The Blackbird
Page 8
“I have no one.”
“You have me.”
“We hardly know each other.”
“Is that your only argument?”
She didn't know what to say.
He crossed the room, knelt before her, and took her right hand into both of his larger ones. His touch was warm, and as much as she enjoyed it, tendrils of panic began to stir in her belly and she fought the urge to flee.
He must've sensed it in her. “Easy. I won't hurt you. I want to help. Do you know anything about how to defend yourself?”
“Not really.”
“Then, I'm going to teach you.”
Silently, she agreed, feeling tears begin to form, clogging her throat.
“And anything you want to know about me, just ask,” he added.
She nodded again. Despite her fears, she would like to know him better. But the rawness of her admission of Saul's guilt, along with the whiskey, left her unwilling to pursue more tonight.
“You should get some rest.” He stood and brought her to her feet, still holding her hand, then leaned forward.
She froze, stunned that he would try to kiss her, but he only reached for her cane and handed it to her.
Disappointment and relief joined forces within her chest.
“Hank didn't do a very good job protecting you. But I will, Tess.”
Caught within the spell of his blue eyes, she allowed herself the tiny luxury of believing him, of investing her hopes and dreams with a man who wouldn't shatter them, of knowing, for once in her life, the feeling of safety.
A tear rolled down her face. Cale brought his hand to her cheek and gently wiped it with the pad of his thumb, his fingers warm against her cheek. He still held her hand. He gave it a squeeze, turned, then left the dwelling.
Tess remained where she stood, leaning on her cane. Cale's restraint struck a chord deep within her. She'd felt the pull between them, and a part of her had wanted him to touch her, but just as equally, her boundaries screamed for distance.
It was too soon.
She wasn't ready.
She might never be ready to accept a man into her life, to practice intimacy with him. It was why she’d concluded that a religious order might be the most prudent course of action for her.
Was Cale really so different than, say, Esteban? The young, cocky Mexican didn't exactly treat her badly. But she’d recoiled from his touch more times than she could count. Thinking on it now, it was shocking that he hadn't given up sooner. It must be a blow to a man's bravado that a woman could hardly bear his caress.
But despite the same knee-jerk response to Cale, he had gentled her enough that accepting his touch hadn't been unpleasant. The tiniest thread of optimism began to blossom in her heart.
Her abuelo’s voice whispered in her ear. They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds. It was an old Mexican proverb she’d often quoted.
Maybe a part of the old Tess remained. That young girl, so filled with mischief and curiosity and wonder, pushed at her now. I’m still here. Saul Miller didn’t destroy all of me.
Enticed by Cale Walker, that younger version wanted to emerge from her hiding place.
She wanted freedom.
Chapter Nine
Cale spent the morning interviewing soldiers regarding Saul Miller. Having a purpose helped keep his growing anger to a tolerable level—barely . Though he didn't learn much, it was clear Saul had frequented the Dragoon Mountains, about fifty miles southwest of Camp Bowie.
Cale decided that once this business with Hank was finished, he'd hunt Miller down and make him sorry he ever laid a hand on Tess. Satisfaction over that thought helped soothe the edges of his temper. He went in search of Tess.
He found her with Kitty at the Post Trader, clad in a simple pale calico dress, a long black braid trailing down her back. She and Kitty admired the contents of a table.
Kitty beamed. “Good morning, Cale.”
Tess smiled too. It was damn nice to see, and the strain between his shoulder blades eased ever so slightly.
“What are you ladies up to?” he asked as he approached.
“They’ve fresh apples at the moment,” Kitty answered. “Can’t pass that up.”
“I wondered if I might steal Tess away.”
“Of course, but you both must join us for the noonday meal.”
“We’ll be there.” Cale guided Tess out of the building with a hand lightly on her lower back. “How’re you doing this morning?”
“Muy bien.” She moved away, and he fell in step beside her.
“I thought we should stay on here for a few days. It’ll give us a chance to rest and come up with a plan.”
“To find Hank?”
“Among other things.”
“Are you referring to Saul?”
“Tess, I don’t want you to ever give that man another thought. He’s my problem now. I promise you that.”
She stopped and her gaze flew to his. “Please, don't endanger yourself over this. It's not worth it.”
“I’m far better suited to handle him than you are.”
Distress flashed in her green eyes.
“Don’t you dare carry any shame over what happened,” he added.
Tess shifted uneasily, averting her gaze within the shadow of her hat.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said quietly.
For a moment, he thought she might confide in him, but she divested him of that notion with one word.
“Nada.” When she brought her eyes to his, the wall was firmly in place.
Cale accepted the rebuff, but it wouldn’t deter him. He thought of the times when he should’ve stopped Saul Miller and didn’t, when the man had crossed the line from justice to brutality as a normal part of his day. In assaulting Tess, he didn’t attack her just once. The memory continued to press on her. Cale needed to find a way to loosen its grip.
“I want to show you how to defend yourself. Where’s that Remington you brought?”
“With my things. I’ll get it.”
