Comanche Eagle

by Sara Orwig

  “Not too well.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Want some help?”

  “Aye, that would be good now,” the minister said, stepping back and handing the axe to Travis.

  Wrapping his fingers around the worn wooden handle, Travis hoisted the blade high and brought it down, splitting a log. Travis worked in silence while Nealy moved to the pump to wash his face and then to take a long drink of water. The chopping was a release for Travis’s pent-up anger, and he momentarily forgot his purpose as he let his body settle into a rhythm of swinging the axe. When he was ready to stop, he slammed the blade into a log and straightened to look at the minister.

  “There’s a few more logs for you that you won’t have to cut yourself.”

  “Thank ye.” He received a grin as the preacher sat on a stump and waited patiently.

  “I want you to come with me now if you will. I want to marry. I need a woman to care for my baby.”

  Preacher Nealy’s brows arched. “Isn’t this rather sudden?”

  Travis took a deep breath. “No more sudden than Elizabeth’s death.”

  “I suppose,” the stocky minister replied. He rubbed his jaw as he stood up. “This is a harsh land and it makes harsh demands on us. The land also holds large rewards for us. Let us hope this union ye’re about to enter will hold rewards for ye and yer intended.”

  “My son is the one who should benefit.”

  “Aye. ’Tis a good thing. And this woman who has agreed to this union—she must love the little tyke?”

  “It’s Judge Spencer,” Travis said, falling into step beside the minister as they started toward a shed. The minister stopped and turned to stare at Travis.

  “Judge Spencer?” The preacher’s sandy brows arched.

  “That’s right.” Travis felt a twinge of impatience. Was he going to have to explain this union to every man in town?

  “Judge Spencer is older and beyond marrying age. She has shown no particular fondness for children. This is a decision made in haste, son.”

  “I know what I need. I have damned few choices, sir.”

  Blue eyes studied Travis, and Travis gazed back without flinching. He had been over and over this in his mind and he knew she was the only choice not just in town, but for miles around in the Territory.

  “Maybe ye should reconsider.”

  Travis’s stomach fluttered as he shook his head. “No. I know what I’m doing, and she’ll be a fine wife.”

  “I would give this thought.”

  “You wouldn’t if you had a baby screaming for care,” Travis retorted. “I need a woman and there aren’t many in the Territory who aren’t already taken.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true. Very well. You know what you want to do. I should wash my hands and face and change shirts and then we’ll go.”

  Travis nodded, taking little offense at the minister’s frank comments. Preacher Nealy always spoke his mind. A reason, Travis decided, the man might be settled in a frontier town where people often accepted behavior they might not back in the States.

  Ten minutes later, he walked down the street with Reverend Nealy beside him. Perfunctorily, he continued to argue with the preacher about marrying Judge Spencer without waiting several weeks. Travis’s thoughts drifted as the minister talked about the vows of matrimony being forever binding and Travis should give more thought to what he was doing. The only person who had known about his plans and had not tried to talk him out of them had been Turtle River. When he had told the Cheyenne, Turtle River had remained silent and looked beyond him as if he were having one of his visions. Travis had become accustomed to Turtle River’s silences, so Travis had waited without talking. Turtle River’s gaze had returned to Travis and Turtle River had nodded.

  “It is a good thing,” he had said in a tone indicating that was the only comment on the matter that Travis would get. Either Turtle River approved of Judge Spencer or he approved of Travis’s need for a woman to care for the babe or he felt marrying the judge sufficient revenge for Doc Spencer’s carelessness.

  As they approached the store, Clem was no longer in sight, but the other two men still stood talking.

  “We’ll need witnesses,” the reverend remarked.

  “Tom, Logan, come be witnesses to the wedding,” Travis called. “I’ll get my horse and join you,” he added to the preacher and strode toward the sporting house. While the men fell into step, Delilah watched as Travis approached.

  “Who’s getting married?” she asked, studying him with narrowed eyes.

  “I’m marrying Judge Spencer, Delilah. I need someone to take care of my son.”

  Delilah nodded solemnly. “That’s a good thing. Miss Spencer is all right.”

  He was surprised that Delilah would approve of Judge Spencer. He was certain the opposite would not be true.

  “She’s a real lady,” Delilah said with a wistful note coming into her voice.

  “Yeah,” Travis answered, wondering how much Delilah would consider the judge a real lady if she knew Judge Spencer had tried to shoot him this morning.

  “You’re marrying today?”

  “Yes. Reverend Nealy’s going to marry us.”

  She shrugged. “Too bad it’s so soon. Since you’re between wives, you could have come up for a little fun. It’s been a long time,” she said, running her tongue across her upper lip, her voice becoming coy.

  For just an instant Travis wished he could drink himself beyond thought and go upstairs and bury himself in Delilah’s soft body and her loving arms. He glanced at the waiting men and then stepped closer to Delilah, tilting her chin up again. “Someday, Delilah. I’m not marrying Judge Spencer because I’m in love with her.”

