“Just saves having to get haircuts all the time. When you’re out there on the trail, why bother?”
“You prefer buckskins to cotton clothing. You like Indian jewelry—would rather be on a horse in the desert than in a carriage in town.”
Wade rose, walking to a window. “So?”
“So you’re more Indian in spirit than you realize. Sometimes I see it in very subtle ways—a look in your eyes, the way you let out a whoop if you’re excited about something, the hard time we had keeping you in school because you could hardly bear to sit still for very long at a time. You love to hunt and you can ride better than any white man I know.”
Wade frowned, turning to face the man. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really trying to say?”
Lester rose, his eyes tearing slightly. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m afraid of losing you, Wade, to that other world that has a hold on you without your even knowing it. I’m afraid you’ll like what you find, or that something you find out among the Comanche will turn you against the whites.”
Wade shook his head, smiling softly. “Pa, you and Mother and my brothers are the only family I’ve ever known. I’ve been with you all my life, and around your friends. I know there are good white people, and living on this side of it I understand their feelings toward Indians. Hell, I’ve fought them myself out there on the trail more than once. I’m not going to turn against the people who raised me. Sure, there’s a lot about me that’s Indian. And that is all the more reason to find out the truth, if I can. Part of me hungers for something, Pa, something I can’t even name.”
Lester put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, son. I guess that’s what frightens me. I see you riding off, never to return.”
Wade studied his father’s weathered, aging face. “That would never happen. You need me and my brothers now more than ever. I’ll be back, Pa.”
Lester smiled sadly. “Then I’ll trust you on that one. This will upset your mother, you know. The last few years she’s always worried this would happen.”
“I know. I would have said something first, before we left, but I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing that look in her eyes. She’s the only thing that has kept me from this for a long time.”
“So, you’re going to let me be the one to have to tell her and see that look that will break my heart, is that it?”
Wade grinned. “Sorry, Pa.”
Lester sat down on the bed. “Well, when it comes to your mother, I’ve been giving in and giving up for twenty-six years. That woman has a way of making a man do her bidding with saying hardly a word. In this case, she won’t be able to sway either of us because the deed will be done. It’s just that she’ll be mighty unhappy for a while, and I hate to see that sadness in her eyes. I hope that you’ll at least wire us once in a while to let us know you’re all right—what you’ve found out and if you’re coming back, that kind of thing.”
“You know I will.”
“Unless the Indians cut the wires.”
Wade grinned. He walked back to the window and looked down on the rugged town of Yuma. Beyond it lay desert and mountains. He put the cigarette back in his mouth. Yes, he thought, this was wild, hot country, not unlike west Texas would be. But he loved it—felt at home in it, unlike most whites. He supposed his father was right. He was much more Indian than he realized.
What his father didn’t know was that it frightened him as much as it did his parents. Was there a part of him that thirsted for blood? He had heard some of the customary methods of torture the Comanche could visit upon their captives. Was it an inborn instinct? He wanted to understand the Comanche beliefs, to know why raiding and living the nomadic life, torture, and revenge seemed as natural to those wild men of the Texas Plains as farming and doing business was for white men.
Sometimes when he looked at himself in a mirror, he saw a painted face, saw that wild look staring back at him. Maybe that was the look his father had mentioned. Inside, his beliefs and customs, all were white—as were his blue eyes. But his skin and features were undoubtedly Indian. Who had been his father? Was he abandoned for his white blood, or because he had been a twin? Why? Why had he been left to die? And who was his mother? Was she still alive? He had not mentioned that to his father, because he knew it would hurt the man. But it was a natural curiosity to meet and know his blood mother, wild and uncaring as she might be. It just seemed that to find her would fill this strange void in his life. There were so many questions he would like answered.
“I’m going down to check my horse and make sure I’ve got enough supplies,” he told his father then. “I want to leave plenty early. I’ll wire you from San Antonio about the deal with the merchant there we’ve been corresponding with. Once that’s settled I’ll head back—maybe stop off at Fort Stockton. They’re right in the middle of renegade country. Maybe I can get some information there on how to find some of the Comanche, other than the ones on reservations.”
“I’ll be here,” Lester answered. “We’ll have breakfast in the morning before you leave.”
“Fine.”
Their eyes held a moment longer, then Wade left. Lester stared at the door, his eyes tearing again. He trusted Wade to come back, if he was able. That was the man’s biggest worry. A million things could go wrong for someone like Wade in a strange land.
“God be with you, son,” he said softly.
Chapter Three
Jennifer stood over the grave, tears of grief, combined with fear of what she planned to do, flooding her eyes. Uncle John put an arm around her shoulders and she moved slightly away, crying even harder. John Andrews thought it was just her grief over losing Esther that made the girl withdraw. His own grief was gentled by the thought that now there would be only Jennifer in the house at night. Jennifer depended on him. She had no home but with him. And Jennifer was an exceedingly beautiful young woman. It mattered little to him that she was his niece. He had watched her and wanted her for years, and now that Esther was finally gone, and Jennifer was most vulnerable, he would take what he wanted, and soon. The thought of it had kept him awake the last three nights.
