by Vella Munn
"He wants to make you his wife."
Although Black Wolf couldn't make out her features, he imagined her quick and startled blink. "You heard."
"Yes."
"I thought... I was afraid—don't you care what happens to you?"
"I care very much, Lucita." For a moment he said nothing as he absorbed his surroundings, reassuring himself that no one else was nearby. "I promised my son that he will not grow up without a father."
"Oh, Black Wolf." She reached for him, her nails grazing his upper arm before she pulled back. "I'm so sorry about your wife."
"Thank you."
"Your son, does he understand what happened?"
It seemed a strange thing for her to ask, and yet he should be used to her ability to reach deep inside him and pull out what was most important to him. As briefly and unemotionally as possible, he told her about holding Fox Running while explaining that he would never again know his mother's arms.
"You loved her very much, didn't you?" she whispered.
Love? "She was a good woman, gentle and competent."
"A loving mother?"
"Yes." Surprised at how hard it had become to speak, he swallowed. "She was not afraid to die, but she did not want to leave our son."
"You were with her at the end? I'm sorry. If it's too painful to talk about, I understand. But there have been times when you made it easier for me to talk, I would like to do the same for you."
He hadn't called her to him so he could talk about Rabbit Dancing, and yet he wasn't sorry he had. But those words were over, and it was time for other things—as soon as he could gather his thoughts around them.
"You saw me cry tonight, didn't you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I don't know if that's what a warrior does. Maybe... maybe it isn't manly. But if you need to grieve—"
"It is my son's grief that matters," he said even though it was much more complex than that. "Lucita, I heard many things tonight."
"Oh?"
She wanted to touch him—how he knew that he couldn't say, but he had no doubt—just as he wanted to reach for her. However, he didn't dare.
"The words that man said to you."
"Pablo. His name is Pablo Portola."
"This Pablo Portola wants you to become his wife."
"Y-es."
"To go away with him."
"Y-es."
"Is it what you want?"
"What I want?" she repeated.
"Yes. To leave the sickness and death, to forget that there are people called neophytes who do not know what it is to be free, to be free of your father—"
"Stop it!" He sensed movement and guessed she was peering around her, trying to penetrate the night. He needed to concentrate on his surroundings and learn whether he was still safe, but Lucita stood too close and she had become too important.
"Stop it, please," she said again, a whisper this time.
Wolf was out there. If Lucita asked how he knew that, he would point to his heart. Maybe if he knew how to open her heart to the same knowledge, she would belong here and he would no longer need to tell her to leave, but she hadn't been born Chumash and although she'd reached out in ways the enemy never had before, Wolf sang only for him and his people.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"To be left alone," she said, but he caught a note of desperation in her voice that turned the words into a lie.
"Why?"
"Because I can't think when I'm around you."
Her words made no sense, or maybe the truth was he understood all too well what she'd left unsaid because he felt the same way around her.
Careful to keep his movements so slow and deliberate that she couldn't misunderstand them, he held out his hand, palm uplifted. After a moment, she placed hers in his.
"I am Chumash," he said. "That is all."
"And I'm not."
The truth of what they'd both just said stood between them. "I wish you could see my son, just once," he told her. "My wife said that she saw me in his eyes. His laugh is hers; you would learn something of her from Fox Running's laugh."
"I want..." Her voice was husky with unspent tears. "He needs a mother."
"Yes." Your arms could hold him through the night. Your voice could be the one which tells him about his world.
Shocked by his thoughts, he reacted by shoving her away. She was briefly off balance but then caught herself, her stare piercing him despite the night.
"Go on. Hate me if that is what you need to do," she insisted. "Hate my father and what he stands for, the other soldiers, our religion. I don't care, Black Wolf! I don't—"
Something that felt like the heat of lightning shot through him. Although she'd already stopped speaking, his hand stabbed the air in warning. Wolf hadn't deserted him; he still felt his spirit's presence, heard his haunting cry, absorbed the warning. The warning Lucita had heard as well.
