The Blackbird

by Kristy McCaffrey

  Following a well-worn path, they left the Chiricahua Mountains and entered a wide open expanse frequented by mail couriers, the Butterfield Stage, and supply trains to Camp Bowie. It was here that the army men fell silent and gave their undivided attention to protecting Cale and Tess.

  They rode hard for a time, then slowed to give the horses a break.

  Cale found himself brooding. About Tess.

  He worried, having her here in the wilderness with Apache still roaming the area. It wasn’t safe. He ruminated over finding Hank. Everything Tess had told him about Hank and Saul sat in his gut like sour milk. He'd known Hank capable of cruelty, but...his own daughter? Disgusted and disillusioned, Cale tried his damnedest to clamp down on an overwhelming desire for vengeance.

  He’d experienced such a streak when he’d been in the army, fighting Apache. It had been easy, far too easy, to hate them, to kill them in cold blood and suffer no remorse. They had done the same to many of Cale’s brethren. But in the end, after one relentless pursuit after another—finally culminating in Bernard’s epic pursuit in ’71—he’d had enough. They hunted the Apache like dogs, and Cale lost the taste for retribution. Most were just women and children. Joining Hank seemed to right the balance of justice in his mind and in his heart; the bad guy became clear to him once again.

  But then came another Apache massacre. And the arrival of an unexpected salvation at the hands of the very people he’d tried to destroy.

  Mohan’s band knew he’d been part of campaigns against the Apache, perhaps knew of his depredations that night with Hank before he parted ways with him, but for some unfathomable reason chose to let him live. He’d been near death after the mountain lion attack, and while it was true that Cocheta deemed the event an omen of some significance, Cale didn’t believe that was the only reason he hadn’t been killed.

  They called him Change of Heart, a name of derision at times, but deep down it was, for him, a sign of redemption. Mohan’s band extracted a piece of Cale—a shadow of the boy he’d been—and returned it to him. It was a gift beyond measure, and even today, Cale still didn’t quite understand what happened.

  And so, now, the anger he felt toward Hank—and Saul—was tempered with this youthful Cale that breathed inside him, a piece of himself that wanted to live better, that strove to forgive and to be forgiven. He and Tess were of the same mind in this, both struggling.

  He glanced at her, riding beside him atop her horse.

  She told stories of love and grief and betrayal, but her heart was carefully guarded. There were times he'd caught a glimmer of fire, of passion, and had hoped it was directed at him, but he could never be certain.

  Was it that doubt that drew him to her? Did he simply want her attention to prove it could be gotten? He'd played with other women in that way, and had soon lost interest.

  He knew he couldn’t let that happen with Tess.

  “Will you tell me about your family, Cale?”

  “What would you like to know?” he answered, glad for the diversion.

  “Did you grow up in Texas?”

  “Mostly. My pa brought us there from Virginia when I was fifteen. As I’ve mentioned, my ma died before the War of the States, giving birth to my youngest brother.”

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Two. Joey and T.J.”

  “And now you have a sister.”

  “Yeah.” Cale adjusted his hat. His pa's indiscretion should hardly have surprised him, but it had still been a shock. “My old man was a piece of work. Still is. There was a time I looked to Hank to fill that role, I suppose.”

  “We all want love and understanding. Who better to give it than our folks?”

  “If they’re able.” He gazed into the distance, at the mountains they meant to gain access to.

  The Dragoons rose from the desert like the teeth of a coyote. Steep cliffs buffered deep chasms, but Cale remembered the pockets of beauty that existed as well—pinon pines, refreshing streams, and blue grama grass. He imagined lying in the shade with Tess by his side and a smile upon her lips...

  “Cale, I wondered...well, I wanted to ask...” she hesitated.

  “I'm not gonna bite your head off, Tess.”

  “You spent such a long time with the Apache. Were you one of those men who...well, sometimes men took up with women...Hank did with mi madre.”

