Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  ''Oh, I see," he said in a sneering tone. ''You seem to have a very convenient mem.ory! One minute you're in my arms and the next you remember your husband!" Almost accusingly he hurled at her, "You were able to forget him easily enough with Lorenzo!"

  "That's not true! If you would only listen to me, I 291

  could explain everything, and you would realize that you've had the most appalling misconception about me right from the beginning," Beth replied hotly, wishing. ..O/i, God, she didn't know what she wished!

  Bleakly Rafael surveyed her, wanting her with an intolerable ache that drove him nearly crazy and yet wondering at the same time how he could be such a fool to do so. Furious at his own conflicting emotions, he inquired sarcastically, "Now, what could you tell me that I don't already know? That Lorenzo seduced you? He might have. But he must have had some damned obvious encouragement in the first place! And you forget, it wasn't enough that ymi had him as a lover— after you lay with him, you let me take you!" His voice suddenly thick with remembered rage and pain, he spat, "Do you think I'd forgotten that?"

  Beth blanched at the naked loathing in his voice and, feeling as if she were shriveling inside, she forced herself to look at him unemotionally and say coolly, "I hardly see why you condemn me—certainly you didn't waste any time taking Lorenzo's place."

  For one awful moment Beth thought he was going to strike her, but even though his fists clenched so tightly the knuckles showed white, he made no move to touch her. Stricken at the ugly things they had flung at each other, she said gently, "Nathan and I will leave tomorrow. Until then, I think it best if you and I avoid being alone with each other."

  Rafael said nothing, only stared unwaveringly at her over the few feet that divided them. Then, his countenance icily remote, he bowed with a stilted courteous grace and replied expressionlessly, "Very wise. I will not apologize, for I am not sorry for anything that has passed between us. My only regret, if you can say I have one, is that I was foolish enough to let a moment's madness rule me—something no man should ever do." She thought he would leave then, but he surprised her by reaching out a curiously gentle hand, and lightly caressed her cheek. A hint of sadness in his deep voice, he murmured, "It is a pity, little angel face, that we did not meet long ago, in a different time and a different

  place. Perhaps then both our lives would be very different."

  Unbearably moved, a shimmer of tears in her eyes, Beth nodded. The lump that was growing in her throat prevented a reply. Rafael stared at her intently for another moment and then, spinning- on his heels, he stalked out of the room. Blindly Beth stared at the door, wondering if one really did die of a broken heart for surely hers had just shattered into a thousand pieces.

  She sank down onto a nearby chair and looked blankly around her. What was there about him that he had the power to hurt and fill her with pleasure at the same time? The very sight of him caused her heart to behave most erratically, and yet they said such wicked things to one another—he believed such ugly, sordid things about her. I should despise him, she told herself with a mixture of anger and sorrow, if for no other reason than he thinks me so depraved a creature that I would change beds as readily as I change my clothes. It was no use sitting here thinking about it, she finally decided with painful determination, and, putting forth a deceptively serene face, she left the room.

  Despite the tight ball of misery lodged firmly in her chest, Beth managed to act normal when she met Nathan a few minutes later in the dining room for breakfast. Beth merely picked at her food, the pan dulce and coffee she'd had a few hours earlier being sufficient, and the scene with Rafael effectively destroying what appetite she might have had.

  Rafael joined them when they were about halfway through the meal, coolly apologizing for being late, but offering no reason for it. Never once glancing in Beth's direction, he drank two cups of coffee as he talked politely with Nathan. Yet Beth knew he was aware of her, simply because of the studious way he avoided either looking at or speaking to her.

  Nathan didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and for that Beth was thankful. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself, she thought with a sudden spurt of crossness.

