But Alice stayed on, refusing to leave her husband’s grave. She had loved him dearly, a big, rather homely, but honest man who had been totally dedicated to the U. S. Army. Alice was not much to look at herself, a short, stout woman with graying hair and lines of hard living on her forty-five-year-old face. Her biggest regret was never having been able to give her husband any other children besides their daughter Anna, who had died ten years ago at the age of sixteen. They had been stationed in Ohio then. Her husband had volunteered for service in the West after that, wanting to get away from familiar places, trying to put the hurt behind them.
Now her husband was gone, too. Alice resented the lazy, slovenly ways of the soldiers and officers who had been left here. She felt sorry for Miss Jennifer Andrews, who surely didn’t know what she was in for. She had a keen dislike for Sergeant Enders, but she figured his marriage by mail was his business. If Miss Andrews was crazy enough to come to this godforsaken place to marry a stranger, there was nothing she could do about it.
The day stretched into dusk, as everyone waited with anticipation. But the stagecoach did not arrive. Alice came outside to take down uniforms from her clothesline, and she noticed Sergeant Enders pacing and cussing. His clean-shaven face began to again show the shadow of a beard, and by dark he was strutting and cursing and venting his anger and worry on his men. He finally stormed over to Captain Howell’s office, and everyone could hear yelling from inside. Enders finally came back outside. “He says I have to give it another day,” he growled at Corporal Deaver. “They could have just had mechanical trouble or a sickness or something.”
“Don’t be thinking the worst yet, sir,” Deaver told him.
Enders kicked at a rock. “If some Comanche bastard has got his hands on her, I’ll kill every Comanche I see again on sight—man, woman, child, whatever!”
“You think Howell will let you take out a platoon tomorrow to search if the stage doesn’t show?” Deaver asked.
“He’ll give it all day tomorrow yet. I probably won’t be able to make a search until the morning after. She could already be in Wild Horse’s hands, for all I know—dead or raped and tortured—who knows! All I know is the preacher will be here tomorrow or the day after, and my woman better be here, too.”
Alice scowled folding a pair of pants. Knowing Enders, she was sure he was not so much concerned about what might have happened to poor Miss Andrews as he was about the fact that he might not have a woman in his bed anytime soon after all. There was something about the man she didn’t like or trust, and she had no doubt he was one of the many volunteers who came to places like this just to hide from the law.
She put the pants into a basket, hoping nothing terrible had happened to Miss Andrews. In spite of the rude awakening the poor girl would have when she got to Fort Stockton, Alice had looked forward to having another woman around. She just hoped everything would work out and Miss Andrews would stay. She picked up the basket and carried it inside, deciding she’d better say a prayer for the young woman from St. Louis for whom everyone at the fort was eagerly waiting.
Jennifer awoke to see Wade stirring something over the fire. It was dark. She lay there quietly, gathering her thoughts. The last thing she consciously remembered was waking up at dawn with terrible pain in her leg and feeling on fire. Wade had said something about infection and cauterizing.
She immediately moved her left arm down to her leg, thinking for a moment that perhaps it wouldn’t even be there. Wade’s alert senses caught the movement, even though his back was nearly completely turned to her. He turned to see her eyes were open, and he came to lean over her. “How do you feel?”
“What did you do to me?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He touched her face, relieved to find it was cooler. “Saved your life, I expect. I burned out the infection, Jenny. It was all I could do.”
Her eyes teared and her lips puckered, as she felt under the blanket with her hand. “I don’t mean that,” she said, her voice shaking. “My bloomers are gone!” She turned her face away, confused, in pain.
“Jenny, all I’ve done is help you. You’ve been lying here all day, delirious. You had a little accident, that’s all. I cleaned you up and put a towel under you, that’s all.”
“Oh, my God,” she sobbed. “I hate you! I hate this land and I hate Sergeant Enders…and I hate my Uncle John and the Comanche and most of all you! How do I know…you’re even telling me the truth! And…who gave you the right to…burn my leg! I have enough scars!”
She heard a deep sigh. “I could get angry, but I know it’s only pain talking, and you must be pretty scared right now—”
“Of course I’m scared,” she nearly screamed through sobs, her face covered.
“Jenny, I didn’t do anything wrong. As far as cauterizing that wound, it was that, or let you die a horrible, painful death. You’re too young and beautiful and important to let that happen. And on a woman pretty as you, a few scars aren’t going to have much affect, especially since they’re in places nobody would see anyway—except maybe your husband.”
“Sergeant Enders won’t…he won’t like my scars. He won’t want me.”
Wade scowled. “If he doesn’t want you because of a few scars, then he’s not much of a man. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll be better off if he doesn’t want you.”
He returned to his camp fire, stirring a mixture of a few potatoes he had left with a couple turnips and some beans. It was true he had seen things he had no right seeing, but he’d had no choice. He couldn’t help feeling some anger and disappointment that Jennifer thought the worst and that she seemed totally ungrateful for what he had done for her. He had sat here all day nursing her, waiting for her fever to break, and for her to come around. He told himself he couldn’t really blame her for how she felt. She didn’t know her own mind right now.