  “No. I had no Apache sweetheart. Apache women won't lie with a gringo; they believe we carry disease.”

  “What? Oh.”

  He enjoyed her flushed face, and couldn’t stifle his grin. She’d relaxed her buttoned-to-the-chin attire and wore a scooped blue blouse along with the well-worn checkered skirt. With her dark braid sitting loose across her shoulder, she reminded him of the first time he saw her, in the Simms’ barn—open, friendly, even, dare he say, happy.

  “The Apache are hard-working and kind,” he continued. “They're also deeply superstitious. A word of advice—if we happen upon any of them, don’t speak of owls.”

  “Why?”

  “They fear them, in a way you’ll never be able to talk them out of. Búú are considered the earthly presence of the evil dead.”

  “That’s good to know.” She went silent for a bit, then said, “How is it that the mountain lion got you?”

  He glanced back to check on Moses, plodding along. The mule was remarkably even-keeled. Cale had expected more stubbornness from him.

  “After I parted ways with Hank, and the others, I rode for a day along the edge of the Sierra Madres.” He didn’t mention Saul’s name, having no desire to let that man enter the space he shared with Tess. “I had a feeling I was being stalked, but I thought it was Apache. That night, I didn’t sleep much, but must’ve dozed off at one point. My horse became agitated. I awoke just in time to see the cat attack him. It was dark. I had my gun and shot into the air so I wouldn’t hurt the horse, but the cat turned on me. It must’ve been crazed, not in its right mind. I couldn’t stop it. It left me in pretty bad shape.”

  “You don't look like you suffered any permanent damage,” she said. “You don't have any scars on your face.”

  “Remind me later and I'll show you my shoulder. El león mangled my right arm. It took a while before I could shoot straight again.”

  “How did you overcome the injury?”

  “The Apache believe in sweat baths, accompanied with herbs. I also worked the arm every day and practiced shooting until I was so tired, I couldn't hold a gun anymore. You shouldn't give up on your leg, Tess.”

  “Would a sweat bath be helpful?”

  “It might. I’d need a day or so to build you a lodge. Or I could make one when we return to Tucson.”

  “Where will you go when this is finished?”

  “I reckon I'll return to Texas. The old man is getting to be just that—old.”

  “And you'll settle there?”

  “Might be time.”

  “If it weren't for your pa, where would you want to live?”

  “Having spent time in Colorado, I wouldn't mind returning. Ever been there?”

  She nodded. “Once, when I was with Hank. He took me to Denver. It was a bit overwhelming. I think I prefer the mountains.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Unbidden, an image of he and Tess in a cabin in the Rockies came to mind. He envisioned a little girl the spitting image of the woman beside him, and Tess's curves in his bed at night. He looked away from her.

  Traveling with Tess Carlisle was turning out to be one difficult blessing.

  * * * *

  At dusk, they made it to the eastern foothills of the Dragoons and made camp. The Privates accompanying them bid farewell, planning to travel farther before stopping for the night. They would continue to Tucson the following day on military business.

  Tess was happy to stop for the night, fatigued from traveling all day in the hot sun.

  Twice Cale had her off her horse and walking for a spell, without her cane, to help in strengthening her
leg. Each time she did this, she could move a bit longer before the painful throbbing began. She began to think that maybe he was right, that perhaps in time she could train her leg to be stronger.

  Cale tended the horses and Moses, picketing them in a grassy area that somehow survived the blazing daylight hours by using a twisted mesquite tree as shade. Tess busied herself preparing a pot of turnips and smoked deer meat over a cook fire.

  After they ate and cleaned up, Tess excused herself and went behind the mesquite for privacy, limping but determined to not use her cane. After attending to personal matters, she paused to watch the still nearly-full moon shining brightly in the starry sky. The horses snorted nearby, and she went to them for a brief visit. Gideon happily greeted her with a nudge, and to Tess’s surprise, so did Bo. She reveled in the affection of the two boys, but when she moved to Moses he rebuffed her, which also made her smile.

