She nodded. Fortunately she was wearing her veil so her bitter mood was not apparent to her jailer.
Jack told her they were going to follow this river, the Colorado, as far as it would take them. He anticipated that would be Big Spring, Texas.
“Then we’ll cut across to the Pecos. I’ll have to ask when we get to Big Spring which trail will be best. A lot depends on what the Indians in the area are up to. The Pecos will take us the rest of the way to Santa Fe.”
She didn’t answer him; there seemed no point. He knew what he was doing. What did it matter what she thought, anyway?
“Well?”
It sounded as though he were angry with her. What a surprise.
In order to preclude his hollering she said, “That’s fine.”
She noticed him peering at her keenly and didn’t have the heart to take offense. Let him think what he wanted. He would anyway.
“You all right, Miss Honeycutt?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Thank you.”
She could tell he didn’t believe her. She didn’t care.
They rode for what seemed like an eternity that day. Nobody seemed to notice her at all, or that she didn’t say anything.
Of course, why should they? Who was she but an old-maid aunt who constantly scolded them about their manners, morals and speech. The veracity of an old saying became clear to her: the truth hurt.
Jack found them another nice campsite beside the river when the afternoon was dragging on toward evening. William seemed pleased as punch because Jack asked him to go hunting with him.
“We’re goin’ to shoot something for dinner, Aunt Phoebe. Ain’t that keen?”
“William said ‘keen,’ Aunt Phoebe,” Sarah tattled in case Phoebe had missed her brother’s slang.
Phoebe felt too disheartened to do anything but shake her head at the both of them. That’s all I am: a fussy old biddy, a scold, a point of dissension between brother and sister. What a ridiculous life you’ve led, Phoebe Antoinette Honeycutt.
Since Phoebe had never succumbed to self-pity before, she didn’t recognize its symptoms. But she didn’t even wave when William tripped merrily away after Jack. She just settled on a boulder, her chin in her bandaged hands, and watched while Sarah began to collect small river rocks.
That’s when the Indians came.
# # #
“Do you suppose there’s anything wrong with your aunt, Bill?”
Jack had debated about whether or not he should ask William the question, but he finally couldn’t stand not knowing. He’d have expected himself to be pleased that Little Miss Arbiter of Propriety had kept her mouth shut all day long, but he wasn’t. Not one tiny bit. He told himself his concern was only for her health. He knew he was lying.
“Aunt Pheeb?” William, who swaggered a bit every time Jack called him Bill, seemed surprised.
“Yes. She acted awfully quiet to me.”
William thought for a moment or two. “She didn’t scold about the horse at all.”
“Nope. She sure didn’t.”
“I expected her to set up a screech.”
“So did I.”
“I’m glad she didn’t.”
“Me, too.”
At least he thought he was. After he considered it for a minute, Jack said, “Well, she worries about the two of you, Bill. You’re her responsibility now, and I think she takes her responsibilities seriously.”
“I reckon.” William sounded as though he wished she didn’t.
Jack grinned at the boy. “Wouldn’t you rather have an aunt who loves you fussing at you than nobody to care at all, Bill?”
The expression on William’s face told Jack he’d never thought about it before. He was pleased with the boy’s, “Well, I guess so, Jack.” They were good kids, these two.
Then William said, “Maybe she is sick. Now that you mention it, I don’t know as I’ve ever seen her be this quiet. Not ever even once.”
“Maybe you could ask her when we get back to camp, Bill.”
“Sure, I can do that. You can, too.”
Jack grimaced. “I don’t think she’d tell me. She doesn’t seem to like me much.”
Which was a good thing, Jack told himself stoutly. He didn’t like her either.
He and William spotted some prairie chickens and made quick work of shooting their dinner. Jack was glad for the respite from Phoebe. He suspected his life would be much easier if his belief in Phoebe as a simpering, silly belle could be maintained. But she simply refused to behave like any belle he’d ever had anything to do with before. Take that snake, for example.
