Comanche Sunset

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Aguila,” Wade spoke up. The man turned. “Can’t you stop this? You’re my uncle.”

  “I told you before, it is the way. I raised Wild Horse from a small child. I taught him the ways of the Comanche. If he learned from me, what makes you think I would go against Comanche law? I care very much for Wild Horse. He is like my own son. I want him to be happy—strong. I want these people to look to him with the same respect they had before. You are not my nephew. You are half of Wild Horse. I want him to be whole.”

  Wade followed the man to the tipi of a woman Aguila apparently knew. Aguila asked the woman for food and she said she would oblige, but she pointed to Wade, saying she did not want “that evil spirit” inside her tipi. Wade sat down outside, deciding to take one moment at a time and enjoy for this moment a much-needed rest. He closed his eyes, putting his hands to his head and thinking of Jennifer.

  Jennifer. His heart ached at the thought of her waiting for him, and what it would be like for her to finally realize he was not coming back. He shook away the thought, looking at his hands then, making them into fists as he felt the life coming back into them.

  God, how he hated the thought of trying to kill his own brother; but he knew the same thought didn’t bother Wild Horse in the least. In the end, perhaps he would have no choice after all, and with the thought of Jennifer waiting for him, perhaps he could find the extra determination and skill he would need to kill Wild Horse; but to do so would go against every Christian teaching in which he believed.

  He looked up to see a little girl staring at him. Her face was dirty and sunburned, and her dark hair was greased; but there was no mistaking her features were white, apparently a captive. She looked no older than eight or nine.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She skittered away as though terrified of something, and Wade reasoned she probably was not allowed to talk to anyone else brought back to camp. He wondered what she had seen and suffered, and who she was. Most likely her parents were both dead by Comanche hands. The sight of her made Wade more determined to survive whatever lay ahead. Maybe he could find a way to get the little girl back to her own people.

  He looked down at his own hands, also Comanche. It seemed amazing how radically different the lives of two men could be when they had been born to the same mother. He deliberately pushed away thoughts of the poor little captive, and of Jenny. He didn’t dare let the ache of it get hold of him right now. For the moment the only thing to think about was survival.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jennifer salted the pot of near-boiling water, preparing to drop in the small cuttings of dough to make dumplings. Alice loved dumplings, and Jennifer wanted to do something for her, as well as keep herself occupied. It helped pass the aching hours of suspense over Wade.

  Another day had passed since Captain Howell had returned with the remnants of his platoon. Alice was at one of the barracks still helping doctor some of the injured men. It was an unusually cool morning for west Texas this time of year, and Jennifer had taken the opportunity to build a fire in Alice’s indoor cook stove. Alice continued to warn her not to go out, except to use the privy, hoping that in a few days the animosity toward Jennifer would wane.

  Jennifer dropped in the dumplings, then walked into the larger room of the cabin to pick up some mending, thinking to help Alice with her usual work while the woman had to be with the wounded men. Someone tapped on the door then, a gentle knock that held no threat. Jennifer’s first thought was of Wade. Could he have survived? Had he come for her? She set down the mending and went to the door, opening it cautiously.

  The door was barely ajar when it was suddenly pushed open so violently that it knocked Jennifer backward. She gasped and her eyes widened as she stumbled against the fireplace and Corporal James Deaver came inside, slamming shut the door. Jennifer knew instinctively he had come to do more than talk. She quickly grabbed up an iron fireplace poker and backed farther away, stumbling against a rocker. “Get out of here,” she demanded.

  Deaver just grinned. “You owe me, woman. You owed Tony, my best friend, and now he’s dead. You’re nothin’ but a buck-lovin’ white squaw, and there’s only one thing women like you are good for.”

  Jennifer swung the poker, but Deaver only ducked, then came up and grabbed it out of her hand, slinging it across the room where it knocked a pitcher off a table and broke it. Jennifer ran toward the kitchen, but Deaver was on her in a flash, tackling her to the floor and putting his weight on her. He grasped both her slender wrists in one strong hand, hovering over her with a leering, whiskey-stenched grin.

