Comanche Woman

by Joan Johnston

  “What are you doing?” Long Quiet asked.

  “I’m going to finish these leggings.”

  “They can wait. You need to rest.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “You can hardly move. Put your sewing away. Then come back and lie down beside me.”

  Bay stared for a moment at the buckskin in her hands before she said, “What if you don’t come back?”

  “What?”

  “What if you don’t come back from Mexico? I’ll be alone in your village among strangers. What will happen to me?”

  Long Quiet came and sat down beside her. He took the buckskin from her hands and pulled her into his embrace. “I think you have too little faith in your husband,” he gently chided, but added to allay her fears, “My grandfather will make sure no harm comes to you.”

  “What if . . . what if someone accuses me again of being a sorceress? It could happen, couldn’t it?”

  She could hear the irritation in his voice when he answered curtly, “Anything is possible, but I don’t think it likely.”

  “Let me go,” she said. “I want to put your leggings away so the morning dew won’t get to them.”

  Reluctantly, he released her. Bay gathered the buckskins and folded them carefully, aware that Long Quiet’s eyes never left her. She was just about to stuff them back into her parfleche when he said, “Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Stay right where you are.”

  Bay looked down. Barely illuminated by the firelight, a small snake lay half inside and half outside her parfleche. The head was black, followed by a thin ring of yellow and a thicker ring of red. Then the pattern was repeated. She’d never seen a snake quite like it, but if Long Quiet’s actions were any guide, it was dangerous.

  She struggled to remain perfectly still as Long Quiet maneuvered closer. It was all over before she could blink. The snake’s head had been severed from its body by Long Quiet’s knife and she’d been yanked out of danger and enfolded in his arms.

  “Shadow, Shadow,” he whispered. He was trembling and his mouth found hers urgently, as though to reaffirm that she was alive. He clutched her to him as he tried to calm his shattered nerves.

  “The snake was poisonous?” Bay asked breathlessly.

  “Deadly,” he huffed. “A coral snake.”

  “Where did it come from? I didn’t see it crawling toward my bag, and it was tied closed until a moment ago.”

  “You didn’t see it because it was already in your bag. Someone must have put it there before we left the village.”

  “But I’d already reached into that bag—twice! Once to get my knife and once for the leggings. Why didn’t the snake strike then?”

  “You were lucky.” He looked down at the snake’s severed head. Not even his grandfather could guard her against such surreptitious attacks. “We were both lucky. Maybe I shouldn’t push that luck. Maybe it would be better if you went home to Three Oaks after all.”

  “For a visit, you mean? Until you return from Mexico?”

  “No. To stay.”

  Long Quiet turned away so she wouldn’t see the agonized look on his face. He’d searched for this woman for three years, had loved her for more years than that. He’d believed her lost to him forever because she had a Comanche family and then had discovered she wasn’t bound to anyone after all. Then the Great Spirit had so turned the course of events that she had become his wife. How could he possibly consider sending her from his side? How could he not?

  “I wanted to believe that the Comanches’ fear of you was foolishness, but there’s nothing foolish about this attack on you. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to kill you, Shadow. And despite my wishful thinking, it won’t be the last.”

  “You don’t know that it was someone from the village who put that snake in my bag.”

  “I can’t prove it, no. But I won’t take a chance with your life.”

  “It’s my life. I can make that decision for myself,” Bay said. “I’ll go to your grandfather’s village and wait for you.”

  “I won’t take you there.”

  “Then I’ll find it by myself,” she challenged.

  Long Quiet’s nostrils flared in anger even as his eyes glowed in admiration for her courage. She’d already spoken of her fears, yet she’d willingly brave that danger to be with him. His heart swelled with love for her. “Don’t you see you have no more choice than I do? To leave you in Comanchería is to condemn you to certain death. I can’t let you stay here. I’ll take you to your father’s house.”

  Bay swallowed over the lump growing in her throat and managed to ask, “But you’ll come back for me, won’t you?”

