Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  “So, animals would know where water is or they’ll die. Gee, Del, pa’s wrong to call Indians ignorant savages. They know these things. A man has to be smart to figure all this out and then remember it.”

  “There’s smart men and stupid men belonging to every tribe and all whites. You learn to take the measure of a man by the respect he earns from you, Joey, not by the color of his skin being darker or his beliefs being different from yours.”

  There were more, more questions from Joey, more answers from Delaney, and Faith listened, until the rocking of the wagon and the soothing deep tone of Delaney’s voice lulled her to sleep.

  The look Delaney shot over his shoulder into the shadowed interior of the wagon only confirmed what his senses had told him; Faith was sleeping. His chin brushed the edge of Joey’s floppy hat as he turned back. The trail ahead was fairly clear, so Delaney reflected on why he acted the bastard with Faith.

  So he didn’t like the way wanting her had him twisting and turning on his bedroll at night. But he could blame her for trembling at his slightest touch. The heat was there, he wasn’t denying it, and given half the chance, she wouldn’t deny it, either. Maybe, he mused, that was the problem.

  She was his for the taking. But the duchess wouldn’t let it end there. While he wished it weren’t so, he forced himself to accept that. It still didn’t give him the right to treat her like a fifty-cent whore. An inner voice nagged him with all the reasons why he had to stay away from her.

  His body had its own way of nagging. One that made him lift Joey up and over to sit beside him on the seat, so he could shift his legs and ease an ache that was becoming too familiar. Damn that skystone-eyed witch!

  Faith woke with a start. Confused when she saw that daylight pierced the interior, she sat up, pushing aside her hair, which had come free while she slept. The wagon wasn’t moving.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning, but neither Joey nor Delaney were on the wagon’s seat. She called their names softly so as not to waken Pris, but when no one answered, she came off the bunk and peered out of the front opening of the canvas.

  They were stopped in a small clearing. A fire was already burning, and the big kettle she used for washing had been heating a while, for she could see heat rise from the water. The mules were no longer hitched to either wagon. But once again no one answered her when she called out.

  Stifling a yawn, Faith climbed over the seat, looked around, burying her fear when a quiet sense of peace came to her. Gathering up her skirt and petticoats, she stepped down from the wagon just as Delaney, followed by Keith and Joey, came out of the woods carrying deadwood.

  “Wait till you see the stream, Faith,” Keith said, dumping his load of wood near the fire. “There’s a pool deep enough to swim in.”

  She ignored her brothers and looked at Delaney. “Why?”

  “Figure we could all use a bath,” he returned, building another fire, smaller this time, and set a ways from the boiling kettle. “If you hurry, you’ll have time to wash clothes. The water’s sun-warm down below, and there’s a few springs that have hot water. Don’t know when we can stop again,” he finished, taking his knife from its sheath to shave off dry bark before striking a match to the pile. The smoke curled up, and he added small twigs, while Keith broke the deadfall branches and handed them to him to feed the blaze. Standing, he turned to Faith but would not meet her direct gaze.

  “Keith’ll keep watch when you’re ready to go down to the creek. Your father’s fishing for supper.”

  “And Joey?” she asked, annoyed that he had made plans for everyone and expected them to be followed.

  “He’ll come with me.” He looked at her then, saw the fear and questions in her eyes, and added, “Joey’s safe with me.”

  Faith nodded. It was true. On some instinct level she trusted him with Joey when she could not trust him with herself. She spun around, hurrying to get the laundry and soap. She still wanted to ask him why he had done this, musing to herself that this might be his way of apologizing. Delaney reminded her enough times he did not apologize, so she shook off that thought as being foolish. With her arms wrapped around bundled clothes, Faith came back to the fire. She was going to have her longed-for bath. Nothing could stop her smile.

  Delaney placed his hand on Joey’s shoulder, urging him away from the fire. He glanced back to see Faith’s smile and found his guilt for being caustic rode a little lighter. At the edge of the wood he took Joey’s hand and set it to grip the back of his gunbelt, before leading him into the woods.