Add to everything the unseemly impulse to grab and kiss her he’d begun to entertain at odd moments throughout the day, and it looked as though this was going to be a long, miserable trip.
When they walked back to their camp, William was chattering away as though he hadn’t a care in the world, and Jack was trying like thunder to resuscitate his initial distaste for Phoebe.
He’d gotten lost in his own grumpy reflections when William’s voice captured his attention.
“Jack, look!”
Lifting his gaze, Jack beheld a sight frightening enough to make a strong man quake. A surge of primitive terror galloped through him before he looked more closely. Then he grunted in exasperation.
“It’s all right, William.” Still, he trotted the last several yards into camp.
Chapter Six
Phoebe didn’t notice anything amiss as she sat and brooded on her boulder, watching Sarah collect pebbles. It was Sarah, actually, who called attention to their visitors. She did it by means of a high-pitched, piercing shriek Phoebe was sure must have punctured her eardrums.
As soon as she turned to see what Sarah was pointing at, her heart sank into her brother Philip’s oversized shoes and she knew she was about to meet her Maker at last.
“Come here, Sarah,” Phoebe told the child with remarkable calm as she stood up.
Sarah darted over to her side, and Phoebe put an arm around her, holding her close, her own terror subsumed by her need to protect the little girl. Then she turned to face the alarming specter that had invaded their peace.
There were two of them, and they smiled at her evilly. The larger of the two, a brown-skinned, broad-shouldered man with long black hair, reached out to tweak her veil. Phoebe resisted the urge to jerk her head away. The savage grinned.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Phoebe scraped up a faint memory which told her one was supposed to humor these people with beads and wampum—whatever that was—if one didn’t wish to be killed. She was proud that her voice didn’t shake when she said, “You like?”
The man’s grin got bigger and seemed faintly mocking. Phoebe suppressed a skitter of annoyance. Taking a deep breath she said, “You like? I give. Okay?”
“Okay” was a word Phoebe had never used before in her life and scolded the children for using. She heard Sarah gasp as it left her lips. Nevertheless, Phoebe knew desperate times called for desperate measures, and if this wasn’t a desperate time, she didn’t know what was.
The evil man was chuckling now. “Okay.”
So, with shaky and much encumbered fingers, Phoebe untied her veil, unwound it from her head, and handed it over. Her heart crinkled up when she saw the man’s big red-brown hands crush the fabric. She’d scavenged that veiling from a gown of her mother’s and didn’t expect she’d ever be able to replace it. A damaged complexion was a small price to pay for their safety though, she reckoned.
For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She guessed it didn’t matter when the gigantic creature turned to his partner, a shorter, squatter, darker version of himself, and showed him the veil. In a language she’d never heard before they communicated with one another. The short one laughed, and the tall one pinched an edge of Phoebe’s veil between his fingers and watched as it blew up into the air like a kite. Perhaps this amusement would keep the barbarians at bay until Jack and William returned.
The thought of William coming into the camp, unsuspecting and unprepared, made fear well up in her heart and Phoebe tried hard to choke it back again. It didn’t work. She was frightened to death. Sarah had her little arms clamped around her waist in a gesture of trust Phoebe feared she didn’t deserve. Phoebe herself was so terrified she had to consciously suppress her trembles.
She gasped when the big man turned around once more to look at her. He began to finger the ribbons binding Phoebe’s braids and she gulped hard.
“You like?”
The red giant nodded. His eyes sparkled with what looked suspiciously like mischief, but Phoebe was so rattled she couldn’t be sure. It might just as easily be blood lust. What did she know about Indians?
She said softly, so as not to frighten the child, “Sarah, darlin’, will you please unpin my braids and take the ribbons out of my hair?”
Sarah was so scared she could only nod. Phoebe felt Sarah’s hands shake when she gave Phoebe the hairpins and then untied her ribbons. She gave those to Phoebe, as well. The girl was apparently too frightened of the Indian to hand them to him herself.
