approaches my—er—mistress."

  It was possible, Sebastian conceded thoughtfully. Rafael would be a jealous lover, one who would brook no other man making advances to a woman he considered his own. And yet... and yet there was something about the situation that left him feeling he had missed the first act of a play.

  Referring to Rafael's hostility toward Lorenzo, Sebastian said, "It must be difficult for the family if you and Lorenzo are such enemies. Have you always been so?"

  "Probably—Lorenzo has been involved in unscrupulous deals since I first met him, but I am in no mood to discuss precisely when I decided that the world would be a better place if Lorenzo were removed from it."

  "No wonder Lorenzo disappears whenever you're expected."

  Rafael smiled, not a nice smile, and, nodding his head in the direction where Lorenzo had been seated, he said, "Naturally. You'll note that he has already disappeared."

  It was true. Sebastian looked over to where Lorenzo had been seated and only an empty chair remained. Clearing his throat, he asked uneasily, "If you two hate each other so much—why hasn't the situation been resolved before now?"

  Taking a drink of his whiskey,
Rafael savored it a moment, considering Sebastian's question. "I suppose," he said, "because he hasn't made me angry enough... yet."

  Sebastian departed the next day, riding out at dawn with his men and equipment. With Don Miguel's blessing he planned to make Cielo his temporary headquarters until some sort of dwelling could be erected on his own property. His going left a void; even Beth, submerged in her misery, missed him, for he had been a lively spirit about the house.

  Not only did Sebastian's leaving create a void, but Rafael was seldom home these days either, leaving his guests to fend for themselves, which was no arduous task considering the well-trained servants at their call.

  Rising at dawn each morning, Rafael was up and about his business long before the others found their way downstairs, and many nights the house was dark and silent when he returned. His long hours were rewarded though, for he was able to push thoughts of Beth and the future aside, and by the first of April he had assembled everything he needed for an initial trip to Enchantress. He made plans to leave San Antonio the following Wednesday, taking ten men with him and ordering that the remaining fifteen or so men follow with the slower, heavily laden wagons and livestock.

  There had been little activity as far as the Comanches were concerned until early April. Much to everyone's surprise, a lesser chief known to the Texans as Piava came into San Antonio with a woman. There had been some earlier dealings with Piava, and the Texans had no reason to trust him—he was known to be crafty and treacherous. He said that the Pehnahterkuh had many white captives and they were willing to exchange them for the Comanche prisoners held by the Texans.

  It was a hostile meeting and, watching keenly from the sidelines, Rafael wondered if Piava was telling the truth, if indeed there were any captives left alive at all.