She reached out to take the flowers. “Thank you, Sergeant Enders.”
“Tony. Remember?”
“Yes. Tony. You, uh, you might as well call me Jenny, although it still seems a little strange to me to be using first names.”
He nodded, reaching out and bringing the chair beside her bed a little closer before sitting down. She hoped he did not intend to stay too long. His eyes moved over her in a way that made her feel as though she was lying there naked, and a chill moved through her at the thought of letting this man do to her the things Wade had done.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t see you sooner,” she told him, unsure how to start a conversation. “I needed lots of rest. That first day I slept all that afternoon and all night and until nearly noon the second day. I guess the exhaustion and all the horror of what had happened caught up with me.”
He nodded again. “I suppose.” He looked her over again, making her feel like a piece of merchandise whose value was being determined. “It’s true then that the, uh, the Comanche didn’t—I mean, that Mr. Morrow scared them off before—”
“They didn’t touch me wrongly,” Jennifer answered for him. “Is that so important, Sergeant Enders?”
“Tony.”
She looked down at the flowers.
“No, I guess not. I mean, I was just asking on your account—wanting to understand what all you’ve been through.”
“They killed the driver and caused the coach to overturn,” she told the man without looking at him. She kept her voice steady, wanting to scream at him to leave. “They killed everyone else. Mr. Morrow was thrown from the coach when it overturned and he hit his head. Apparently they thought he was hurt or dead. They left him there. I came last. I had a couple of cracked ribs and a sprained shoulder from the accident—from peoples’ bodies falling on me.”
She hesitated, thinking about the men she had come to know on that short journey, feeling sorry for the good ones, like Adam Hughes, and Nick. “The Indians hauled me out, tossed me around and tore my dress. Then one of them deliberately shot me in the leg. The only thing I remember after that is Indians all around me, then suddenly they were gone, and then blackness. I woke up hours later beside a camp fire. Mr. Morrow was there. I remembered screaming before that, feeling horrible pain—yet I wasn’t really in this world. When I came around I learned he had taken a bullet out of my leg.” She looked at Enders. “From then on he took care of me, burned out an infection—saved my life, and my leg. It’s badly scarred, Sar—I mean, Tony. You should know that.”
He could hardly conceal his lust. “Oh, that would never bother me,” he answered.
“My back is also scarred,” she added. “My parents were killed eight years ago in a steamboat explosion. I escaped, but my back was burned.”
He shook his head, grinning. “Jennifer, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever set eyes on. If you have scars, they sure aren’t anyplace anybody would notice. Far as me—I mean, if we married, I’d see them. But it wouldn’t matter. You seem like a fine lady, and I’d be proud and honored to call you my wife. You have no idea how happy I was to see how much prettier you are than the picture you sent.” Jennifer kept looking at the flowers, blushing slightly, wishing he would just go away. “Tell me, after your folks died, who raised you?” he asked cautiously.
“My aunt and uncle. My aunt died recently, and I felt like a burden to my uncle. He’s a busy man. I decided it was time I struck out on my own.”
“Clear out here to a place like this? To marry a stranger?” he asked suspiciously. “How come? Why didn’t you stay in St. Louis?”
She shrugged, scrambling to think. He might think her too desperate if she told him the truth; and he might think she had used him. Maybe he would even send her back! “I just…I had read and heard so much about the West,” she answered. “I told my uncle I wanted to come out here. He said it was too dangerous and wouldn’t help me, so I answered your ad. My uncle was a little angry, but he couldn’t do anything about it, since I’m eighteen. He tried to stop me back in San Antonio, sent some men to bring me back. But the sheriff there said I had a valid ticket and a legitimate reason for coming here, and that I was old enough to make up my own mind. So, here I am.” She finally met his dark eyes, seeing a mixture of hunger and suspicion there. “See all I went through to get out here?” she said then, wanting him to forget about her uncle. “I must say I certainly didn’t expect all this adventure, if you want to call it that; nor was I prepared for just how big and dry and desolate this country really is. Staying here will take a lot of consideration, Tony. But I do have the money to reimburse you, if things don’t work out.”
He thought about her story about her uncle. It sounded reasonable, and he decided not to ask any more questions about her past. It might scare her off. Whatever had happened, what did he care now anyway? He could talk her into marrying him, have a good time in bed with her, then collect from dear Uncle John. He wondered what she would think of her uncle’s offer, and he wondered with his own hungry needs why her uncle was ready to pay anything to get her back. Maybe it had been more than her just wanting to see the West and not wanting to be a burden to her uncle. Maybe she was running from him.
“Don’t be worried about reimbursing me,” he told her. “We’ll be married when the preacher comes around the end of the month. That will give us plenty of time to get to know each other. I won’t be needing any money from you.”
She watched him, wishing she could tell what he was really thinking. She wanted to ask him about his own past, but it was too soon, and she didn’t dare show too much interest too fast. “I’m still very tired, Tony. Could you come back tomorrow?” she asked, wishing he would quit looking at her like a hungry man eyeing a steak.
“Sure. Uh, I have a present for you.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out the gold locket he had stolen from the dead woman. He handed it out to her. “It’s real gold,” he told her.