  You’re my wife. Of course I’ll come back for you.

  But he only thought the words. What he said was, “There’s no way we can be together, Shadow. You can’t live in my world, and I can’t live in yours.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t,” she accused.

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. Why can’t you live in Texas? What’s stopping you?”

  “Look at me, Bay. What do you see?”

  “I see a man.”

  “In braids and a breechclout and—”

  “You can cut off your braids and wear cotton breeches.”

  He looked at her as though she’d blasphemed. He ran a hand protectively over one thick black braid. A Comanche’s braids were his one vanity. She might as well have been Delilah telling Samson to cut his hair.

  “You said you loved me. How can you simply leave me on my father’s doorstep and ride away?”

  “Do you think this is going to be easy for me?”

  “It’s obviously easier than staying with me,” she retorted. “You’re just afraid to try living—”

  “Enough! I tried living among the White-eyes,” he hissed, “and do you know what I found?”

  “What?”

  “Hatred for the Comanche, fear of his cruelty, disdain for his intelligence, and pity for his simple gullibility. When I live with you in Texas, shall I ignore these insults to The People? Or shall I seek revenge for them?”

  “Neither,” she retorted. “Help those who hate to understand.”

  Long Quiet snorted in disbelief and said in Comanche, “You do not tell a hungry wolf standing over a carcass that he should not have killed the calf.” In English he continued, “The white man wants the Indian dead so he can take his land. I don’t know if I can stand by quietly and watch that happen.”

  She frowned, sharing his concern, but asked, “What can you do to stop it?”

  He bunched his hands into fists and held one out to her. “I can fight the white man as a Comanche.”

  “And what will that solve? You’ll be dead, and the whites will still take the land.” She covered his outstretched fist with her hand. “You can’t stop the tides or hold back the horde. You can only live your own life in truth and honor. Can’t you do that in Texas as well as in Comanchería? I want to be with you. I love you. I’m your wife.”

  “Not under the white man’s laws,” he countered. “Once I leave you at your father’s door, you’ll be free to find someone else . . .” He couldn’t add “to love” because the thought of her loving another man was too painful.

  She threw herself into his arms and clung to him. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? I love you and I want to be with you.” She looked into his gray eyes and saw confusion and uncertainty. “You’ll come back for me. I know it. And I’ll be waiting when you do.”

  He pulled her arms from around his neck. “Don’t wait for me,” he said, furious with her for making him question beliefs he’d embraced for years. “I won’t be coming back.”

  “If you tell me not to wait,” she warned, equally furious, “I won’t. I won’t pine away for you, Long Quiet. I’ve spent too many years of my life pining away for a man who didn’t come back for me when he promised he would. I won’t make the same mistake with you that I made with Jonas. I’ll carve out a life for myse
lf that includes everything beautiful and good Texas has to offer, and I’ll forget about you.”

  Long Quiet’s features hardened at her reference to Jonas Harper. “So be it! Forget about me. As I will forget you.” He retrieved his knife and kicked the dead snake away from her parfleche. He dumped out the remainder of the contents of the rawhide bag to make sure there were no more unpleasant surprises waiting to be discovered, then refilled it with her things. Bay stood beside him, holding the carefully folded leggings. When he was finished, she handed the leggings to him and he stuffed them inside the bag.

  “Come to bed, Shadow. We have a longer journey tomorrow than I expected. You’ll need your rest.”

  He reached out a hand to her, and when she took it, he led her to the pallet they would share. After she’d lain down, he lay beside her. Bay turned away from him, trying desperately to hide her grief. But one sob escaped, and then a second.

  Long Quiet reached out a hand to comfort her, but Bay jerked away. “Don’t touch me!”

  But he remembered the times he’d refused comfort in anger when comfort was what he wanted most. So he ignored her struggles and turned her into his embrace. He held her tight, his fingers brushing through her silky auburn hair as she cried out her pain.