The preacher spoke his last words, and the crowd dispersed. Jennifer was obliged to climb into the Andrews carriage with John. She scooted as far from him as possible, then looked around to see several carriages following them, people who were coming to the house. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Your aunt was a good woman,” John spoke up. “I know it hurts, child, but the pain of grief subsides with time.”
She looked at his heavy body and double chin. John Andrews was a big man, with icy blue eyes and lips that were fat like the rest of his body. He smoked so many cigars that the scent of them clung to him even out of doors. “I am not a child,” she answered. She turned away. “And I’ll always miss Aunt Esther.” Your own grief doesn’t seem too great, she thought.
“I know you aren’t a child,” John replied. “It’s just hard for me to realize how you’ve grown. But you aren’t ready for the outside world yet, Jenny, and I want you to know my home will always be yours. Uncle John will always take care of you.”
He reached over and patted her knee, squeezing it slightly. Jennifer drew even farther away, realizing how strong the man was and how helpless she would be against him if he ever threw his full weight on her.
The carriage passed the telegraph office, and Jennifer hoped Sergeant Enders would receive the wire she had sent telling him approximately when she would be arriving. They reached the house, and Jennifer immediately climbed down, not waiting for John’s help. She greeted guests warmly, secretly thrilled at the presence of others. Just as she suspected, John was soon pouring drinks for some of the men and downing shots of whiskey himself.
People brought food, and many of the women gave Jennifer reassuring hugs and words. She wondered what all these people would think when she would later be discovered missing. When she was married and settled, then she would tell Uncle John where she was—not for his sake, but
so that he would tell these other kind people and they wouldn’t worry. Perhaps she would write a letter to Aunt Esther’s good friend, Freida Karr, or to the maid, Mattie. She suspected Mattie would understand her real reasons for leaving, since Jennifer had caught John making passes at the poor woman a time or two.
People ate and visited, and Uncle John drank more. Jennifer was keenly aware that he kept watching her. She wanted to ask one of the women to stay the night, but realized that idea was not such a good one after all. There was a good possibility Uncle John would snore through the wee hours of the morning and never miss her, but if someone else was in the house, it might spoil her plans to run away. She could only hope that people would stay so late that John would become too inebriated to come for her.
The afternoon and evening seemed to drag. Jennifer changed from her black silk mourning dress to a soft gingham of dark and light green stripes. No one knew that her bags were already packed and hidden in her closet. The luggage belonged to Aunt Esther, but she knew her aunt wouldn’t mind her using them now. She realized she was leaving behind a comfortable life, a closet full of beautiful clothes, and a lovely room. But none of those things were as important to her as getting away from John.
People finally began to disperse, giving Jennifer their last words of comfort, leaving behind more food than she and her uncle could ever eat quickly enough before it would spoil.
“Would you like me to stay over, Jenny?” Mattie asked as she removed her maid’s cap.
Both women glanced into the parlor, where John Andrews sat sprawled in a huge leather chair, snoring.
“No,” Jennifer answered. “I’ll be all right.”
“I don’t like saying this, Jenny, but I don’t trust that man. A woman like me—I’ve been around, you know? He doesn’t scare me. But you’re so young, and I’ve seen him look at you—”
Jennifer put a hand on her arm, studying Mattie’s curly dark hair and kind brown eyes. Mattie was a middle-aged widow raising three children alone. She had been close to Esther, and had often shared conversation with both Esther and Jennifer. Jennifer knew she was a woman truly concerned, one who could be trusted.
“Thank you, Mattie, for noticing and caring.” Jennifer swallowed back a lump in her throat and pulled the woman farther away. “He’ll sleep hard through the night. After tomorrow it won’t matter.”
Mattie frowned. “What do you mean, Jenny?”
“I can’t tell you. No one must know, because I don’t intend for Uncle John to find me.”
“Jenny! You’re not running away!”
The words were whispered, but Jennifer put a hand to the woman’s mouth. “I’ll be all right. I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll be safe, Mattie, and I promise to write you as soon as I can. But you mustn’t tell Uncle John until I say it’s all right to tell him where I am. I’m only telling you because I don’t think it’s fair to let you worry and think I’ve been kidnapped or something. You’ve been good to this family, and a good friend to Aunt Esther.”
“She was a fine woman.” Mattie put a hand to her hair. “Jenny, you don’t know anything about the world out there.”
“I know more than you think. Uncle John has taught me to be cautious and wary. And I read a lot. I have to get far away, Mattie, or he’ll come after me, and legally he can make me come back with him. He’s well respected, Mattie. If I tried to tell people I’m afraid of him, they’d laugh at me and never believe me. I don’t have any choice.”
The woman embraced her. “No, poor girl, I suppose you don’t. If I didn’t have a family of my own to tend to, I’d go with you a ways and help you.”
“It’s all right. I have it all planned. When I knew Aunt Esther was dying, I started then, knowing I would end up in this house alone with Uncle John. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I have money. I sold my mother’s jewelry. I’ll be fine, Mattie, really I will. Just please act surprised when Uncle John says I’m missing.”