Jennifer took it, studying it, recognizing that it was not “real” gold at all. She had lived among finer things long enough to know real gold jewelry. She wondered if Enders knew it wasn’t really gold and thought her an ignorant woman who could be easily fooled, or if he really believed it was gold. It was actually quite lovely, with a little flower design on the heart-shaped locket. When she held it, she felt an odd presence, as though it had been made for someone special, but not for her. She didn’t know whether to admit she knew it wasn’t gold, or if that might hurt his feelings.
“Thank you,” she told him. “It’s very pretty.” She met his eyes. “You shouldn’t be giving this to me yet.”
“Oh, I want you to have it,” he answered, hoping to impress her, determined to at least get a kiss out of her before too many more days. “It’s yours, whether things work out or not,” he told her. “But I hope they do, Jennifer. A man gets lonely out here, and you’re a lot more than I expected. I’m, uh, I’m sorry about showing such a temper when we first found you. You can imagine how I felt, seeing that worthless half-breed with you. But he’s gone now, and you won’t have to put up with that humiliation any more. Must have been awful for you, with only him to turn to. I guess he’s on his way to California now. That is where he was headed, isn’t it?”
Jennifer kept her eyes averted so he wouldn’t see her anger at his remark. She thought for a moment before answering, wondering why he had asked the question. Why would he be concerned about where Wade was going?
“Of course it is,” she answered. “That’s where he lives and where his father conducts his business. He was anxious to find a good horse and be on his way. I felt bad that I slowed him up so much. It was rather humiliating to have to travel with him, but I had little choice, and he was kind to me and saved my life, Tony. You shouldn’t say too much against the man, even though he is part Indian.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it any more. I would rather try to forget.”
“Sure you would. I’m sorry, Jennifer.” He r
ose. “I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll talk more. Everything will be all right now, you’ll see.” She kept her eyes averted. “Well, I’ll be going now. You rest and mend. I want you to get all well before the preacher comes, and I can’t wait to show you off to the other men.” He leaned down and patted her arm, and she could hardly stand his touch. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she answered, still staring at the flowers, the locket in her hand. “Thank you for the necklace and the flowers.”
“I only wish I could do more.” The man walked to the door and said good-bye again before leaving.
Jennifer stared at the locket. Was Anthony Enders as fake as this gift he had given her? She had no doubt he was, and when he left there remained a lingering odor of tobacco and liquor. “Oh, Wade,” she whispered. “Where are you? Please, please be all right. And please come back soon.” She called for Alice to bring some kind of vase for the flowers, which were already wilting.
Chapter Nineteen
The land was high but mostly flat, except for the hills to the north where Wade was headed. The fort was three days behind him, but he knew he could reach it in two if he had not lost a day heading west rather than north. He breathed deeply of the crisp air. It was early, the sun barely peeking over the eastern horizon.
He liked this time of day, all life awakening, birds singing here and there. He rolled and lit a cigarette, his belly already full, for he had risen even earlier than normal in order to get underway at first light. He would reach Comanche Hills in just a couple of hours, and he had no idea what this day might hold for him.
He wondered if that was why he felt especially alive this morning, why the sky seemed a brighter blue and gold, why he enjoyed looking at the blooming cacti and scattered wildflowers, even the scrubby brush that surrounded him. Perhaps today he would die.
In the distance a small antelope bounded across the high plateau, and he thought what an intricate web nature wove, each form of life dependent on another. He reasoned the Indian fit perfectly into that web, until the white man came along. The Indian breathed, ate, worshipped, and migrated with Nature, and they had got along just fine before the whites came along and killed off most of the game; before the whites tried changing their religion; before the whites brought the diseases that decimated whole tribes; before the whites forced the Indians onto small pieces of land where they felt smothered and where many died from sheer homesickness.
A great part of him understood the Indian’s need to migrate with the seasons and the buffalo. He understood that a reservation was like a prison to an Indian. Several thousand acres sounded like a lot of land to a white man, but not to an Indian. He had learned that much from the Indians he did know, and from scouts. But he realized it wasn’t just that. He felt it—in his soul. He couldn’t always understand some of the Comanche practices, especially murder and torture, but he understood the spirit of freedom.
He turned to saddle his horse, a sturdy gelding with a shining chestnut coat and black mane and tail and black coloring from knee to hoof, looking like stockings. He had no name when Wade purchased the animal, and Wade simply called him “Red.” It was a good horse, and fast. He wondered if he would end up needing that speed to get away from the Comanche. So far he had not been bothered, but he knew he was being watched.
He was close now, close to the mysterious Wild Horse. It gave him a strange feeling to think he could have a renegade brother. It was as though God had led him to this place at this time; as though all this was meant to happen, for he had never felt such a strong desire to find his connection to the Comanche as he had the past few months.
He was not really completely surprised at this turn of events, for all his life he had felt a connection to some unknown source. He had wanted this moment, even if it meant his death. At least he would know the truth about himself. The only thing that didn’t fit, the only thing that did surprise him, was finding Jennifer Andrews. The last thing that had been on his mind when he came here was falling in love, especially with a white woman! He could only pray this encounter would not end as disastrously as had his love for Rebecca.