“If your fever stays down, we’ll leave right away in the morning. I’ll get you to Fort Stockton and you can marry your sergeant and be rid of me,” he said then. He poured himself some coffee and walked off into the darkness.
Jennifer wiped at tears. She had caught the anger in his voice, and she realized she had surely hurt him. She didn’t understand what made her feel that way and say such cruel things to him. She had accused him of the worst thing a man could do to a woman, and she knew better. She cried more at her own blunder, hating herself more than she hated this land or the Indians. This whole idea had been a terrible mistake, but there was no changing it now. They were only a day or two from the fort.
She remained turned away from the fire. Several minutes later she heard Wade’s footsteps coming close again. “I’m…sorry,” she sniffed. “I need something…to blow my nose.”
She waited, hearing him walk somewhere. A moment later he shoved a bandana into her hand, saying nothing. She blew her nose and wiped at her eyes, just then realizing she felt better than she had since the raid. There was not nearly as much pain in her leg, and her shoulder was better. She felt more clear-headed, probably because since the raid this was the first time she had not waked up with a headache and infection.
She turned onto her back. Wade was stirring the food again. “I really am sorry,” she repeated. “I just…got scared for a minute.”
“You thought what every white woman would think of someone like me.”
Her heart ached with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “That isn’t true! It didn’t…have anything to do with you…being Indian…if that’s what you mean. It wouldn’t have mattered…who you were! How do you think I feel…knowing you…anybody…would see me that way.” She reddened deeply, turning her face away again the moment he met her eyes.
“Jenny, a man doesn’t think much about it when he’s worried the person he’s helping is going to die on him. Maybe I care about you. Did you ever think of that?”
“You’re just helping me because you know it’s the right thing to do. You’ll be glad to deliver me at Fort Stockton and be rid of me.”
“I won�
�t be glad to deliver you there at all, especially not to some damn stranger whose idea of getting to know you before making you his wife is probably a hello and a quick marriage ceremony! The only reason I want to get you to the fort is so you can rest in a real bed. But I sure as hell don’t like the thought of some lonely, woman-hungry soldier making it his bed!”
She lay quietly for a moment, wiping at her eyes again. “Why should you care about that,” she finally spoke up, more calmly.
“Because I care about you. You’re too good for some flea-bitten soldier in a place like Fort Stockton. I wouldn’t be surprised if the man was nothing more than a damn thief, wanted back East someplace—maybe worse.”
She finally turned back to see him poking at the fire. “What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She watched him for a moment, a different feeling moving through her then at the thought of him seeing and touching her. He had saved her life, twice now. “I really am sorry, Wade…about what I said. I just hate feeling like a big burden.”
“You aren’t a burden.” He finally met her eyes. “How do you feel?”
Their eyes held. “Better. Lots better. I’m even hungry.” She kept watching his eyes, wondering just how much he really did care. More than he dared? Why did she hope that was true? “I care about you, too, Wade. Is it possible to become close friends in only four or five days?”
He turned back to the fire. “Sure it is.” He put some food into a tin plate and came closer. “Can you sit up?”
“I think so.”
He set the plate aside and reached out to help her, lifting her and helping scoot her back against his saddle. His hands had hold of her arms, and he was so close. She could feel his breath, catch his manly scent. Again their eyes held, and she could see he was struggling with emotions.
“Do you want to know the real reason I got mad?” she asked.
He searched the green eyes that tore at his heart and desires. “What’s that?”
She swallowed. “The real reason is because…because I have feelings for you I’m not supposed to have,” she answered boldly.
He immediately let go of her and handed her the plate of food. “Don’t talk that way,” he said, sounding angry again.
“Why not? It’s true.”
“You’ve come here to get married and that’s that.”
“I only agreed to meet the man—then decide. I didn’t know I would meet somebody like you along the way.”
“You just feel dependent on me, that’s all. A few days after I’ve left you at the fort you won’t think much of it. Now eat your food.”
She wondered at the sudden, desperate feelings she had, as though it was important she let him know how she felt; an odd fear of losing him forever. “You said you cared about me,” she spoke up, wondering where she found the courage. “Just how much do you care?”
He met her eyes, and his own narrowed with fury at his own forbidden feelings, fury at her for stirring them up. “Too much for your own good…or for mine, for that matter.” He rose. “I’m glad you’re better. Try to get back to sleep when you’re through.” He walked into the darkness beyond the camp fire.
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry,” came his voice. “I’ll be close by.”
“Stay and talk to me, Wade. Please don’t embarrass me more by letting me speak my feelings and then walking away. It isn’t fair.” There was nothing but silence. “I want to at least remain friends,” she said then. “Where is the law that says we can’t be friends, or that I can’t care about you? I said I was sorry.”
She saw the glow of flint as he lit a cigarette. He remained in the darkness. “It’s an unwritten law, Jenny. I learned about it when I was eighteen.”
She saw the end of the cigarette glow red. “It’s something to do with Rebecca, isn’t it?” she asked cautiously.