Cale waited outside while she retrieved the weapon from the Fitzgerald’s home. He led her to the outskirts of the camp, to an area where the infantry did target practice.
Cale watched Tess load and unload the Remington, satisfied she knew how. She wasn’t a bad marksman, and he figured he had Hank to thank for that.
He showed her how to handle his Winchester, and she practiced for a bit with it.
“Now, I want to show you what to do if you're in a physical situation with someone,” Cale said.
Beneath the brim of her hat, sweat sheened her face. It was almost midday, and he'd already worked her hard. But this was important.
“You're a tall woman, and that will give you an advantage.”
“What about my leg?”
“It doesn't matter, Tess. You can learn to work around it.”
He stood before her. “If a man comes at you,” he continued, grasping her upper arms, “then bring your knee up and strike him in the crotch.”
She nodded, but looked unsure.
“Try it,” he prodded.
“But—”
“Pretend, but bring your knee up quickly.”
She did, using her right leg—the uninjured one. It was difficult with the skirt.
“Good,” he said. “As soon as he releases you, make a run for it.”
“But I can't run.”
“We'll deal with that later.”
He grabbed her hand and flattened her palm against his nose. “If you can get a shot to the face, use the butt of your hand and jam it into his nose.” Next, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face away from him.
From behind, he trapped her in his arms. He felt her body tense. She reacted like a frightened animal, even with him, and it told him how deep her fears ran. “If a man grabs you like this,” he said against her ear, wisps of her hair brushing his lips, “then grab one of his fingers and pull back as hard as you can.”
“Tess, do it.”
She groped for his hand and yanked back on one of his pinky fingers. He yelled and released her.
She spun around. “Lo siento.”
He flexed his fingers to abate the pain. “No, no, it's fine.” He laughed. “That was just what you should do.”
She took a deep breath, fatigue and worry lining her face.
“I know this is a lot,” he said, “but it's important. Now, about the running.”
She started shaking her head.
“Tess, Kitty is right. Have you ever had a doc look at your leg?”
“Tom and Mary brought one out. He did remove the bullet.”
“Have you ever tried stretching and working the muscles more? Lack of use has probably caused it to stiffen over time.”
She leaned onto the cane, a pained expression on her face. “It aches,” she said quietly.
“I might have a few things that will help.”
“Like what?”
“Willowbark tea for pain and acorn oil. I've seen you massage the muscles. Every night you should do the same, but use the oil too. It has healing properties.”
“How do you know these things?”
“The Apache taught me some useful skills, and others I've picked up here and there. I'd be happy to help you with your leg, but you'd need to let me have a look at it.”
Her distressed gaze shot to his.
He held up his hands. “I know. It's too much. I understand. So, I'll give you the oil and you can use it on your own. Try walking some each day without the cane, increasing the time more and more.”
Her eyes settled on the horizon.
“However, Tess, if at some point you become more comfortable with me, and you want me to look at the injury, then I will. But only when you're ready.”
Her eyes came to his. He could see the shadows in her gaze. One thing he'd learned with the Apache, spirit didn't always remain in the body. Tess struggled mightily to keep hers with her, but he sensed at times that those fragments flitted away on the wind.
He understood why. After his parting with Hank, and the subsequent cougar attack, Cale had lost his way. He'd had purpose since, but the reason he'd returned to Arizona—and agreed to help Tess—was because he had unfinished business with Hank.
The spirit sought wholeness. Without it, the soul could turn on itself and chew away at the edges of sanity, of happiness.
Tess needed resolution.
Chapter Ten
When Tess entered the Fitzgerald's home , Kitty clucked her tongue and immediately guided Tess to the bed. “You look in need of a rest. I'll bring you some tea, and then a nap is in order. Don’t worry about lunch. I can bring that to you later as well.” Kitty left but soon returned with a teapot and cup atop a tray.
“You're so kind,” Tess said. “I don't know what I did to deserve your hospitality.”
“Don't you know, my sweet?” Kitty took her hands into her own. “Souls cross paths because the good Lord wills it. Who are we to question? My path is to be here, in this place, and I know He expects me to do my best and care for those around me. You're like a broken blackbird, and if I can mend your heart in some small way, then that is enough for me.”
O blackbird! sing me something well.
Hank’s brogue whispered in Tess’s ear.
“Thank you, Kitty.”
Kitty departed, leaving Tess alone. She set her cane aside and sat on the edge of the quilt-covered bed, poured the tea and enjoyed several sips, then pulled the jar of acorn oil from her pocket. Cale had also given her a packet of herbs to be steeped, but for now she would drink the hot beverage Kitty had brought her. Tess could prepare Cale’s tonic later.
She contemplated her leg. It almost always ached. Her only true respite was sleep. But even then, if she shifted during her slumber, the throbbing awakened her. She'd learned to live with it, although there were days she wept in the early morning hours from the futility of it all, from the injury that she knew would never leave her. She'd never been one to dwell in pity—her abuela had taught her that—but it was her mother's despair that showed her suffering didn't produce solutions. Only moving forward did. Tess strove, always, to forge ahead.