  Nathan was enjoying himself. His sleep had been deep and untroubled, and upon awaking to the lovely

  spring morning, he was full of anticipation and excitement about seeing a real Indian face to face. Selecting a buff-colored coat and skin-tight fawn trousers to wear for what he viewed as a pleasurable excursion, he languidly had allowed his servant to dress him. Taking one last look at his decidedly natty reflection in the cheval glass, he decided he was appropriately dressed for the coming event, his expertly tailored clothes neither too somber nor especially flashy. Putting his monocle in his right eye, he took up a casual stance in front of the mirror, imagining himself regaling his cronies in Natchez with the marvelous tales of this unorthodox trip. Why, I shall be able to diiie out for months on this story alone of seeing Comanches at close quarters, he thought complacently.

  Feeling very satisfied with himself and the world in general, he happily toddled off in search of Beth and breakfast. The fact that his wife was not in her normal sweet spirits did not escape him, but he put it down to female megrims; dismissing it from his mind, he gustily attacked his breakfast. When Rafael eventually joined them, he eagerly plied him with endless and tactless questions about the meeting with the Indians.

  By the time the meal was finished Rafael was wondering savagely how he was going to spend several hours in Nathan's company without throttling the fool. As for Beth, he had coldly and methodically shut her out of his thoughts, locking whatever emotions she may have aroused so deeply in his brain that even he wasn't positive that they had ever existed.

  Rising from the table and thVowing down his napkin, he looked over at Beth and said with bland politeness, "Nathan and I will escort you to the Maverick household whenever you are ready to leave. I would suggest that you not tarry—the Comanches have been sighted and you might like to see them arrive."

  Beth risked a glance at his face and then wished she hadn't. His eyes were so icy, so empty, and so remote that in spite of the day's warmth she shivered. Keeping her face purposely unruffled, she replied casually, "If you will allow me to fetch my shawl, I shall be ready almost immediately."

  Rafael nodded curtly, his mouth tightening slightly, and she knew that he was still angry with her decision to join Mary and the other women. Not waiting for any reply, she whisked herself out of the room and quickly found her shawl.

  The three of them departed, walking leisurely in the direction of the Maverick house. They were not the only ones abroad, as the news of the meeting with the Co-manches had been bruited about and more than a few settlers from the outlying areas had ridden into San Antonio to watch what was certain to be a historic meeting. Everyone, it appeared, wanted to see the barbaric and dreaded Comanches.

  Rafael and the Ridgeways had just reached the Maverick house and had exchanged greetings with them when Mary, staring out at the broad San Antonio plain, said in a voice of excitement, "Look! The Comanches are coming."

  Like everyone else in the group, Beth turned to look. Her first sight of a Comanche was not as thrilling as it might have been simply because the Comanches were still some distance from the town, and at first all she saw was a great cloud of dust. The figures of the Indians and their horses were barely discernible through the ocher haze.

  "Why are there so many of them?" Nathan asked with puzzlement and just a little uneasiness. "I thought that there would only be a half dozen or so—not an entire tribe! After all, how many does it take to make a treaty?"

  Rafael sent him a derisive look. ''Every warrior in the tribe has to agree to it. And those who do not are not bound by it—they can continue to loot and raid. As for their number, councils are sacred to Comanches—they also usually last a lengthy time—and the chiefs and warriors who are attending this council have brought their wives and families. They will set up th
eir lodges and stay for some time." His voice hardening as he glanced toward the troops that lounged around the main square of the town, he added, 'They also do not expect treachery. They expect to bargain... and if they

  cannot reach an agreement, they expect to be allowed to leave—peaceably."

  Sam Maverick moved restlessly, his dark eyes troubled. ''But I don't think that the commissioners are going to let them leave if they don't bring in all the captives."

  His face grim, Rafael squinted against the bright sunlight, his gaze never straying from the approaching Indians. "I'm aware of that. Before this morning's meeting, I'm seeing Colonel Fisher. If I can convince him that he will be endangering the lives of all the captives by making any forceful move against the Comanches that have come to council, jjprhaps disaster can be averted." ^-

  By now the Indians were close enough to be seen clearly and Nathan's astonished "My word!" expressed the opinion of most of those watching.