  “Yeah, Travis,” she said, lapsing into more familiar terms with him. “But I know you men of honor. Once you’re married—”

  “Not this time,” he said, feeling the hurt come. He straightened up. “There isn’t a shred of love this time. And she knows how it is, so honor doesn’t even come into it. This is a bargain between us.”

  “She’s damn lucky,” Delilah said solemnly.

  “I’ll be back.” He turned and led his horse, falling into step next to the Reverend Nealy again.

  “Thank heaven you’re not taking Delilah or Fancy,” Logan said with feeling. “Don’t know what we’d do without the two of ’em.”

  As Travis and the other men approached the small white house, Travis wondered how Miss Spencer had fared with his son. The little fellow had a mind of his own and he could set up a fearsome howl when he was not satisfied.

  They reached the end of the street. Travis looked at the simple house made from the wood of packing boxes. Sunlight brightly reflected off the flattened tin cans that shingled the roof. Travis knew from Ellery’s talking that the place had only one bedroom. A little over a year ago after the death of their only other relative, their grandfather, Judge Spinster had come West to join her brother. Ellery had given her the bedroom and moved himself into the small room that was his office.

  Two pots of flowers bloomed on the porch, one filled with delicate lavender columbine, the other with bright yellow daisies. A riot of primroses peeked over the edge of one end of the porch. Although little more than a shack, the house looked tidy and welcoming. He was certain it was Miss Spencer’s touch and not her brother’s. If she wanted, he would move her flowers along with her other things. A piano … about as useful out here as toenails on a snake.

  In silence the men walked to the hitching rail, and Travis looped the bay’s reins around the rail. Reverend Nealy turned to him, his eyes filled with unspoken questions. Wind ruffled his curly hair as he studied Travis, who gazed back at him steadily. “I think ye should reconsider what ye are about to do.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Travis said quietly, aware that he had not convinced Reverend Nealy of the need of this union. “She can take care of my baby. I need her; and she has no one now with Ellery gone, so she needs me,” he insiste
d again.

  Reverend Nealy shrugged.

  Logan scratched his chin as he stood beside them. “Too damn few good women out here. That’s the drawback. Man has a chance to build something, to make something of hisself, but it’s damned lonesome without women. Delilah and Fancy are good company, but sometimes they’re not enough. And it ain’t the same when you share them with every man here.”

  “No, it sure as hell isn’t,” Travis said. “Pardon me, Reverend.”

  “Well, if yer mind’s set this is what ye want to do, let’s begin,” Reverend Nealy said, turning toward the front porch. He glanced at the two witnesses. “C’mon, boys.”

  “Hey, Travis,” Logan said softly and Travis turned. “You can still back out.”

  “No. I know what I’m doing,” he answered grimly, thinking about the hellish past two weeks when he hadn’t known how to take care of his son and he’d had to bury Elizabeth and deal with his grief. He strode across the porch and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” came a lilting voice from the other side of the door. How he wished that voice belonged to one of the women he had known in his lifetime! He opened the door and paused, feeling momentarily better than he had all morning.

  Holding his son in her arms, Judge Spencer was rocking her body and his baby back and forth on a straight-backed chair. The baby was asleep again, looking angelic, and the judge looked as if she had handled babies all her life.

  “Judge Spencer, I brought Reverend Nealy to marry us,” Travis said.

  “Good morning, Judge Spencer,” Reverend Nealy said politely, doffing his hat. “Logan and Tom are here as witnesses.” As Travis closed the door, she rose to her feet as gracefully as if she didn’t have her arms filled with a sleeping infant.

  “Good morning, Mr. Nealy, Mr. Yiblonski, Mr. North.”

  As soon as greetings were said, the men viewed Travis’s tiny son. “Little fellow,” Tom said.

  “He’s already grown a bit since I last saw him,” stated the reverend. The men shifted their feet and gazed out the window while an uneasy silence fell.

  “Let’s get on with it, Reverend Nealy,” Travis said, tossing his black hat on the settee.

  “Very well. If ye two will stand in front of me.”

  Crystal held the sleeping baby and stood where Reverend Nealy directed. Her palms were wet and perspiration dotted her brow. Hurtful memories of another time in Baltimore plagued her, and she tried to close her mind to the bleak past and the frightening future.

  She did not look around, but she was aware of Travis Black Eagle moving to her side. She could feel the warmth from his body, and she was conscious of his height. His black clothes were a solid bulk in the corner of her vision.

  Her stomach fluttered and churned at the prospect of tying her life forever after with this tall, wild man who was completely foreign to all she had ever known. He was Indian, perhaps her brother’s killer. A chill ran down her spine and her breath came in short, fast gasps. Yet what choice did she have? The man had offered her hope.

  “We’ll begin,” Reverend Nealy announced. “Folks, we are gathered together in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together this man and this woman in the bonds of matrimony. Travis Black Eagle, do ye take Crystal Spencer for yer lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do,” he answered in a deep, firm voice, and she glanced up at him. He was formidable, a fierce determination in the set of his jaw and his dark eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling across Travis Black Eagle, revealing blue-black highlights in his hair and throwing his cheeks in shadow.