For several seconds there was only silence, before he finally answered. “She was the daughter of a settler who lived near San Diego—that’s where my father’s warehouses are. He sold produce to my father, and whenever he delivered it, he usually had Rebecca with him.” He smoked quietly for a moment. “He always acted friendly to my pa—and to me. I never gave a thought to how he’d feel if I set eyes on Rebecca.” She could hear the crunching of gravel then as he paced.
“Then one day I got a chance to talk to her alone, and I asked her to a dance. She said she couldn’t—that her father wouldn’t approve. I didn’t understand at first, and then the reason came to me. But I could see Rebecca didn’t feel that way at all. We started seeing each other secretly.”
He sighed deeply and stopped pacing. “I loved her. I guess the knowledge that our love was forbidden made us feel more desperate. I met her in her pa’s barn one night, and we made love. I had every intention of marrying her, and neither one of us thought of it as wrong or bad. But her pa caught us. He shot at me, hit me in the arm. Then he and his men grabbed me up—beat me nearly to death, took me to my pa’s place and dumped me off like a sack of potatoes, warned my pa he’d kill me if he ever saw me on his property again. By the time I recovered, Rebecca’s father had sent her to school in the East.” He cleared his throat. “She, uh, she died there—pneumonia or something. I never got to see her again after that night.”
Jennifer’s heart went out to him. “I’m sorry. I truly am. That’s so sad, and so unfair.” She thought of the sonnet he had recited, And if these pleasures may thee move, then live with me, and be my love. Surely he thought of Rebecca when he thought of those words. And after such a horrible experience, it was no wonder he was seemingly determined not to be caught having even the slightest interest in a white woman.
He stepped into the firelight then, an oddly stricken look on his face. “Now maybe you understand better about a few things.”
How handsome he was! And surely he was one of the loneliest men alive, a part of two worlds and belonging to neither. “The only thing I understand is that Rebecca’s father was wrong—very wrong. And you’re wrong to let what happened affect your whole life. You have every right to love whoever you want to love, to have a family, and settle like anybody else.”
He shook his head, grinning bitterly. “You sound like my mother. You’re both too soft-hearted and caring to really understand. Men like me don’t have the same rights as white men, Jenny. That’s just the way it is. I’ve learned to accept it. If I didn’t, I’d be fighting someone every day. That gets old after a while. A man gets tired. I figure maybe it will help if I find out something about my Comanche side. Maybe I’ll even find a wife among them.”
She felt a rush of jealousy and near panic at the thought. He had become her defender, her friend, her doctor, her guide. She loved him. She was more sure of it than ever, and he had as much as admitted he had strong feelings for her.
“I don’t have a father,” she said quietly. “I don’t have anyone who would care or interfere if…if I should dare to love someone like you.” She was surprised she had had the courage to say it.
There came a long silence. “Get some rest,” he finally said. “I can have you at the fort by the day after tomorrow.”
She heard him walking farther off. “Wade?”
There came no reply. She lay back down, suddenly losing her appetite. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled, and it seemed the howl matched the longing and loneliness in her soul. She realized then that she and Wade Morrow were more alike than he realized, neither of them belonging to any one place or person, both of them feeling a little lost and lonely.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she knew it would not come easily to her now. New emotions had been stirred, and words had been said that could not be undone. How would she face him in the morning? What could she say? Could they still be at least good friends?
She wanted more than that, much more; and she was sure Wade Morrow was feeling the same way.
Chapter Thirteen
Jennifer awo
ke to see Wade sleeping on the other side of the nearly-dead camp fire. It was the first time since helping her that he had not slept near her to keep her warm, and she realized with embarrassment it was partly because of her accusations the evening before; or perhaps he was afraid to be too close to her now, after she had told him of her feelings. Was he afraid of his own emotions and desires, just as she was?
She felt almost sick at the memory of their verbal exchanges, angry with herself for saying cruel things at first, embarrassed at later all but admitting that she loved him. But hadn’t he done the same? She wondered how she was going to face him today. They still had at least two days of travel ahead of them, with no one but each other to talk to. She realized that if they didn’t air their feelings and get it over with, those two days would be miserable.
She breathed deeply for courage. If Wade Morrow didn’t want to admit to his emotions, that was his problem. She was too tired and distraught to control her own. It seemed incredibly ridiculous, but in the few days since she had met him, Wade Morrow had become her whole world, and she had felt a strong attraction to him and had felt the hands of fate bringing them together since the day he stepped in on her behalf back in San Antonio. How many days ago had that been? Six? Seven? It seemed as though she had known him much longer, as though they were old friends. Was there really such a thing as love at first sight?
She drew the blanket away and looked at her leg. It was still bandaged, but looked less red and puffy. Her ribs still hurt, and her shoulder ached, but she could use her arm now. A rush of confused feelings consumed her when she again realized she was naked under the blanket from the waist down. Knowing now how he apparently felt about her, had he let his eyes linger longer than necessary on private places no one else had ever seen or touched?
Comanche Sunset Page 19