  When he deemed they were far enough, and his own keen senses gave him no warning of danger, Delaney stopped. “I want you to breathe as deeply as you can, Joey, and listen. We’ll stand here, quiet for a bit. Then you tell me what you hear and smell.” He grinned to feel the excitement that trembled through the boy’s body. Delaney closed his own eyes, took a deep breath, released it, and let his body go still. With a skill he had learned from his childhood Apache friends, he slowed his heartbeat. Within seconds he had blanked his mind to all thoughts, and in whispers, with delicate scents, the forest came alive for him.

  He sensed the waiting stillness of the creatures as the man scent was carried to them. Until the animals knew they were not here as predators, they would remain quiet and hidden. Delaney caught the far-off sound of water tumbling over rocks from the creek south of where they stood. He stopped himself from imagining Faith down there.

  The soft cooing of a dove made Joey grip Delaney’s belt tighter. He quickly understood by the even breaths and lack of tension in Delaney’s body that he had nothing to fear. A tiny rustling noise followed, and he turned his head toward it, lifting his face to inhale. Joey tried and failed to place the strong scent that he drew into his lungs.

  Reaching behind him, Delaney took hold of Joey’s wrist. His steps, with the boy stumbling, were so quiet, that Joey reached up with his other hand to touch Delaney’s back. He smiled to feel a reassuring squeeze on his wrist. Joey vowed to try and be as quiet as the big man who was opening a new world to him. With Faith he didn’t feel clumsy or unable to do for himself, but his pa never let him forget he was less than whole.

  Stopping before a tall, massive, almost orange trunk of a ponderosa pine, Delaney used his knife to scrape a bit of bark and turned to Joey. Using his thumb, he touched the boy’s cheek gently, then lifted the knife tip to his nose. Joey jerked back from the resinous scent, wrinkling his nose. He smiled when he came close again. “Vanilla?” he murmured.

  “Good,” Delaney answered, rubbing the small scar he had left in the soft, pale yellow wood. “It’s from the tallest of the pines,” he whispered, leaning close to Joey’s ear. “Near ten times a man’s size.”

  Once again he moved off, listening to the silence. He had to search a long ways to find what he was looking for, but he grinned when he did. Hunkering down, he urged Joey to kneel at his side. Placing a small cone into the boy’s hand, he watched as Joey ran his fingers over and over the rough surface and then lifted it up to his nose.

  “This is one of the most important trees that the Indians value, Joey. Piñon pine, not tall and stately like the ponderosa, but dwarf-size and twisted. Here, give me your hand so you can feel the shape of the trunk.”

  “It’s sticky.”

  “Pitch, Joey. You get hurt, an’ there’s nothing better to close a wound. An old man I knew would heat this and mix it with his whiskey to rid himself of a cough. Makes a real fine glue and waterproofing for baskets so they can hold water. I’m gonna lift you up so you can feel the branches,” he warned. “The curve of the log is good for building shelter, but what you hold could make the difference between going hungry or eating.”

  “A cone?” Joey felt himself back on the ground, and such was his trust in Delaney that he lifted the cone to his lips.

  “Not so fast, boy. It’s the brown seeds inside that you can eat. They taste like nuts.” Once more, Delaney moved off, then stopped. “Rea
ch your arm out to the right. Feel that bark. It’s stringy, peels right off, and makes good tinder to start a fire. Junipers have berries, too. But only eat them when you’re in need. They’re kind of puckery-tasting, but the birds like them fine.” Smiling, he watched as Joey stroked the bark and then began to finger it. In one corner of his mind Delaney cursed Robert Becket for making his son less than he could be. But Delaney did not hide from himself his own motive for teaching Joey. If something happened to him, Joey’s knowledge could mean his life.

  “Now, let’s say you’re ready to bed down. You could bundle up leaves, grasses, or pine needles to soften your place. But leaves and grasses flatten quick. Sometimes they’re dry and rustle every time you breathe. Needles tend to pinch a man in the damnedest places. You grunt and tell someone where you are. Indians use this bark to weave a soft sleeping mat.”

  “That’s woman’s work, Del.”