  The Comanches were a magnificent sight. The warriors with their terrifying buffalo-horn headresses and painted faces sat tall and arrogant as they effortlessly controlled the snorting and cavorting horses. The men wore only breechclouts and moccasins that were actually a footcovering and a legging combined. This practical garment was in some cases painted blue and embellished with bright beads and silver. All the warriors had thick, coarse braids which often fell below their waists, and as their hair was one of their vanities, the braids were decorated with feathers and whatever took their fancy—silver ornaments, colored cloth, and beads. The horses, too, were no less grand, necks and haunches painted vermilion and eagle feathers woven into the manes and tails.

  Without exception, the Comanches presented a proud appearance, their shoulders and backs ramrod straight, the expression on the painted faces haughty and imperious as they surveyed the crowd. Staring at them, Beth knew why they referred to themselves with simple pride as "the People" and why they have been called the lords of the high plains—they were indeed regal.

  The women were little different, and although they were fully clothed, in beaded and fringed buckskin shirts and long full skirts, they were just as arrogant and rode

  their horses with the same ease and grace. But their hair was shorn, or rather hacked off short, and the face painting that the squaws practiced was a sight to behold. Their ears were reddened; their cheeks were orange with rouge; some of the faces were painted in a melange of colors that defied description.

  Beth glanced at Rafael, recognizing that some of his arrogance must have been inherited from his Comanche ancestors. Looking at the thick black hair that just brushed the collar of his shirt, she wondered idly if his hair had once been worn in long braids and decorated with feathers and beads.

  He felt her eyes on him and he looked at her, one eyebrow rising quizzically. When she flushed and dropped her gaze from his hair, he grinned and said, "Yes.'' Then, turning to Sam Maverick, he murmured, "I think it's time for my meeting with Colonel Fisher, so if you will excuse me, I'll be on my way." He took a few steps but then, as if remembering something with resignation, he turned around and glanced at Nathan. "Fll return in plenty of time to see that you get inside the courthouse," he told him. "In the meantime I would suggest that you wait here."

  Beth watched his long, lean figure disappear with mixed emotions. She was relieved not to have his powerful presence interfering with her thoughts and yet she was also oddly bereft that he was no longer nearby. Determined not to dwell on him, she forced herself to think of the Comanches and to admire the bright sunlit day.

  It was a bright sunlit day, a lovely spring day that held no portent of the brutal and violent events that would take place within a few hours. By the time the Sim would set on this day, there would never again be a true peace between the whites and the People of the plains!

  Ji

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The meeting with Colonel Fisher and the other two Commissioners, Colonel Cooke, the Acting Secretary of War, and Colonel MacLeod, the Texas Adjutant General, was not precisely friendly, nor was it particularly successful as far as Rafael was concerned. The three men were all military and had been appointed by President Lamar on Texas Secretary of War Johnston's advice. The three men reflected the Lamar-Johnston attitude toward the Comanches: All Indians were vicious savages and wild beasts and should be exterminated.

  Rafael was slightly acquainted with Colonel Fisher— he had been Secretary of War in 1838 during Houston's term as President of the Republic—and it was to him that Rafael addressed most of his remarks. Fisher, however much he might admire Sam Houston, was in complete agreement with the Lamar-Johnston plan for handling Indians: Show the Indians force and make it plain that the Texans were not about to submit to the barbaric tyranny the Comanches had practiced upon the Spanish and Mexicans.

  Rafael's meeting with the three Indian Commissioners was being held in the courthouse where the Council with the Comanches would take place; standing in front of the three men while they sat behind a rough oak table, Rafael felt as if he were on trial. All three men tough, hard-bitten military men, and, staring at their implacable features as they regarded him with ill-disguised hostility, his fear for the outcome of the meeting with the Comanches increased. If they take this attitude with the chiefs... That he hadn't lost his own temper surprised him, for it was difficult to remain civil

  when it was obvious they had made up their minds. At least he could tell himself that he had tried, he thought dismally.