  “You want to know the truth, bitch? Tony suspected you were worthless all along! He was only going to marry you for the pleasure of getting inside you, and then he was going to have the marriage annulled and collect a bundle from that uncle of yours in St. Louis. Is that where it started, pretty lady? Your uncle already been under your skirts?”

  Jennifer started to scream, but a fist slammed across the side of her face, and for a moment everything went black. Somewhere in the darkness she could hear Deaver’s voice.

  “That locket Tony gave you,” he sneered. “It came off a dead settler woman. That’s how much Tony thought of you, little lady. You were just somethin’ with all the right parts to make a man feel good in bed.” She felt a hand grasping at her breasts. “Now I’m going to take up where Tony left off. I’m going to do what he should have done in the first place—take you off that high and mighty pedestal you tried to put yourself on!”

  Jennifer’s vision began to clear. She could see Deaver’s face close to hers, felt his hand moving up under her skirt to grope at her bloomers. He was trying to rip them off. With all the strength she could muster, she slammed her head forward into the man’s nose. She heard a crack, and the man screamed, leaping away from her.

  “My nose! You goddamn bitch!”

  Jennifer ran into the kitchen, but just as she reached the backdoor a strong hand gripped her arm and jerked her away, shoving her hard so that she fell across the table and landed on the other side of it. Her ribs, still not totally healed, flamed with renewed pain, as did her leg, which looked healed but was still very tender. She ignored the pain.

  She scrambled to think. She had to get to the door; she had to find a way to hurt Deaver enough to get past him. He stood on the other side of the table as she slowly got to her feet. His nose looked crooked and was bleeding, and with his leering grin and face red from anticipated ecstasy, he had the look of an ugly monster.

  “If you touch me, Captain Howell will punish you,” she screamed at him.

  “It would be worth a lashing to get inside of you, slut! Loose woman like you, I’ll bet you’re damn good. Wade Morrow liked it, didn’t he? Did you enjoy havin’ a half-breed bastard panting over you?”

  The ugly words made Jennifer’s stomach turn. The left side of her face felt numb, and she could taste blood in her mouth. She glanced briefly at the boiling water on the stove, then made her way around the other side of the table as though to run back into the main room.

  Deaver followed her movement, making ready to grab her, when she suddenly darted around the other way. There was no time to think, or to worry about doing any harm to herself. She grabbed up the pot of water and threw it. Horrible screams tore at her ears as she charged out the backdoor then, her hands already blistered, bringing back horrible memories of how it felt to be burned. Now confused, overcome by pain and the sound of Deaver’s blood-chilling screaming, she ran blindly, screaming herself, until someone caught her. She pushed and fought at him until the man shook her to her senses.

  “Miss Andrews, it’s me, Lieutenant Brown. What the hell is going on?”

  Her breathing came in short, terrified gasps. Her hair was tumbled from its bun, and the left side of her face was already turning purple. She held out her blistered, shaking hands while Brown kept hold of her arms. “Deaver,” she gasped. “He…broke into the house…attacked me…tried to…” She jerked away, l
ooking down at her hands. “I threw…boiling water at him.”

  She heard Brown ordering someone to go and help Deaver. He took her arm then. “Come to the Captain’s office with me.”

  She looked up at the young man, tears on her bruised face. “I didn’t…do anything. He…broke in…beat me. I haven’t done anything wrong, Lieutenant Brown. Why is everyone…treating me this way?”

  “Not everyone.” He put a hand to her waist. “Come on. I’m not too happy about all this myself, but I don’t go along with what Deaver did.” He led her to Howell’s office, where he sat the shaken, hurt Jennifer down while Howell demanded to know what had happened. Brown quickly explained while Jennifer rocked in the chair, hurting everywhere, her face and head, her ribs, her leg, most of all her hands. Someone came inside then.

  “Deaver’s a mess,” the man said. “His face and shoulders mostly—burned pretty bad. He’s already blistered up something awful.”