  “I can respect that,” she whispered.

  As she walked back toward Cale and the fire, her foot caught on a rock and she tripped. Falling to the side, she landed hard against a boulder with her injured leg. She must have screamed because Cale appeared within seconds.

  “What happened?” he asked. “I was getting concerned when you didn’t return.”

  “Nothing.” Hating her weakness, she tried to push his hands away and stand, but her leg gave out. He caught her and held her upright. “I just fell, that's all. I'll be fine. Just give me a moment.”

  Cale lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the fire. He settled her atop her pallet and knelt before her. “Tess, will you let me have a look at it?”

  Panic swept her. “No.”

  “What are you afraid of? That I haven't seen anything so hideous before?”

  A response clogged her throat.

  He removed his vest, then began unbuttoning the placket on his blue chambray shirt. Alarm snaked down her spine. “What...what are you...”

  “I want to show you my injury.”

  “Oh.” She really couldn't reconcile her ambivalence. On the one hand, any overture by a man that came close to indicating sexual contact set her heart to pounding and filled her with an overwhelming urge to flee. On the other, slivers of curiosity sometimes whispered in her ear, of what it could be like with a man who cared, of what hidden magic such contact could hold. She carried many stories in her repertoire, and there had been those of wild, desperate longings between a man and a woman, of a love so fierce it changed the world. Could those tales be believed? What would it be like to love a man such as Cale?

  He pulled his shirt over his head, and shifted to face her better. Her eyes settled onto his right shoulder. Mottled and disfigured, it was covered with scars intersecting like a spider's web. More marks ran across his chest and ribs, prohibiting the growth of hair in places. He twisted his torso to show her a large, disfigured patch of injured flesh just above his trousers.

  “The attack must have been thorough,” she whispered, stunned by what she saw. “Are you in any pain?”

  “At times, but it's almost a phantom pain, pulsing with a memory of what it once was.”

  She nodded, understanding. “Did it reach the muscle?”

  “Some. I can't rotate my arm completely.”

  “How can you shoot?”

  “It's not bad now. I became proficient using my left arm, for many things.”

  She swallowed down her reticence, and pulled the skirt to her waist along with the petticoat. Unable to look at Cale, she kept her gaze down. She brought the drawers as high as she could then rolled the stocking to the edge of her boot so that Cale could see her leg.

  He shifted closer and brought a large hand to the side of her calf, causing an involuntary flinch from her.

  “Easy.” He studied her leg in the firelight.

  She tried to suppress her unease, but her body began to tremble. Shifting her focus to his close proximity, she studied his wide shoulders, noticing the sheen of sweat on his muscled arms. Despite his disfigurement, it was obvious he was a strong man. It both unnerved and drew her in.

  He brought his other hand to her leg and the warmth of his touch spread across her skin. As he gently probed the long-healed injury, the shaking of her body increased. Her heart drummed swiftly in her chest, and she struggled to breathe.

  Cale brought his gaze to hers, and for a moment their eyes locked. The sadness reflected back caught her unaware.

  “Tess, I'm not going to hurt you.” He gently repositioned her stocking, then the pantalets, then the skirt, and scooted away from her. He donned his shirt.

  Tension began to drain from her, replaced by a bone-draining exhaustion. “I know.” She’d barely gotten the words out.

  “Your leg doesn't look that bad.” Using a stick, he pushed the burning fire around a bit.

  Tess tried to suppress the tears, but one slid down her cheek. Thankfully, Cale pretended not to notice.

  “The injury is much more than the leg,” she said thickly.

  He did look at her now, but she kept her eyes on the flames before her.

  “You can recover from that, too.”

  She hung her head. “How?” The sob escaped before she could stop it.

  “What do you dream about?”

  She wiped at her face and frowned. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

  “What do you normally dream about?”