  Eloquently did Rafael plead that they honor the truce, that they attempt to understand the Comanche way, and that there be no show of force on what was supposedly neutral ground, but he could tell from their expressions that his words were falling on unreceptive ears. Finally, his temper rising, he snapped, "I cannot warn you strongly enough of the danger of not treating those Comanches out there with the same courtesy and respect you would accord a delegation from a foreign country. They are a foreign natjpn and they have come in good will to talk peace."

  Colonel MacLeod, a headstrong man of average height and build, snorted disbelievingly, 'Toreign nation! They're nothing but a bunch of savages—trespassers at will on our sovereign territory. They are no more a nation than a herd of buffalo!"

  Rafael's eyes narrowed and he forgot himself long enough to snarl, ''And you, sir, I hope do not live to regret those words!" He instantly recovered himself and, ignoring MacLeod, who had turned purple, he spoke directly to Fisher, ''Sir, if you make any move against the chiefs who have come here today, you will destroy the sacredness of the council. More than that, you will endanger the lives of the captives and you will have destroyed forever any hope of making peace with the Comanches!"

  Fisher, aware of MacLeod's animosity, attempted to put things on a less tense plane and murmured lightly, "What do you think I intend to do—murder them as they sleep in their teepees? Come now, man, be reasonable."

  "No," Rafael admitted slowly. "But I think you might be foolish enough to try to keep them prisoner until they bring in all the captives."

  The three military men exchanged glances. Fisher fiddled with some papers that lay on the table in front of him and, not meeting Rafael's eyes, he said dismis-sively, "Well, thank you very much for letting us know your feelings. We're aware that you are very familiar

  with their ways and we appreciate your comments but this is a mihtary matter and we already have our orders from the President." A note of finality in his voice, he said, "We shall handle it as we think best."

  Briefly Rafael considered arguing further but, fearing it was futile, he bowed stiffly and walked swiftly from the courthouse. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes as he stepped outside the courthouse, and he stood for a few seconds adjusting to the light. Abstractedly he lit a thin black cheroot and, after taking a few draws, began to walk across the square in the direction of the Maverick house. He was in a damnable quandary— should he tell the Comanche chiefs that he suspected the Texans were not playing by the same rules as were the
Comanches? Or should he hold his peace and pray to Grod he was wrong?

  Today was such an important day in the history of Texas, one that could change the course of events for the future. Never before had any major group of Comanches agreed to hold peace talks with the Texans, even though Houston had tried unceasingly to arrange such talks all through 1837. Both the Texans and the Comanches had excellent and urgent reasons for seeking a truce, if not an everlasting peace. Perhaps the Texans, occupied with the continuous fight with Mexico, would gain more from it than the Comanches— certainly it would give Texas the much-needed opportunity to consolidate her frontier communities without Comanche interference.

  As for the Comanches, they had only to agree to halt raiding into Texas and give up some two hundred white captives, and accept a fictitious Texan sovereignty which would be, as far as they were concerned, no more effective than had been the Spanish sovereignty. The advantage to them would be that Jack Hays and his Rangers would no longer harass them in canyons where they liked to camp. Also, peace would open up trading between the Texans and the Comanches, something that many on both sides were eager to see. Everj^hing hinged on this meeting.

  Tossing aside his cheroot, Rafael made one of the most difficult decisions of his life—he would say noth-

  ing to the Comanches. Since he didn't know for certain that Fisher was prepared to risk losing everything by forcing a showdown if the Comanches had not brought in all of the captives, he didn't dare go to the Comanches and, by telling them of his own suspicions, wreck any chance of a treaty.

  Reaching the Maverick house once again, Rafael was not in the best of tempers. It had galled him to play the diplomat, even with prodding from Houston. He was a man of action, not words, he thought sourly, and perhaps if he had felt his mission had been successful he might have been in a better frame of mind. But, frowning blackly, he walked into the hpuse without knocking and, finding only Beth and Mary waiting there, he barked sharply, "Where the hell is your husband? I thought I told him to wait here."