Chapter 24
Still as death, Black Wolf stood beside Lucita as the man came closer. He could have run. Every nerve and muscle in him demanded he put self-preservation first and he didn't want to endanger Lucita by being found with her, but he had hidden from this man too many times in the past. After calling his entire being to the ready, he stepped forward.
As he did, the deceptively quiet gray clad figure drew back but didn't run.
"Black Wolf, it is you, isn't it." Whatever the tone of Father Patricio's voice, he wasn't asking a question. He flicked a look at Lucita, then trained his attention on Black Wolf.
"Your eyes are keen, Padre," Black Wolf replied. Taking a moment, he assessed his surroundings. The padre had come alone, which meant Black Wolf could concentrate on him. "Or perhaps I was that careless."
"Careless? Not you, not ever."
"Why are you here?"
Father Patricio gave what might be a chuckle. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?" His gaze again briefly turned to Lucita. "But maybe I already have the answer."
"Will you tell the corporal what you have seen?"
"Would you believe me if I said no?" Snorting, the padre shook his head. "Lucita, what are you doing with him?"
The question served as a stark reminder of the position he'd placed her in, but before he could think of something to say, the padre continued. "Lucita, your mother said you'd gone for a walk—rather abruptly, I might add. It occurred to me that you might have felt the need to return to the cemetery, but now I see—"
"My mother sent you to look for me?"
"No. I took that upon myself. And to find you and Black Wolf together—"
Lucita sucked in her breath, but Black Wolf didn't dare take his eyes off the padre long enough to study her reaction.
"So you and the senorita know each other, do you? I wondered."
"I do not spend all my time cowering from you and the leatherjackets," Black Wolf said in an attempt to turn the conversation around. "You are right. It is not such a hard thing for me to walk about the mission; perhaps I should thank you for that."
"But why? You hate it; don't deny that."
"Sometimes I come to see what my enemies are doing, to learn. And when I do, sometimes I speak to those who live here and they tell me what I need to know."
"Why doesn't that surprise me? No matter how much fear the corporal attempts to beat into the neophytes, they continue to disobey him."
"And you," Black Wolf couldn't resist adding.
"Only a handful. Most are loyal to me."
"Loyal? Hardly."
"You don't know; you'll never know! Lucita, you can't possibly have something in common with this savage."
"He isn't a savage, Father. No matter what you think, he—why did you want to see me?"
"Why? A good question indeed. Senor Portola is a most committed man—a man in love, I daresay."
Love? Lucita had asked Black Wolf if he loved his wife. He hadn't fully understood her then, and his comprehension was no greater now. Wondering whether Father Patricio had dis
missed his presence or wanted him to believe he had, he remained alert, listening intently.
"He spoke to you about his feelings for me?" Lucita asked the padre.
"Indeed. Indeed. I have seldom had the opportunity to counsel a couple contemplating marriage, but I believe myself equal to the task. After all, one's commitment to marriage is not unlike a parishioner's commitment to the Lord."
Father Patricio's voice had a droning quality like that of sleepy bees, but the tone was deceptive and hid the truth that lay beneath the surface. Black Wolf wouldn't be surprised if the so-called man of peace had a weapon hidden on him. If he did, he was fully capable of using it on anyone he considered a threat.
"Senor Portola asked you to speak for him?" Black Wolf asked. "And you chose now, here, to do so?"
"The Lord's work never ends, Black Wolf—not that I expect you to understand that. Lucita, I must insist you explain what you are doing here with this... with this Indian."
"Talking," she answered as Black Wolf silently asked her to forgive him for endangering her.
"About what?"
"Is that your concern?" she shot back. "Tell me, Padre, are you going to inform my father of what you saw?"
"Interesting. Black Wolf asked me the same thing." Father Patricio drew out each word. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Wisdom lies in taking knowledge deep within oneself and carefully analyzing that knowledge before acting upon it."