“Oh, you can depend on that, girl. I’ll put on quite a show of being terribly worried and upset.” She studied Jennifer lovingly, her eyes tearing. “You’re stronger and braver than I thought, Jenny, doing something like this, when I know how much you must be hurting for Esther. Esther certainly deserved someone better than John Andrews, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she certainly did.”
Mattie sniffed. “After losing Esther…oh, Jenny, it will be so hard losing you, too. I’d quit myself, but I need the money. I’m looking, though. With Esther gone, I don’t want to work in this house any longer. Nothing will be the same.”
“For me either.” Jennifer hugged her once more. “I’m not so brave, Mattie,” she added, breaking into tears. “I’m scared to death. But I’m excited, too. And I know that whatever happens, it will be better than staying here.”
“God be with you, Jenny.” Mattie gave her a squeeze and patted her back. “I wish you would tell me what you have in mind.”
“I would, Mattie, but the more you know, the more it’s possible Uncle John would find out. You know how he can be—browbeating and threatening. He might not believe you when you tell him you don’t know anything about it. At least if you tell him you knew, you can honestly say you have no idea where I’ve gone. I’ll write you later. Just trust me, Mattie. I have it all worked out, and I’ll be safe, I assure you.”
Mattie sighed deeply. “I have a feeling Esther will be with you in spirit. I think that woman secretly lived in hell, Jenny. She’s better off now, and she knows you’ll be better off getting away from here. She’ll be with you.”
“Thank you, Mattie. That’s a nice thought.”
Both women wiped their eyes and walked toward the front door. “I’ll be back in the morning, around nine.”
Jenny nodded. “I’ll be gone by then.”
Their eyes held. “Something new and exciting awaits you, Jenny. I can feel it. You write me soon and let me know if you’re all right—wherever you are.”
“I will.”
“God bless.” Mattie kissed her cheek. “I’ll miss you, Jenny.”
“I’ll miss you, too. Bye, Mattie.”
“Good-bye, Jenny.” The woman quickly left, breaking into tears again. Jenny closed the door and leaned against it, breathing deeply for courage, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid Uncle John would hear it and wake up. She slipped past the parlor, peeking inside to see him still snoring away in the chair. She hurried up the stairs to her room.
Sleep was impossible. Jennifer lay on her bed, not even undressing. She wanted to be instantly dressed and ready at the crack of dawn. She had already arranged her bed covers around pillows so that when Uncle John looked in on her in the morning, he would think she was still in bed sleeping. That would give her a little more time.
For hours she lay listening to the faint sound of Uncle John’s snoring downstairs, until finally she drifted off into a light sleep from pure exhaustion.
That sleep was soon interrupted by the instinctive realization that she no longer heard her uncle’s snores. A subtle alarm stirred her awake, her subconscious mind telling her to get up. She sat up, listening, catching the sound of Uncle John’s slow but heavy footsteps on the stairway. He had awakened and was coming up the stairs!
She quickly rose, praying he was still too groggy and drunk to understand anything that was happening. She hurried to the closet, stepping inside and softly closing the door.
“Jenny,” she heard her uncle calling softly then. “You asleep, child?”
Jenny shook with dread, scrunching down into a corner of the walk-in closet and pulling a quilt over herself. She knew she had to be quiet, a difficult feat when what she really wanted to do was scream.
“Jenny?” John staggered into her room. “I know you’re feeling bad, honey,” he slurred. “Uncle John is here to make you feel better.”
Jenny grimaced as the man walked past her closet. She realized what he intended and prayed he would not find her. She feared her plans would be foiled this m
oment, as soon as Uncle John discovered the fake body in bed.
“Come let Uncle John hold you, child,” she heard the man saying.
She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling not to let out a sob of terror. She heard the squeak of her bed springs, heard a light grunt and laugh. For the next few minutes there was pure silence. Jenny sat quiet as a mouse, finally pulling the quilt from her head for fear of suffocating. It was then she heard the snoring. She waited in disbelief, listening intently. There it was again—the rhythmic sound she had always hated, but one that she now loved. He had instantly fallen back to sleep! Maybe he didn’t even know he had come to her room.
After several minutes she slowly rose, carefully opening the door just to the point where she knew it would squeak if she opened it any further. In the soft moonlight she could make out the huge, grotesque figure of her uncle on her bed. She reached inside the closet and took out her carpetbags and cape, still wearing the soft green striped dress.
She hurried downstairs, where she brushed her hair and ate a biscuit, then put her head down on the kitchen table, waiting for the grandfather clock in the hallway to strike 5 A.M. She wanted to get on the boat early and get herself tucked away under the name of Charlotte Eyre. If she was lucky, Uncle John wouldn’t wake up until the boat had already left the docks. Then she would be free.
She thought of Aunt Esther, and all the warm, fun times they had spent in this kitchen, but she would not allow the tears to come. For now there was no time for tears, and crying might wake up Uncle John. Her days of living under Aunt Esther’s protective wing were gone. She had to look out for her own welfare now. After all, she was eighteen, a woman. She would be all right.
She fell into another light sleep, wondering what Texas was really like, wondering what Anthony Enders would be like, and if she would see any real Indians along the way.
Comanche Sunset Page 4
