“I give you this twig of lightning-struck wood, for I have come to ask you for light,” Joey said. To show his respect and his faith, he marked the foot near his hand with a cross of pollen. With two fingers he took small pinches of pollen and sprinkled them toward the man’s body. He kept just a little to make a cross on the other moccasin.
Joey found it hard to stand and find his way back around the fire to where he had his other gifts. By touch he found the bag of smoking tobacco and with firmer steps returned to where the shaman waited. Feeling the heat of the fire, Joey placed the bag on the ground.
“I accept your gift.”
Joey smiled. Within moments he inhaled a stronger smoke from the fire behind him. The scent was different than the one before. He knew the shaman would smoke some of his tobacco and that he must wait until he did. He used the time to remember what Delaney had said about the sacred pollen. A symbol of life and renewal, was what he called it. Tobacco smoke wafted past him, and Joey knew it would be blown to the four directions. All things were done in fours. His gifts and the words that came.
“May it be well.”
Joey had to wait until the words were repeated four times. He did not linger when the last sound faded. He returned and found the knife, brought it around, made his request for help again, and waited for his gift to be accepted. With each step, each acceptance, he became more sure of himself. Until the last gift. It seemed as if the time would not come that the prayer for aid would be said.
“The boy has come in search of help. I want to give it to him. There is an evil inside him that will not let the boy see. He is searching for the light. All your Power must go into the life of this boy.”
Joey did not move but lifted his face. He knew the man had stood, for his tobacco-scented breath drifted down to him. He was no longer afraid. All was happening just as Delaney had told him. He felt the light touch of pollen on the back of his neck, an even lighter touch on each of his shoulders. He held his breath, fighting not to squeeze his eyes closed, as pollen was brushed across each of his eyelids.
“I accept your yeel, little one.”
“I am happy in my heart that my gifts are pleasing to you,” Joey answered. He smiled to feel the soft brush of the eagle feather over his face. Delaney had warned him not to laugh even if it tickled him. This was a hard part, Joey thought, sensing the man moving, knowing that he would pass the eagle feather over and around his body to take away the evil. Joey shifted from one foot to the other, growing restless with the need to talk. He pressed his lips tight, knowing it wasn’t time.
The song began. Joey did not understand the words, for they were sung in Apache. Each song would call for power from their spirits. The tone of the voice changed, now low and deep, now crying out. Joey inched his fingers up to his pocket. He had his turquoise with an eagle feather through a hole that Delaney had made. Only men and boys were to give these to the shaman.
Silence came. Joey handed over his curing symbols.
Allowing himself to be guided, he was led away from the fire. The air was cooler, but he knew the ground remained level. Urged to sit, Joey did and felt a cup pressed to his lips. He didn’t like the smell of it but took a sip. The taste was bitter, but he drank what he was offered.
“Your heart is open, little one?”
“My heart is open.”
“Your mind is open to let the evil free?”
“My mind is open.” Joey said the words, but he felt funny. His voice didn’t sound right. He licked his lips and found his mouth was dry. Something touched his forehead, and he wrinkled his nose, trying to smell and sense what it was. He heard the chanting begin again, softer this time, and found that he was rocking his body back and forth. But he was yawning. He felt so sleepy. Delaney had said nothing about falling asleep. He tried to fight it, but his head kept falling forward, and he jerked himself back.
“Del? Where are you? I feel funny.” He thought the chanting stopped. He wasn’t sure. Everything seemed to be going around and around. Was that Delaney holding him? He lifted his hand—or tried to—but he couldn’t touch anything. Joey cried out.
“Remember, little one. Open heart and open mind. Just remember what happened that night.”
“I can’t. It hurts, Del.”
But he had been sleepy that night, too. They had so much food to eat, and everyone was happy. There was music and dancing. Mama laughing. Papa lifting him high. Running and playing. It was late and he went to the wagon to rest. Martin kissed Faith. They didn’t see him in the wagon bed He felt the sway of the wagon and knew they were going home. Faith would not be mad when she found him there. And he liked Martin.
But Faith scolded him before she tucked him into bed. She had kissed him on the cheek and wished him sweet dreams. Why were they yelling? He pulled the quilt over his head and buried his face in the pillow. Faith was screaming. She shouldn’t be screaming.
“…Faith was happy. But she kept screaming. I had to help her. They were hurting her. Hurting Martin. Help her! Del, help her! Don’t let them hurt Faith!”
Joey’s terrified scream pierced the night. He soon quieted with gentle strokes and rocking and soft murmurs. But he did not speak again.
Faith was waiting, just as she had said, when Delaney returned with Joey in the half-light before dawn. She had never seen her little brother’s face filled with such peace as it wore while he slept in Delaney’s arms. But though Joey slept at rest, Delaney’s face was drawn, lines of exhaustion clearly marked for her to see.
“Joey’ll sleep most of the day,” Delaney told her, handing the boy down to her waiting arms. He was grateful that she accepted this without questions. After dismounting, he stripped the saddle from Mirage, used tufts of grass to give his mare a quick rubdown, then set her free.
Faith returned and poured him coffee, then sat beside him. “Are you hungry?”