The padre had spoken like that so often in the past, his words either meaningless or filled with so much meaning that Black Wolf had been unable to fathom it all. Listening to him now took Black Wolf back to a time and place he didn't want.
"What is it?" Lucita demanded. "You want to threaten me, hold that threat over my head?"
"Lucita, it is not the way of the Lord to be devious. Surely you know that."
"The Lord? Black Wolf, please, go."
She had said the same thing to him a few minutes ago and he had started to obey her, but he couldn't this time, not with the past lapping around him and the future a great unknown. Despite the possibility that Father Patricio was armed, Black Wolf stepped close to the man, expanding his shoulders in a silent message designed to remind the padre who had the greater physical strength.
Father Patricio leaned away but didn't retreat. "Don't," he warned. "If you touch me, Sebastian won't rest until you're dead, even if it means killing hundreds to get to you."
"You throw threats at me, Padre? You do not pray to God to protect you?"
"Stop it!" Lucita hissed. "Both of you, stop it."
Although she barely came up to his shoulders and her arms had never built a house or brought down a deer, Black Wolf believed her capable of risking her own life in an attempt to prevent more bloodshed. That was what made them so different—at least, a part of what made them different. Peace flowed through her veins, beat in her heart, and lived in her eyes, while he had no wish to deny what his hands were capable of.
"Listen to me," he said, not caring what the padre did or thought. "The Chumash have been like frightened rabbits for too long. Strangers come to our land and we hide, and if we cannot hide, we allow ourselves to be taken and made to live another way. But I am no longer a rabbit. I have become a wolf."
"You were always a predator, Black Wolf," Father Patricio said. "That's what fascinates me about you: your potential for violence."
"A man who has seen too many of those he loves die before their time can no longer run and hide, not if he wants to call himself a man."
"If you think your people can attack—"
"That is for you to concern yourself with, Father," he challenged. "I will not tell you the plans of the Chumash."
"No?" Despite the dark, Black Wolf saw the flash of teeth, a warning that Father Patricio was smiling. "You don't understand the power of the Spanish army. You and the rest of your people never will."
"Stop it!" Lucita now stood between him and Father Patricio. Her arm, as she indicated the newest grave, was a shadowed blur. "A boy died today. Tomorrow it might be one of my other patients, the next day yet another one. It has to end!"
She'd spoken too loudly. With awareness of the danger he was in gnawing at him, Black Wolf whirled and let the night envelop him. Still, because he was a warrior, he opened his throat, his howled warning splitting the air.
* * *
"In here, now!"
Teeth clenched to keep her nervousness to herself, Lucita followed Father Patricio into the sanctuary. With the statue of the crucified Jesus dominating the nearest wall, it seemed the wrong place for them to be. Several candles burned, casting the interior in a soft red glow and adding the illusion of warmth to the gray walls.
Father Patricio dropped to his knees before the crucifix, his prayer an indistinct yet strident mumble, but she didn't join him, not with Black Wolf's howl echoing inside her.
When he was finished, Father Patricio held out his hand indicating he wanted help getting to his feet, and although she hated touching him, she did as he requested. To her relief, he released her as soon as he was standing.
"I have prayed for your soul, Lucita. Prayed every night since you came here."
"Have you?"
In an attempt to gain control over the tension that had wrapped itself around her, she sat on one of the wooden benches. Father Patricio remained standing, his knuckles turning white as he folded his hands over his belly.
"I did so because your mother came to me asking for guidance, because Father Joseph was concerned you would find life here too much of an ordeal, because it is not right for a father and daughter to have so much hostility between them."
Disconcerted because she now knew Father Patricio had all but watched her every step, she forced herself to remain silent.
"Lucita, Father Joseph and I have no greater concern than for the souls of those entrusted to our care."
"What about Black Wolf's soul?"
"He has none."