  “It will save him a whipping,” Howell answered angrily. “I daresay he has already received enough punishment for attacking Miss Andrews.”

  There was an odd moment of silence. “Deaver says she invited him,” the extra man said then.

  Revulsion engulfed Jennifer. “That’s not true,” she said, near hysteria. She stood up, looking like a mad woman, holding out her own burned hands. “Does this look like I invited him? He knocked at the door, and when I opened it a little he pushed his way in and attacked me! How dare you say he was invited! Damn you! Damn all of you for your filthy minds and ignorant prejudice!”

  The words were nearly screamed, and the third man backed out. “Go and get Alice,” Howell called after him. “And get some ointment for Miss Andrews’s hands.”

  “Water,” she said, her voice weaker again. She sat back down. “I want cold…water…in a pan. I’ve been burned…before. I remember…my aunt discovered cold, wet rags…made it feel better.”

  “Get her some water,” Howell told Brown.

  Brown quickly left, and Howell sighed deeply. “I was afraid of this,” he said wearily. “Miss Andrews, you’re getting on the next coach that comes through here, no matter which direction it’s traveling. I want you off these premises. I’m sorry to sound so cold and rude, but having you here is no good for my men.”

  She raised her green eyes to meet his brown ones, realizing the man was nearly as prejudiced as the rest. He simply had been trying to be more of a gentleman about it. “I want to wait…for Wade’s men.”

  “That could be another week, maybe longer, for all we know. I can’t let you stay here that long. You can contact them from the next town—whether that is San Antonio or El Paso depends on which stage comes through next. If they show up here, we’ll tell them where you can be found.”

  “Wild Horse is out there raiding! I’ve already suffered one attack.” Her eyes teared more. “You know what they do to white women! If Wade is…” The word stuck in her throat, for she didn’t want to believe it. “If he’s dead, I’ll mean nothing to them. I was only safe because of Wade.”

  “Wild Horse has likely ridden well out of range. He won’t want to be found for a while.”

  “That’s a lie, and you know it! With his victory over your men, he’ll be out raiding stronger than ever.”

  The man rose, scooting back his chair. “All I know is I’ve lost a lot of men and I have to answer for that. I’m stuck in this godforsaken place even longer now because of what happened. There will be no promotions for me, Miss Andrews! And with you around, I’ll have even more explaining to do if we keep having problems between you and the men, let alone explaining what you’re doing here in the first place! You’re getting on the next stage, and that’s that. Don’t make me embarrass you more by having you dragged aboard kicking and screaming!”

  Jennifer rose, facing him boldly. “You’re a kind, generous man, Captain Howell, a real gentleman.” Brown came in with the water, and Alice followed close behind.

  “Jenny! What happened?” Alice asked with concern.

  Jennifer still looked at Howell. “Army hospitality and chivalry,” she answered the woman. “I’ll get on that stage, Captain,” she added. “Quietly and willingly. Whatever happens, it will be better than staying on here. It’s obvious most of your men are no more civil than the Comanche.” She turned to Alice. “I’m sorry about the cabin and the…dumplings.” Her throat ached terribly. “I’ll help you clean up the mess and pay you for any damages.”

  She ignored the water and walked past Alice and outside, feeling hard as stone. There was no one to help her or care about her now, not until she could somehow find Wade’s family. She was on her own, but that was how she had started out from St. Louis. She refused to feel shame in loving Wade Morrow, and she refused to show any. She held her head erect as she walked back to the cabin while she felt men staring at her. From one of the barracks she could hear Jim Deaver’s screams of pain. She shivered at the sound, but felt no remorse.

  Jennifer hurriedly packed her bags. A coach had come sooner than expected, only the next day after Captain Howell had said she must leave. It carried a long-overdue payroll for the soldiers at the fort.