  His hands eased the tension at the base of her back, then curved around her buttocks to hold her close. He was only conscious that she felt good nestled snugly against him. The sudden rigid arousal of his body caught him by surprise.

  Bay wasn’t sure when the need for comfort had become desire, but her arousal fully matched Long Quiet’s. She arched her pelvis into Long Quiet’s tumescence and heard the responsive groan deep in his throat.

  “Love me tonight,” she said in a low voice raspy from crying. “Give me a memory to keep me through the long days and nights without you.”

  Long Quiet kissed the corners of her mouth before his tongue traced the shape of her lips. He teased her, never fully satisfying her need, until Bay reached up and grasped his hair with her hands and brought his lips down to meet hers. They opened their mouths and tasted one another, searching for honeyed treasure. Long Quiet bit her lip and then soothed the hurt with the tip of his tongue. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nipped at it with his teeth. Then she did the same to him. They made love with their mouths while their hands roamed each other, touching greedily, with all the love they’d intended for a lifetime needing to be spent in a single night.

  Their loving was intense, as moving as their first time together, as violent as their last. His hands sought the wet warmth of her and she flowered for him. And then he replaced his fingers with his mouth.

  Bay bucked in surprise and pleasure. “What . . . I can’t . . .” She gasped with sheer pleasure as he tasted all of her with his tongue. When she crested on a wave of ecstasy, he joined their bodies and made two into one. He filled her full, thrusting deeply, surely, and when he felt her shudder with fulfillment, he spent his seed inside her with a cry.

  He rolled onto his side and pulled her tightly into his embrace. “You will never forget me,” he panted. Spent, exhausted, he could not stay awake to hear her reply.

  But Bay said nothing. She lay awake far into the night and watched her husband sleep. His face was not so harsh now, although his cheekbones stood out in sharp relief. She brushed aside a curl at his temple and traced his warm lips with her fingertip. She laid her head against his heart and let the steady beat soothe her to sleep. They had said their good-byes. She had nothing left to hope for now.

  Part II

  BAYLEIGH

  Chapter 14

  THE REPUBLIC OF TEXAS

  1843

  LONG QUIET WAS GONE. HE’D BROUGHT BAY SAFELY TO her father’s doorstep, but no farther.

  “You must go the rest of the way alone. The less your father knows of our relationship, the better. Do you understand, Shadow?”

  “No,” Bay cried. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this!”

  Long Quiet had clenched his jaw, biting back the retort Bay could see forming. He’d simply turned his pinto and ridden away.

  Bay stood and stared at her father’s house. Before her rose a two-story structure surrounded by a double gallery porch. It was painted a dazzling white that was almost blinding in the midday sun. The windows gleamed, reflecting the light like huge cat eyes. Rip had built almost a replica of the house that had burned down the day she’d been captured by Tall Bear three years before.

  Bay noted only slight differences. The windows must be a little smaller, because the shutters were more narrow, and the round columns that held up the second-floor porch were more elaborate. The front door was made of sturdy oak and looked heavier than she remembered. But the three live oaks that graciously draped the house with moss-covered limbs and gave Three Oaks its name stood as majestically proud as ever.

  She walked up the three steps and across the porch to the front door. She took a deep breath before reaching out and turning the shiny brass doorknob. The door opened and Bay was overwhelmed by the smell of the beeswax that had been used to polish the shiny oak floor in the central hallway. She wondered where everyone was. Then she heard voices from the dining room. Of course—they must be having dinner.

  As she turned into the first doorway on the right side of the hall, her moccasin sank into the plush Oriental carpet that covered the parlor floor. She walked farther into the room, touching things as she went. Her hand smoothed over the brocade settee. Her callused fingertips tested the cool marble mantel above the brick fireplace.