He prayed inwardly and constantly that no harm would come to Jennifer, feeling guilty for having left her at the fort; but he could not turn away from this man called Wild Horse, nor could he have brought Jennifer into this situation. He reminded himself she was strong and resourceful, and she loved him. She would find a way to stay safe and wait for him. She had money, and she knew who to contact for help. He was comforted in knowing without any doubt that his father and mother would see that Jennifer was cared for. There was no reason why she should have to submit herself to Sergeant Enders in any way.
He yanked the cinch tighter at the thought of Enders. He hardly knew the man, but he despised him. The thought of Enders putting his hands on Jenny brought a boiling rage to his soul, and it only made him more anxious to get this mission over with as soon as possible. He would meet this Wild Horse and see the resemblance for himself. Then he would find Slow Woman and get the truth from her.
He took a last swig of stiff coffee and threw the rest onto the coals of his camp fire. The liquid made a soft sizzling sound, and a puff of steam rose from the remnants of the fire. He stuffed the tin cup into his gear and tied everything onto the horse, then walked over to where the Indian pony was tied. He had brought the horse along to return to the Comanche, hoping the gesture would be appreciated, and hoping to express his own gratefulness for being able to use the animal. He took hold of the rope tied to the animal’s rawhide bridle and led it to Red, then mounted up, keeping hold of the Indian pony.
He took another appreciative look at the wide open land around him. He realized that although he had not been through Texas before, he felt at home here, felt a kinship with this land. This was Comanche country, and he reasoned it always would be, even if the whites managed to finally keep the Indians out forever one day. In spirit this land would always belong to the Comanche.
He rode north, toward Comanche Hills, leading the Indian pony behind him. He couldn’t help wondering if he would ever see Jenny again. He longed to hold her once more. Surely the next time they made love would be the most satisfying experience of his life, for she would be healed, both from her wounds and from her first encounter with man. It would be more enjoyable for her, and her response to him, her desire and womanly needs would be even more powerful and demanding.
He would gladly meet that demand. He could imagine nothing more gratifying than seeing the intense pleasure on her face at taking a man with sheer desire and wantonness, feeling no more pain, but only pleasure. He had awakened her to womanhood, and it gave him a feeling of power and accomplishment, mixed with a love so strong that it made him feel more alive, more aware of every nerve end, every breath he took. She was his woman, and no matter what the odds against their relationship, he was not going to lose this one.
After an hour’s ride the land grew more hilly, rising and falling like a stationary sea. Soon he had to force himself to stop thinking about Jenny and stay alert, for he spotted two Comanche braves on a rise to his left. He gave no indication that he saw them. He kept riding forward until three more appeared on his right.
“Appears we have an escort now, Red,” he said softly to his horse. He could not help the pounding of his heart at the anticipation of meeting Wild Horse and knowing the man could be his blood brother. If it was true, he wasn’t sure how to feel about his real father. He supposed the man deserved the death he suffered for raping Slow Woman. Trouble was, there had been more than one. He would never know any of them. He supposed he could feel neither hatred nor love, for his father was nonexistent, a stranger without a name. It gave him a lonely feeling, and he was glad Lester and Vivian Morrow had come along and had taken him in. Les Morrow was as fine a man as any boy could ask to have for a father, and in spite of his real beginnings, Wade knew he was loved by the parents who had raised him, just as much as if he had come from their own blood.
&n
bsp; Now he sensed the Indians on each side of him coming closer, as well as sensing more coming up from behind. He kept his horse at a slow trot, waiting for them to show him what to do next. One thing he knew about the Comanche was that the last thing he should do was show any kind of fear. Actually, he didn’t feel any, in spite of knowing the atrocities they were capable of committing, especially against a captive. He was too full of a need to know the truth to be concerned about his own hide for the moment; and, after all, they had let him live after the raid, and they were the ones who had invited him here. Coming here could hardly be considered an intrusion.
Another brave rode closer, riding right beside him then. Wade turned to see the same man who had brought him water at the cave. He suspected it was the same man who had left the Indian pony for him. He halted his horse and held out the rope to the pony. The man took it and Wade gave a sign of “thank you.” The man nodded, then pointed to a distant hill, where at least twenty warriors were now gathered. The Indian motioned for Wade to follow him, and they rode toward the waiting Comanche, Wade wondering if he should be saying his last prayers.
As they came closer, one man rode out ahead of the others. Even from this distance Wade began to see the resemblance, and his blood chilled at the reality of the situation. He had worn buckskins today, had left his own hair straight and loose, with a red bandana tied around his forehead. He figured he looked as Indian as any of those riding beside him, and for the first time he felt a certain pride in the look and feel of it that he had never felt before. His blood rushed faster, he sat a little straighter; and for a moment he realized as he kept his eyes on the man who waited for him that there, but for the grace of God, sat Wade Morrow. It was chilling to think that the only reason he was riding into the Comanche world from a world entirely different could be because of one quick and painful decision a Comanche woman made twenty-six years ago. How strange was fate.
Comanche Sunset Page 29