The large fellow added Phoebe’s yellow hair ribbons to the black veiling in his hand and held the combination up to catch the wind. He spoke to his comrade again and both of them laughed when the new banner he’d created began to billow in the breeze.
Phoebe had just begun to wonder what article of clothing she’d be required to relinquish next when she heard the crunch of footsteps and saw Jack and William running up to camp. She nearly fainted with relief, especially when her two Indian friends didn’t seem inclined to shoot at either of the new arrivals.
Then she almost dropped her teeth when she heard Jack holler, “What the hell are you doing, Pete?”
“Pete?” Her startled exclamation got lost in a bellow of laughter when the tall Indian turned toward Jack’s yell.
“Well, as I live and breathe,” he said, thereby winning a gasp from Phoebe, “If it ain’t Black Jack Valentine himself!”
Jack was out of breath when he skidded to a dusty halt in front of the Indian. They were much of a size, both tall and swarthy, although Jack’s complexion contained none of the red the Indian boasted. Phoebe realized her mouth had dropped open and she shut it in a hurry. Sarah still clung to her in terror or Phoebe would have demanded an immediate explanation of this intrusion.
“What the hell are you doing here, Pete?”
“Now is that any way to greet your long, lost blood-brother, Black Jack?”
“Howdy, Jack,” the other, shorter Indian said.
Phoebe’s brows began to furrow. “Are you all right, Sarah dear?” she asked.
Sarah nodded.
“Then you run to William for a minute, darlin’.” Phoebe peeled Sarah’s arms from around her waist and watched as Sarah scampered to William’s side. She was gratified to see William take his sister by the hand and lead her to some good sitting rocks beside the river. There the children nestled themselves and watched the doings in camp with fascination.
She waited until she was sure the two of them were safe, then stomped over to the trio of men who had drawn apart. Striding right past Jack, she stopped squarely in front of the tall Indian. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, but she did it.
“Do you mean to tell me you speak English?” She was so furious her voice shook.
Her ire only seemed to amuse him. “Yes, ma’am, I sure do,” he said in a perfect, and therefore detestable, Yankee accent.
Phoebe shook off the hand Jack placed on her arm. “Then why did you pretend not to?”
The man cocked his head and his smile got bigger. “Well, ma’am, I don’t recollect us having any sort of conversation about it. You started talkin’ to me as if you expected me to scalp you any second, and I just sort of couldn’t help myself.”
Phoebe couldn’t believe her ears. When the tall man’s short companion chuckled, she began to puff up like an irate hen fluffing its feathers. “How dare you frighten us that way? Why, you almost gave Sarah and me heart failure! The very idea: pretending to be savages, when all along, you were just making fun of us! You should be ashamed of yourselves!”
Jack finally grabbed her arm and held on. “If you’ll be quiet for a minute, Miss Honeycutt, I’ll introduce you.”
He had to fight the impulse to put a comforting arm around her. She must have been scared to death. She defied him for another second or two, then he felt her sag.
“Miss Phoebe Honeycutt, let me introduce you to Pete Spotted Pony.”
Phoebe did not indicate by so much as the blink of an eye that she heard him. Nor did she respond to Pete’s relatively polite—for him—greeting of, “Howdy, Miss Honeycutt.”
With a sigh, Jack forged ahead. “And this is Pete’s cousin Antelope.”
She said, “Antelope?”
“Antelope.”
“How-do, Miss Honeycutt.”
Then silence reigned as all of the men looked at Phoebe. Jack couldn’t tell what was going on in her head, but she sure looked mad.
At last Pete said, “Guess you’d like these back, ma’am,” and held out her veil and hair ribbons.
Phoebe stared for several seconds at the delicate items fluttering from his big brown fingers. Then, just when Jack began to think the shock of having these two jokesters invade their camp must have sent her over the edge, she gave her head a sharp shake and said, “Keep them.” Then she turned around and walked over to her boulder, sat down with her back to them, and began to stare at the river.
“What’s the matter with her hands?” Pete looked after her curiously.