Delaney shot her a curious look. “That’s all? Just if I’m hungry?”
“Delaney,” she said with a sigh, “if you want to tell me what happened, you will. If you don’t want to say, there’s nothing I can do to make you.”
The rumbling in his stomach answered her question. She shook her head and rose to dish out the jerky stew she had left simmering in the kettle. Balancing two biscuits on top of the plate, she brought it to him.
Resuming her seat, Faith watched the dawn spread its painted lights across the sky. Birdsong broke the silence, and she felt a contentment that she did not want to end.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave here,” she said after a few minutes.
Delaney stopped eating to look at her. She sat in profile to him, but it was the longing in her voice that caught his attention. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“There is a feeling of time being stopped here. It is hard to explain, but I have a sense of being safe. You’ll think me foolish, but that’s how I feel.”
Setting the plate aside, satisfied that his fast had been broken, Delaney reached over and lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed her palm and then rubbed the backs of her fingers over his bearded cheek.
“I don’t think you’re foolish. I feel the same way.”
“But we still leave today?”
She withdrew her hand from his, and Delaney let the moment pass. “Yeah. We leave today.” Sipping his coffee, Delaney knew he had to tell her that he would leave them in Tombstone. But when he spoke, what he intended wasn’t what he said.
“I don’t know if Joey wants to see, Faith. That’s all that keeps him blind. He talked a little about that night, but not his part in it. I can’t offer you any hope.”
“About Joey?” About us? she wanted to add and didn’t.
“Yeah, Joey.” He couldn’t add and us. It was a desperate feeling he had. If he didn’t say the words aloud, she would somehow know that he wanted her to wait. If he lived…
Delaney finished sopping up the last of the gravy with a piece of biscuit, then poured anothe
r cup of coffee. Restless now, he cast about for something to say to keep her with him a bit longer.
“I wish I could have taken you to Tucson, Faith.”
“Why?” she asked with a directness she knew made him uncomfortable.
“It’s more civilized. Contention, Millville, and Tombstone are raw mining camps. It was just a thought.”
Faith tossed her own promise aside. She turned and faced him. “Just once, Delaney Carmichael, say what you’re thinking!”
Those eyes that stunned him on first sight seemed to pierce his skin and see inside him. Delaney lifted his skystone free from his open shirt and held it up before her.
“Look at the stone, Faith. It matches your eyes. There was a promise made to me when I was given this to wear, and I gave one in return. Until I keep that promise, I have no others to make or give. Is that plain enough, duchess?”
Faith memorized his face. She had the feeling that time was slipping away, too quickly, and she longed to stop it.
“Answer one question for me, Delaney. If you were free to make a promise to me, would you?” He stared at her in silence for a long minute, his face giving no hint to his thoughts. Only the desire in his eyes gave him away. She scrambled to her feet and started to walk away.
“Faith,” he whispered, stopping her. “I swear on all that I hold sacred in this life, if I could, I’d make one to you.”
Silent tears of thanksgiving fell from her eyes, and she stood with her head bowed, willing him to hold her again, kiss her once more, and tell her that he loved her.
But she stood alone and sounds of the others stirring warned her that the time was past for him to come to her. Delaney had demons to put to rest. She loved him enough to set him free. She loved him enough to wait for a whole man to come to her with nothing held back. She had given him no less; she knew she would accept no less in return.
They camped outside of Contention City that night at Robert’s request. Faith was surprised that her father spoke first to Delaney before they both agreed not to go to the mill town.
There was a raw wood shanty beside a pole corral, but one look inside the cabin and Faith chose to sleep near the wagons. The low-ceilinged room was hot and laden with the odors of bacon grease, sweat, and manure.
When Joey did not immediately drift back to sleep, Faith hid her disappointment that he couldn’t see. She had faced down her father to let Joey go with Delaney to an Apache shaman, wanting to believe as Delaney seemed to, that her brother’s sight could be restored.
She hated the way her father smugly told her it had been a waste of time, and that Delaney was a vicious man to cruelly raise Joey’s hope for sight. Refusing to believe that of Delaney, she nevertheless kept her disappointment to herself, worried about how Joey would feel. Strangely, her little brother was the one who offered her comfort.
Tomorrow would see them near the end of their long journey. Everyone seemed on edge tonight but Joey. When Faith helped him get ready for bed, he hugged her extra hard. She stroked the back of his head, holding him as long as he wanted. He finally let her go, and she leaned over to tuck his blanket around him.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered.
“You said that to me the other time.”
“What other time, Joey?” Faith settled herself on the edge of the narrow bed in the wagon.
“The night Martin died.”
“Yes.” She answered without thought, then realized what he said. Hope filled her. Delaney had not failed if Joey was at least willing to talk about what happened. She waited for him to say something more. When he didn’t, she found her own curiosity surface. “Who was with you and Delaney last night?”
“I don’t know,” he sleepily murmured, tucking one hand beneath his cheek. “Del. I remember him talking and holding me.”
“Just Delaney?” she prompted.
“Hmmm … guess so.”