But maybe Kitty and Cale were right. Perhaps a good doctor could offer relief to the physical pain she endured on a daily basis. He might not be able to repair her heart and soul, but possibly her body could be improved. It was altogether conceivable that Cale was right about movement and exercise.
For so long, Tess had turned to her stories, to the healing within the words. In narratives, good prevailed, heroes overcame obstacles, and happiness resulted. Within epics great and small, the secrets of the universe could be guessed at, and one's place was always found to be more grandiose than at first thought. She clung feverishly to that one aspect.
Her life had to mean something.
She unlaced and removed her boots along with the stockings. Scooting back onto the bed, she lifted the edge of the skirt and the one layer of petticoat up to her waist, then pulled the drawers up on her left leg as far as she could. She stared at the misshapen bend of her knee. It was here the bullet had entered. When the doctor dug it out, the bone hadn't healed properly.
Cale thought she could one day run, but she doubted this.
He doesn’t know.
He hasn’t seen my leg.
With chunks of flesh missing and discolored skin from the stitches and the beating from Saul, her leg was a mess. Tears fell as she opened the jar and scooped the oil onto her fingertips. Gingerly, she rubbed it onto the uneven tissue. Sobbing, she rubbed harder as painful spasms increased.
She imagined Cale examining her leg, touching it, and her shame and embarrassment grew. She wished by some miracle that a magical healing would occur.
She set the jar on the nightstand, covered her leg with clothing then lay back onto the bed as a deep, violent bout of weeping overtook her.
She thought of her madre, so broken and bitter from the years of waiting for Hank to return, of loving a man who didn't pay enough attention to her. But Hank had done the same to Tess. She could almost taste the hunger in her heart for his love, for his concern, for wanting him to take care of her. And when he’d finally come for her, he’d instead immersed her into his own dangerous world, one that she’d barely survived. It was then that he’d abandoned her once again, leaving her with Tom and Mary.
The only strong and stable influence in her life had been her abuela. Tess had loved her grandmother dearly, and grieved that their time together was cut short. And while she mourned also the loss of her madre, a bitterness so strong she could taste its metallic presence on her tongue welled inside. Her madre, in her selfishness, had taken Tess’s abuela with her in death.
¿Por qué la madre?
The fire that swept through the small dwelling had turned Tess into an orphan. Despite the fact that Hank had tried over the years to be her father, he'd failed at it, again and again.
Now, here she was, chasing after him, pursuing his love once again. She wiped at her wet, puffy eyes. She was crazy to be here. Maybe she should leave and let Cale hunt him.
No. Hank will hear what I have to say.
Despite her shame, despite her pain, she would continue. She’d find a way to become stronger, not just physically but in her mind as well.
She’d damn well become the heroine of her own story.
* * * *
Cale sat with Fitz in his office. Kitty had begged off from the midday meal, choosing to rest while Tess napped, so Fitz suggested they discuss a current army problem.
“The Apache continue to raid.” Fitz leaned back in his chair. “We really thought when Cochise’s sons, Taza and Naiche, agreed to go to San Carlos last summer, things would finally settle down. Even Apache who resisted were redirec
ted to the reservation in Ojo Caliente in New Mexico. But there were over four hundred of the buggers unaccounted for, so the Indian Bureau absolved itself of looking after them. We’re allowed to treat them as hostile now.”
“How did they get Geronimo?”
“When John Clum—a damn fine Indian agent, if there ever was one—met with the Chiricahua last year, he had to convince the bands to come in. They weren’t happy about it. They’d certainly enjoyed their freedom on the Chiricahua reservation, which really wasn’t a reservation at all, if you ask me. The Apache had too much leeway and still crossed the border and plundered. Mexico was livid, and rightly so. So Clum told the Indians it was done, that they had to go to San Carlos. Chief Juh was there, but Geronimo spoke for him, since he stutters. Juh said they’d go, but it was a lie. That night hundreds of ’em escaped. Strangled their own dogs to keep ʼem quiet.
“So, to save himself from the embarrassment, Clum knew he had to get Geronimo. He set a trap in Ojo Caliente and it worked. Earlier this year, he sent Geronimo to San Carlos in chains.” Fitz shook his head. “But other Apache are still out there. They’re brazen little pricks, I’ll tell you that.
“The latest problem is a raid down near Sonoita. The Apache ran off cattle and horses from a ranch, then snatched a boy by the name of Douglas. His uncle, Sid Haverly, is infuriated and wants him back. Can’t say as I blame him, but you can well imagine the logistical problems this presents. If you know anything that can help, Cale, I’d be much obliged.”
Cale considered the request. “It’s been three years since I was with Mohan’s band. It’s hard to know where they could be.”
“Agreed. Bands join up and break apart with too much regularity.”
“When was the boy taken?”
“A fortnight ago.”
“He could already be traded.”
“I know. I’ve got scouts out. How long will you be staying?”
“A few days. I think the rest is good for Tess. I’m happy to help if I can, Fitz, but you know how easily such things can get mucked up.”
Fitz sighed. “Too right.”
“The boy is still likely to live.”