  “Boy,” he answered softly, unable to hide his laughter, “notions like that are gonna get you in a heap of trouble.” Ruffling Joey’s hair, he added, “Best not let your sister hear that kind of talk from you. She’ll raise a ruckus for sure.” And likely blame him, he thought.

  The call of a wild turkey forced Delaney to be still. His eyes narrowed, scanning the forest. He placed his hand on Joey’s shoulder, pressing to warn the boy to stay. When the call came again, Delaney left him.

  Chapter 7

  Faith heard the echo of a shot and froze where she knelt on a flat rock by the edge of the stream. She lifted her head, searching the area across from her. She saw nothing but trees and shrubs growing close to the bank. Her thoughts flew to Joey and Delaney. Grasping the shirt she had been rinsing, she listened but heard nothing more. Just that single shot. Surely, if something had happened to Delaney, there would have been more shots fired.

  Keith came bursting out of the tree line above her at a run, his rifle clutched in his hands. “You hear that? Pa, you think Del’s got trouble?”

  Faith glanced at her father. He offered Keith a surly look and shook his head. He had no liking for Carmichael, less in these two days that passed with Carmichael enforcing his way of doing things on all of them. Made a man feel less like one, Robert thought, tugging on his line, praying for another fish to go with the two it had taken him over an hour to catch. At this rate he’d be forced to eat something Delaney provided. It went against his grain, and his stomach rebelled in agreement.

  Faith glanced from her father back to her brother. She motioned Keith to go back to camp. After another look around, she finished rinsing the shirts she had boiled and scrubbed, then wrung them out before she spread them on the low-hanging branches to dry. Woolen drawers belonging to Keith, Joey, and her father were still damp, as were their heavy pants. She glanced up to see how much daylight she had left, knowing there was one last wash of her belongings and Pris’s.

  Making her way back to camp, Faith felt edgy and shot looks over her shoulder, but all was peaceful.

  “You done yet, Faith?” Pris whined, squirming on the milking stool where she sat feeding blades of grass to Beula. “I wanna go swim. Keith said—”

  “I promised we would,” Faith snapped, cutting her off. Wiping her forehead, she lifted a seasoned wood pole to stir the boiling clothes. After a few minutes she raised a piece of clothing high, letting the water drip before setting it in her basket to carry back to the creek. “Get the soap and our clean clothes, Pris. You’ll come with me so we can have our baths.”

  With Pris holding on to her skirt, Faith picked her way through the trees, making sure she was far enough downstream out of sight of her father. She hurried to rinse the clothes, impatient as Pris was to get into the water.

  “Stay close to the bank, Pris. Delaney said there are natural hot springs, and your hair needs washing.”

  “Oh, Faith, can’t we just play and have fun.”

  Faith glanced to where Pris sat in shallow water, her drawers muddy from a brief stint at digging along the bank. She had to fight down the resentment that flared inside. Yes, she longed to shout, I want to play, and rest, and not have to worry about clothes, food, along with keeping you clean! I’d like some time to myself, too! But while her voice had an edge to it, she merely reminded Pris that they couldn’t linger long.

  Even the short while she spent in the warm spring water, washing Pris’s hair, then her own, softened her mood. Once they were both dressed, Faith led the way back to camp. A teasing aroma made her hurry.

  Her father was already back, resting against a wagon wheel. “There’s fish to clean,” he growled in greeting.

  Keith, hunkered down near the smaller fire, looked up at her. “That shot we heard was Del shooting us a turkey.” Faith saw for herself that Delaney was turning a makeshift spit where the turkey’s skin was already starting to brown.

  “The fish, Faith,” her father called out to remind her.

  Before she moved, Delaney was up and across the clearing. He grabbed the string of fish and headed down to the stream. Faith walked closer to the fire, where Keith continued to turn the bird.

  “Faith,” Joey said, “I learned so much about trees and felt tracks of a white-tailed deer. Del showed me—”

  “Wait, Joey. How did you know I was here, so close to you?” She stared at her little brother and wished that Delaney had stayed.

  “Oh, I smelled you,” Joey answered, wearing a smug smile as he sat a little straighter.