How wrong the padre was. If Father Patricio had seen Black Wolf at Humqaq or heard him talk about his love for his son, known of his concern for the neophytes, he couldn't possibly think that way.
"You are silent, Lucita? Is it because my words shock you or because you know I speak the truth?"
"The truth?" she echoed. "No, you're wrong. Terribly wrong."
"Am I?" Coming closer, he balanced his weight on widespread legs as if using his body to keep her where she was. "Lucita, I knew Black Wolf when he was a child. I did everything within my power to show him the light, but he refused to see the truth."
"Because he knows another truth," she said, leveling a steady look at him.
Father Patricio's hand snaked out, striking the side of her face before she had time to react. Stifling a gasp, she pressed her hand over her cheek and continued to glare. "You had no—"
"Do not tell me what I can and cannot do! The Lord has seen fit to have me spend these years here. I accept that, but I will never, never allow someone such as you to contradict me. Do you understand?"
Hot eyes settled on her, scorched and warned. Spittle had formed at the side of his mouth, reminding her of her father's affliction, and the priest's flesh seemed to have sagged in the past few seconds, turning him into a vengeful old man.
"Why?" She indicated where he'd struck her. "What did I say that was so wrong?"
"There is only one truth! His truth!" Father Patricio jerked his head skyward.
"Is it?" she asked, wondering at her reckless courage when pain should have made her cautious. "The Chumash had very different beliefs for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. I can't believe they all went to hell because of that."
"Blasphemy!"
"Maybe." The distance between them remained the same, certainly not as much as she needed, and yet she didn't cower. "Maybe not. If I hadn't spent time with Black Wolf, I would believe, like you, that there is only our God. But he opened my eyes."
"He is a savage."
This argument wasn't going to get them anywhere, so wh
y was she trying? And maybe even more important, why did Father Patricio care what she thought?
"Does a savage cry when his wife dies?" she demanded. "Does a savage concern himself with what kind of a life his son will have? Does a savage—I saw him at Humqaq. Heard him praying. Saw Wolf."
Father Patricio recoiled so violently that for a second she thought one of Black Wolf's arrows had found him. The padre's mouth hung open; his hands fluttered to his throat before falling limp by his side. None of the fire had left his small eyes, but the flames now seemed to be directed inward.
"Wolf?" he whispered. "At Humqaq?"
"You know what it means?"
He nodded. "Tell me." It was more of a prayer than an order.
Silently begging Black Wolf to forgive her, she told the padre about seeing the brave and the powerful animal together. She gave no explanation, simply drew a picture of what had happened. Father Patricio started to shake his head, kept shaking it even after she was done, and yet he didn't call her a liar.
"Do your parents know?" he asked through barely moving lips. "Did you tell them where you went?"
"No."
"Have you no concern for your safety? No one goes there alone, no one!"
"I did. And I will never regret that."
He began to pace, his legs taking him from one side of the sanctuary to the other like a trapped animal seeking a way out. Finally he turned to her, his face in shadow. She couldn't say how long they had been in here or how late it was. Nothing mattered except this conversation, this moment, and Black Wolf.
"No one will believe you," he whispered.
I do.
* * *
Ripples of emotion coursed through Black Wolf, making it impossible for him to think about the rest his body needed. Although he hadn't got any sleep last night, he felt stronger than he'd ever been before, and yet so lonely he couldn't concentrate on the reason for his strength.
He could have killed Father Patricio tonight. Black Wolf had wanted to feel life drain out of the man and for him to know who was responsible as he died.
No, he couldn't have shed the man's blood in Lucita's presence.
From where he stood, in daylight he could see almost the entire length of the mission's water system. The stories the ancient ones had told and retold spoke of a time when lack of rain nearly spelled death for the Chumash. Drought could come again, but because the padres had devised a way to hold the precious water captive, death would not come to the crops and those who tended them. It was a good thing, maybe the only good thing the newcomers had brought with them.