“Blistered all to hell pushing a plow,” Jack told him. He was distracted, though, and peered after her in dismay. He wanted to go to her, ask her what was wrong, tell her these men were not violent, explain to her that they just liked to play practical jokes.
“Don’t she know how to use gloves?” Antelope asked with a grin.
“She couldn’t afford gloves.”
“Well, hell, Black Jack,” Pete said, his interest in Phoebe’s hands obviously minimal, “What’re you doing here in the middle of Texas anyway?”
“Passing through, Pete. Just passing through on our way to Santa Fe.”
Phoebe couldn’t remember ever feeling so indignant. It was bad enough when she thought those wretched Indians were going to murder them all. But they’s merely been making sport of her. With a bitter smile she acknowledged that they’d certainly had an easy job of it.
A glance at her nephew and niece assured her they were perfectly fine, thank you, without any direction or guidance from her, so she maintained her stony pose on the rock.
They don’t really need me anyway. I should just have sent them to Uncle Fred and stayed behind in Georgia where I belong. They certainly wouldn’t have been any worse off alone together than they have been with me.
Another peek revealed that William and Sarah had left their perch by the river. Phoebe swiveled her head just enough to assure herself they were happy and in the company of Jack. William looked intensely pleased to be meeting a couple of real Indians. Chatter swelled up behind her and the breeze brought delighted childish laughter to her ears.
Fine. Let them enjoy themselves. They’ve already had a good laugh at my expense. Laugh away.
Phoebe hunched on her boulder, her face exposed to the setting sun, defying freckles, and listened to the cheerful rumble of voices behind her. From time to time words and phrases sailed clearly to her upon the gentle zephyrs, but for the most part the conversation was a mere jumble of voices. Happy voices.
The river appealed to her more than human companionship. It made no demands, held no viewpoints, neither approved nor disapproved of her. Besides, it was pretty. It danced and splashed, making merry little waterfalls over rock jams, fostering spontaneous races among fallen leaves, sparkling in the setting sun as if some gay sprite had sprinkled it with gold dust.
Phoebe wondered what it w
ould feel like to dabble her toes in the fresh water and decided it would probably feel like heaven. It had been a long time since she’d bathed; longer still since she’d had a real bath. She and the children had been confined to sponge baths ever since they left Georgia. In the last couple of days those sponge baths had been scanty indeed. She wrinkled her nose.
But it was improper for a lady to remove her shoes and stockings in the presence of others, so Phoebe wouldn’t do it. If nobody else on the face of the earth cared about the rules of polite society, Phoebe did. What was going to happen to them when the rules had all been tossed aside? The world would become another Bedlam. Phoebe didn’t think she’d be able to stand it.
After a while, the smell of roasting meat assaulted her nostrils and made her stomach clench with hunger but she didn’t bother to get up. The mere thought of joining that jolly group made her head ache.
“I brought you some supper, Miss Honeycutt.”
Jerking around, Phoebe got caught up in Jack’s dratted blue gaze before she knew what she was about. Those eyes of his didn’t appear wicked tonight. They held what looked very much like concern, and Phoebe thought, How dare he feel sorry for me.
She murmured a stiff, “Thank you,” and wriggled herself around so she could take the plate he held for her. She was ravenous, and dipped into her dinner before the appalling fact he planned to share her boulder registered. When it did, she stared at him in horror.
His rueful chuckle made her cheeks heat up.
“I won’t eat you, Miss Honeycutt. I only thought I’d eat with you.”
Phoebe didn’t deign to answer. The prairie chicken was delicious. Of course, when a body was this hungry, almost anything tasted good, but this vile man did seem to know how to prepare game over a campfire. She tried to cut the bird’s flesh with her spoon and it skittered across her tin plate.
“It’s easier if you pick it up,” Jack suggested softly.
She cast him a glare, then wondered, Oh, what’s the use? She might as well throw this piece of polite behavior to the four winds, too. What did anything matter anymore? She picked up her prairie chicken leg and bit into it.
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