  “I dream of mi abuela.” She shifted her injured leg to a bent position. It was sore but this sometimes helped the pulsating pain to abate. “I dream of her a lot, actually. I also dream of Hank. Those are usually angry, or rather I'm very angry. I act the role of a shrew. And I dream of...Saul. I don't like those. I try not to remember them.”

  “The Apache believe dreams are much more than just stories in our heads at night,” Cale said. “Actually, I've met many Indians—and some gringos—who believe the same. Within dreams we can sometimes make peace in a way we can't do in the waking world.”

  “How would I do that?”

  “Next time you're with Miller, try to move in the dream differently than you normally do. Try to be more decisive. Maybe fight back.”

  Rage flared inside her in an instant. “I fought back.”

  “No, that's not what I meant.” He held up his hand. “I'm sorry. I'm not insinuating anything. I just meant that slowly, while inside that dream, try to change the outcome.”

  “But what would that do? Turn back time? Make it never happen?”

  “No, of course not. But it will heal your spirit.” His gaze met hers. “It'll take time, but it can work.”

  “Has this technique helped you?”

  “It has.” Cale rubbed the back of his neck then rested an arm on a bent knee, releasing a frustrated sigh. “But some wounds are deep. They have to be peeled away layer by layer, much like an onion. I’m still working on mine, and I’ll admit that the remorse and the shame never quite disappear. But the memory doesn’t sting like a wasp anymore.

  “How long do you want to keep suffering?” he continued, his voice sympathetic. “Months, years? You’re eighteen years old, Tess. You're a beautiful young woman with an injured leg, who's thinking of joining a convent so no man will never touch you again. If that's what you truly want, then so be it. But don't let that bastard take your entire life from you before you've had the chance to choose. And by bastard, I mean not just Saul, but Hank, too.”

  “You speak about it like it's the easiest thing in the world.”

  “Of course it's not easy. Life is a shithole sometimes.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry for the language, but I don't like seeing you recoil like a frightened animal.”

  Shame flooded her from the trembling earlier.

  Cale moved to her and gripped her shoulders. “You can overcome this. Not every man is out to hurt you.” He brought his hands to her face and cupped her cheeks.

  She knew he would kiss her.

  She wanted him to, but at the same time her body rebelled, so she closed her eyes.

/>   “Go ahead,” she whispered.

  She was surprised by the barest brush of his lips against hers. Slowly, he made more contact, kissing her gently, but with each pass he deepened the connection more. For Tess, it was achingly sweet, sweeter than she'd ever imagined. But her body shook, from head to toe, and her ragged breathing made it difficult for her to calm down, to enjoy her first, real kiss.

  He settled in closer, kneeling before her. She kept her eyes shut as his thumb caressed her lower lip, as he nuzzled her cheek.

  “Look at me, Tess.” Despite the demand, his voice was kind.

  She opened her eyes. His face hovered close to hers, and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He only touched her face, nowhere else.

  His blue eyes held desire, but he seemed in no hurry to move any faster.

  Although he made a point to shave every few days, his newly-budding whiskers poked her. Despite his restraint, his mouth met hers with a growing hunger, stirring a longing that grew inside her abdomen. He tasted of coffee and the stew they’d just eaten, and she liked it.

  His mouth retreated, but she moved forward and kissed him, not wanting the contact to stop. He responded, molding his lips over hers. Her hands grasped his wrists, wanting to touch him but hesitant to initiate more.

  The kiss became more urgent, and when Tess opened her lips his tongue swept briefly inside, shocking her. She stilled.

  He pulled back, but his face remained only inches from hers.

  “You don't have to worry,” he said. “You can set the pace. You can always tell me to stop.”

  She wanted to believe him. “Why would you do this when there are other women with far less difficulties?”

  He grinned and leaned away. “None of ’em are you.”

  She didn't know what to say.

  Did he mean it? Did it matter if he didn't?

  Perhaps she could learn to trust again, to decide if life in a convent was truly the best course of action.