Brushing aside his hair, Faith leaned close to whisper, “You know that Delaney never meant to be cruel and raise your hope to see.”
“I know that. Del wouldn’t ever hurt me. It’s not time. I’ve got to want to see hard enough to get all the bad things out.”
“Oh, Joey, I pray that you do.” Faith left him with little satisfaction and her curiosity piqued.
It remained that way as they rode out in an early morning mist to follow the San Pedro River to Tombstone.
The raw mining camp was in the desert on a flat mesa surrounded by rolling plains and hemmed in by the Dragoon and Whetstone mountains. Faith reminded herself that she had been warned by Delaney of what they would find, but nothing he had said prepared her for a dust-blown town of tents and shanties. The main street swarmed with men. Some were building. Others seemed to be prospectors by their dress. Still other men loitered about. Faith cast a glance at Delaney, who rode close to the wagon. He was grinning.
“Don’t say I told you so,” she warned him, then smiled. She began coughing on the dust the mules kicked up, and she thought Delaney said something about dry being better than wet.
“What?” she asked him, her eyes smarting.
“Mud, duchess. When it’s wet here, the mud’ll be up to the wheels, and you’ll have the devil’s own time.”
Burros brayed and Faith had a hard time controlling the mules. She was embarrassed to see the men—for the most part, unshaved and likely unwashed, judging by the state of their clothes—begin to turn and stare at her.
“Can’t blame them, duchess. Ain’t many white women here. But not for long. The silver’ll bring them and gamblers.”
Faith kept her gaze focused straight ahead, unwilling to attract anyone’s attention.
Delaney chuckled at her prim look.
“That’s Private Shellby, ain’t it, Del?” Keith yelled back from his wagon seat.
Following to where Keith was pointing, Delaney saw it was the private. He was standing on a few rough boards, holding the reins of several army horses. There was no sign to indicate what the building behind him was. Del’s lips tightened when he saw the smile that creased Shellby’s mouth as he recognized Faith.
Shellby waved them down, and Robert pulled up, giving Faith no choice but to follow suit.
“We heard you had trouble, Mr. Becket. Glad to see you made it here safely.”
“Well, it was no thanks to you leaving us,” Becket said in a gruff voice. He was anxious to move along. The sooner he was camped, the quicker he would be rid of Delaney.
“Carmichael!” the private yelled, waving him over, annoyed when Delaney remained beside Faith’s wagon. “Major Ross is here, and he’s looking for you.”
Delaney offered no sign that he heard him, turning instead to Faith. “Your father has his map to your land claim and—”
“You’re leaving us? Now?”
“You knew I would.” It was his mistake to look at her. “Don’t make this harder,” he pleaded, stopping himself.
“You said those same words before. Remember, Del?” She was sorry the moment she spoke. His eyes darkened, and his face had a look of anguish. But for a moment he held his gaze to hers, and she saw that he did remember a desert night and burning alive. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him.
“You hear me, Carmichael?” Shellby shouted.
With a hard cutting gaze Delaney pinned the private where he stood. “I heard you and so did all of Tombstone. Tell Ross I ain’t interested in anything he has to say.” Delaney reached into his shirt pocket and took out a roll of bills and leaned over to place them in Faith’s lap. “Give that to your father. It’s all there, the money he paid me. You’ll need it for supplies and such to get started.”
“He won’t take it.”
“Then you use it for a scout and Pris. Shellby’ll make sure you get an escort if you want one.” He urged Mirage closer to the wagon and said quick good-byes to the children.
Faith couldn’t stop herself from leaning over to
touch his arm.
Delaney burned. He thought about taking her mouth in sight of everyone, and knew if he gave in, he would mark her in everyone’s mind forever as his. And if he didn’t come back, she would be forced to live with that.
It tore his insides to pull away from her.
She heard him whisper words she didn’t understand but recalled from the night he made love to her. Mirage moved off at a walk, and words crowded her mind, all the things she meant to say and never did. She had to bite her lip to keep silent. Joey’s hand entwined with hers, and Faith held it tight, knowing there had been pain in her life, as much pain as she had thought she could stand, but nothing like this.
This was pain that spread and, with it, emptiness that seemed to drain her very lifeblood. She couldn’t see him. Tears filled her eyes, and she heard shouting, blinking and focusing, because it was Pris who yelled.
“They’re gonna shoot him!”
Shellby was running with his gun drawn. Soldiers poured out of the building where he had been standing. Faith heard him demand that Delaney stop. She heard the shots, dropped the reins, and nearly fell trying to get down from the wagon.
“Delaney!” she screamed, running toward him. He was still mounted on his mare, but three soldiers blocked his way. Shellby was behind him. Faith heard a new voice firing commands and turned. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cry. Seanilzay, bound in rope, was being pushed forward in the street toward Delaney. She wanted Delaney to run, knowing that he wouldn’t, sensing danger for him.
Delaney saw Ross approach him, shoving a stumbling Seanilzay in front of him, but his senses alerted him to Faith being near. He wanted her gone, out of harm’s way, but the major claimed his attention.
“We’ve been waiting here for you,” Ross said by way of greeting.
Desert Sunrise Page 24