  She followed her nose to the dining room door. She stayed just out of sight beyond the doorway so she could observe without being seen. Rip sat at the head of a cherrywood table, where he’d always sat, with Sloan to his right and Cricket at the far end of the table. The fourth chair, the seat that had always been hers, was empty. Bay yearned to be sitting there now, yearned to turn back the clock, to make things the way they’d been three years ago.

  Bay looked for changes in her family and found them. Her father, a huge bear of a man, sat as arrogantly straight and tall as ever, but deeper wrinkles etched his brow and somber lines framed his eyes and mouth. Gray now threaded through his rich auburn hair, which curled down over his collar. But Rip’s eyes had lost none of their vitality.

  In Sloan the changes were more subtle. She held her body more rigidly and her chin bore an even more determined thrust than it had three years ago. Her low, sensuous voice held a sharper edge than Bay remembered.

  The changes in Cricket were most notable. She radiated happiness in her sparkling eyes and the burble of contained laughter in her voice. When she spoke, the contentiousness that had marked her character before her marriage to Jarrett Creed was missing.

  They were eating clove-laced ham with honeyed sweet potatoes and buttered corn and peas. It was Cricket’s favorite meal. Rip and Sloan were discussing the cotton crop that had just been harvested and sent down the Brazos River to market in Galveston. Sloan remarked how it had been a poor year but better than the last, and suggested perhaps they ought to put in a few more acres of sugarcane or corn next year. It was all so familiar. And all so very, very strange.

  Bay rested her head against the doorjamb, unaware that she’d made herself visible to those in the room.

  Cricket saw Bay first and came up out of her chair so fast it shot over backward, landing with a clatter. “Oh, glory!”

  Cricket’s precipitous action brought Sloan and Rip to their feet with equal speed. Rip grabbed for a gun as he rose, and Bay found herself facing a .44 Colt revolver.

  Bay shrank from their intense stares and grasped the doorjamb with both hands to keep herself from running away. Her body trembled as she waited, watching her father’s face to see how she would be greeted. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and have him hold her, reassuring her that he loved her and she was welcome home.

  But Bay had never touched Rip so freely, and it was wishful thinking to hope he would greet he
r in such a manner now.

  For a few seconds, Rip’s face was blank. Bay swallowed hard as she realized Rip didn’t believe what his eyes told him he was seeing. Had she changed so much? Wasn’t he glad she was home? Hadn’t he missed her? She tried to imagine herself as they must see her—in soot-darkened buckskins, her feet covered in moccasins, travel-weary, trail-stained, her hair braided and held in place with bear grease, her skin tanned and her face freckled, her violet eyes wide and dark with fear.

  “My God,” Sloan breathed. “Is that you, Bay?”

  “Yes.”

  Both Sloan and Cricket remained frozen in place, jaws agape, eyes wide. Their gazes settled on Rip, ceding to him the privilege of being first to greet his long-lost daughter.

  Bay’s eyes were on Rip, hadn’t left him, in fact, since her discovery by Cricket. She searched his features, and it seemed the two of them carried on an entire conversation with their eyes.

  I’m back, Father.

  Where have you been? How have you been? What happened to you? How did you get here? Are you all right?

  Did you miss me?

  Is it really you, Bay? How I’ve missed you! You’ve grown. You’re a woman now.

  I’ve changed. Can you see I’m different than I was?

  I can hardly believe you’re alive, and here. Was your life hard? Did it change you much? Yes, I can see you’re not the same. Where is my fragile Bay? Where did she go?

  I’m here, Father. Please, can’t you show me how much you missed me? Can’t you hold me and comfort me as you did when I was very small?

  I want to hold you as I did when you were a child. But it’s been so long, Bay, since I have. I had to make you strong so you could carry on when I’m not here to help anymore. Did I keep myself too much from you? Is it too late to show you how very special you are?

  Did you ever love me? Do you love me now?

  I could never bear to be close to you; you reminded me so much of your mother. So gentle, so tender of heart that you couldn’t bear to see any living thing suffer.

  Please, please let me know I’m welcome here.