  “Smelled me?” she repeated, glancing at Keith, who just shrugged. “But I just took a bath.”

  “That’s why I could, Faith. I smell the soap you use.”

  Keith ducked his head to hide his grin. Flustered, Faith returned her brush and soap to the wagon. She took out a small sack of cornmeal and a bit of salt to use on the fish when Delaney came back, thinking that she would have to thank him for saving her the messy chore. Drawn back to the fire by curiosity, she first reminded her brothers about their baths.

  “Oh, now that you’re back, Delaney’ll take us,” Joey said. “And he let me keep all the feathers, Faith. ’Course, they’re not as good as having eagle feathers, but Indian boys use these for their arrows. Del said if he has time, he’d make me a bow and some arrows.”

  The danger to Joey made her open her mouth to protest, but Delaney returned and she kept silent when he handed her the fish. “Thank you for cleaning them, Mr. Carmichael. I hope you’ll like the way I fix them.”

  “Del won’t eat them, Faith,” Joey said.

  She looked at Joey, hearing the pride and the confidence in his voice. A second later she cringed to hear her father muttering about the foolishness of getting a blind boy all het up over what he couldn’t have. One look at the dark glint in Delaney’s eyes, the muscle that twitched in his cheek and she knew she had to stop him from confronting her father.

  “Joey, tell me what else you learned while I get these fish ready.” She sat close to him so that they could keep their voices low. “Do you know why Delaney won’t eat the fish?”

  “If he’s real, real hungry, he’d force himself to eat it, but the Apache don’t much like it. They don’t eat turkey, either, but Del likes that fine. He says the turkey eats too many bugs and worms and stuff like that so the Apache won’t touch it. But it sure smells good, don’t it?”

  “It sure does.” She leaned close to kiss his cheek and found herself snared by Delaney’s dark gaze. Without a thought to what her eyes revealed, Faith smiled up at him. What he had given her brother was simply beyond measure of thanks.

  “Faith,” Joey said, drawing her attention by reaching out with his hand to touch her own. “This is the time of many leaves. We couldn’t pick berries. They won’t be ripe until the time of large leaves or … or…”

  “Thick with fruit time,” Delaney supplied. “You boys want time for a swim, we’d best go now.”

  While they were gone, Faith finished supper preparations, sneaking looks at her father’s brooding face. She di
dn’t like the feeling that was creeping up on her, and when he finally spoke, she knew she had good reason.

  “You’re getting ideas about Carmichael, ain’t you? I warned you, girl. Damn foolish. He’s no better than—”

  “Don’t say it, Pa. You’re the one who wanted him, not me. I tried to tell you to find someone else. But I don’t understand how you can bad-mouth him when he’s good to Joey.”

  “Good to the boy?” he sneered. “That what you call it? Filling his head with savage learning that ain’t gonna do him a lick of good ain’t no kindness, girl. Nothing will help him get back what he lost.”

  Faith turned the spit. She wasn’t going to answer him. How could she? The guilt for Joey’s blindness was her burden. Her fault. But when would her father begin to forgive her? The Lord knew that Joey never once blamed her. But then, she reminded herself, Joey knew the truth of what happened the night Martin was murdered. Shivering, she dragged her thoughts from the past.

  To save Joey the chore, she milked the cow, frowning to see the pail half-full. Beula had to be bred and soon, or she’d go dry on them. The coffee was done, and she pulled the pot to the edge of the fire, just as the three of them returned. Faith found herself watching as Delaney stowed his gear in his saddlebag, her gaze warming to notice the taut play of his muscles beneath the doeskin-colored shirt he wore. She didn’t have the courage to ask if he had washed his own clothes. But when he walked back toward the stream, she called out to him.

  “Supper’s ready.”

  “Be right back. Best I get your laundry before it’s gone.”

  “Gone? There’s hardly a breeze, Mr. Carmichael.”

  “Never know when someone might wander by and help themselves to whatever takes their fancy.”

  “Wait. I’ll come with you.” Faith ran to catch up with him. She did not want Delaney Carmichael near her unmentionables. The light was fading, so she stayed close on his heels.