  “The whores from San Antonio will show up any time, no doubt,” Alice said with a note of disgust. She folded one of Jennifer’s dresses. “Those women smell a payroll fifty miles away—or rather their pimp does.” She turned to Jennifer, who was folding a petticoat gingerly, her hands wrapped in gauze. “Here, let me do that. Your hands must hurt you.”

  Jennifer stood back, her emotions mixed. She had liked Alice, and she knew the woman cared about her. But her attitude had changed slightly, and now Jennifer felt awkward living in the woman’s house. She was almost relieved to be leaving, if it were not for wanting to stay and wait for someone from Wade’s family.

  “Aren’t the…those women…aren’t they afraid of Indian attack?”

  Alice grunted a laugh. “The men who bring them out here sell guns and whiskey to the Indians in return for safe passage. They ought to be hanged, far as I’m concerned. They know good and well the guns are used against their own people, but they don’t care. The almighty dollar is all that matters to them. They follow the pay wagons, and their women take advantage of lonely soldiers, bleed them of practically their whole month’s pay.” She sighed and straightened, looking at Jennifer. “I’m sorry you have to go, Jenny—sorry about all of this. It would have been nice having you around the fort, married to one of the men, although Lord knows it couldn’t have been Sergeant Enders.”

  Their eyes held. Jennifer felt cold now, void of emotion. Personal pride and her refusal to show shame in her love for Wade had brought on a new strength and determination not to let the insults and the fact that she was being banished from the fort get to her. She would not weep. She would not hang her head; and she would not put up an argument and be dragged forcefully, as Howell had threatened to do.

  “I’m sorry, too, Alice. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, and I’m terribly sorry about the mess from yesterday. If it weren’t for my hands, I would have cleaned it up myself.”

  Alice’s eyes seemed to tear. “Deaver got what he deserved.” She studied Jennifer’s bruised face and bandaged hands. “I’ll say one thing, Jenny. I still think you were just being young and impetuous and a little ignorant in loving that Wade Morrow. But you’re a brave and resourceful young lady, and I sincerely wish you God’s blessings, wherever you end up.” She put her hands on Jennifer’s arms. “Some day you’ll find a nice young man and settle and have children, and all this will seem like a strange dream.”

  “No, it won’t, Alice. It will always remain all too real. I will never forget Wade Morrow, and for the moment I refuse to believe he’s even dead. I feel him with me, and I know he feels me with him. He’ll do whatever he can to survive, so that he can come back to me.”

  The woman shook her head. “When you’re young, it’s easy to believe in the impossible; but I do care for you, Jenny, and if Wade Morrow is the only
one who can make you happy, then I hope he does survive.”

  Someone knocked at the door, and Alice opened it to see Captain Howell standing there. “The stage driver wants to get going,” he told the woman. “Is Miss Andrews ready?”

  “You’ve given her precious little time, but she’s about ready. You’re wrong to make her leave this soon, Captain. She’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Her hands will heal just as well sitting on a stagecoach as sitting here causing unrest among my men.”

  Alice glowered at him. “She’ll be out in a minute.” She closed the door on him and turned to Jennifer. “I’d argue more with him and tell him what I really think of him, but I’m being allowed to stay on here only through his permission. If I put up too much of a fuss, he’ll make me leave, too.”

  Jennifer gingerly closed the corded latch to one of her bags, using her burned fingers awkwardly. “I don’t know how you stand it. You should get back to civilization, Alice, get out of this place. Maybe you would find another man yourself.”

  The woman laughed lightly. “Me? No, I’m used to it here. And once this thing back East over states’ rights is settled, things will liven up around here again. More men will be sent out, and some will bring their wives with them.”

  “Maybe.” Jennifer walked over to a mirror to check her straw hat. Her lustrous hair was pulled back at the sides with attractive combs. She wore a pink calico dress with just one thin petticoat. It was too warm again to wear too many layers. The dress had three-quarter-length sleeves and a lightly scooped bodice, and her straw hat was adorned with pink silk flowers. She winced as she pulled on a pair of white gloves to hide the gauze on her hands. “I wish there was a way to cover the bruise on my face.”