  “Do ye promise to love—” Reverend Nealy cast a worried glance at Travis. “Promise to honor and keep her so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  Feeling as dazed as she had the first few hours after she had learned about Ellery’s death, Crystal listened to the vows, wondering how this could be happening to her. And then Reverend Nealy was staring at her.

  “Crystal Spencer, do ye take Travis Black Eagle for yer lawful wedded husband?”

  “I do,” she replied, her heart hammering. She felt cold, and she was trembling again. Travis Black Eagle looked fierce and male and angry. How could she spend the rest of her life with this man?

  “Do ye promise to honor and obey him so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  “Very well, repeat after me. I, Crystal, take thee Travis—”

  “I, Crystal, take thee Travis,” she repeated, glancing up at Travis Black Eagle. His dark eyes were on her, and she felt ensnared. In their depths, pain and anger were raw and unmistakable. There was a masculine force in his gaze that was tangible, an intensity in his dark eyes that made her tremble and want to flutter her hand over her hair.

  “—to be my lawful, wedded husband. To have and to hold for better or for worse, for richer, God willing, or for poorer until death do us part. I hereby plight thee my troth.”

  Crystal repeated the words, her voice barely a whisper now, her mouth and throat feeling as if they were filled with cotton. She had played the piano at enough weddings and married enough people as justice of the peace to know Reverend Nealy was leaving the word love out of the vows. He was leaving out other things, too, but love was consistently omitted. Which was appropriate under the circumstances. This was the devil’s own bargain, she thought again.

  The babe in her arms stirred, and she looked down in surprise. She had forgotten him during the ceremony. His round face was serene, his tiny mouth pursed, and her fears fell away as reassurance filled her. He was a tiny being who already needed her and accepted her without reservation or reproach. If only she could properly take care of him! A fleeting panic seized her because she knew nothing about babies and she suspected she would be in charge of this one most of the time.

  “Travis Black Eagle, repeat after me: I, Travis Black Eagle, take thee Crystal Spencer, to be my lawful wedded wife.”

  Travis looked into her wide green eyes and he hurt so badly he could barely whisper the words. Not so very long ago it had been Elizabeth gazing up at him with love shining in her beautiful eyes. His throat closed up and he couldn’t get out the words. He tried again, and his words came out in a rasp. Shifting his gaze to his son, he took another breath and got through the vows.

  “Let us pray.”

  As she bowed her head, Crystal said her own silent, heartfelt prayer. Please, God, give me strength for what I have to do. Help me be a proper mother. And keep Travis Black Eagle busy with his livery stable.

  “Amen,” Reverend Nealy intoned. “Do ye have a ring?”

  To her surprise, Travis Black Eagle turned to take her hand and he held a plain gold band in his other hand. His fingers were warm against her cold ones, his hand rough from work.

  “Repeat after me,” Reverend Nealy said. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” Travis Black Eagle said in a tight voice, and she cast a surreptitious glance at him through lowered lashes and received another shock. His head was bent over their hands, but she could swear his eyes were filled with tears. Was she wearing his Elizabeth’s ring?

  “I now pronounce ye man and wife,” Reverend Nealy announced cheerfully. “Ye may kiss the bride.”

  She stiffened, feeling cold and frightened. Then Travis Black Eagle bent his head and brushed the most fleeting kiss across the top of her head. It was the faintest touch, yet she was keenly aware of him. She caught the cotton scent of his shirt, a faint odor of sweat. She had seldom felt dainty around men, but she did next to this one. She looked up at him as he stared at her grimly.

  “That’s it. I’ll be back with the wagon to get you and your things this afternoon,” he said, taking the baby from her. “Thanks, Reverend Nealy.” He handed the reverend money.

  “Congratulations,” Reverend Nealy said perfunctorily. The men said goodbye as if they couldn’t escape fast enough, and in a minute Crystal was alone. She stood at the front window while Travis Black
Eagle talked briefly to the three men, and then he mounted up, tucked his baby close against his body, and turned his horse toward the west. She touched the gold band that circled her finger and a tremor shook her. She was Mrs. Travis Black Eagle now.

  Two hours later, she heard a commotion in the yard and went to the window. On his dancing bay, Travis Black Eagle rode into the yard. A wagon pulled by a lively team of black horses slowed and stopped in the road. Stepping over belongings she had readied for the move, she went to the door and opened it, crossing the porch as Travis Black Eagle stood beside the wagon.

  She had heard Ellery talk about Turtle River, the full-blood who worked for Travis Black Eagle. The Indian had driven the wagon and he handed down Travis’s son and then jumped to the ground. With his babe in his arms, Travis turned to the house and the two men approached. Turtle River was slightly shorter than Black Eagle, but both men looked as if they belonged with their own people out in the wilds of the land. They both had long black hair—Travis’s was a wild tangle while Turtle River wore a braid with an eagle feather in his hair. He wore a leather vest, but was bare-chested beneath it. He wore buckskins and moccasins. He was solemn, his eyes almost as dark as Travis Black Eagle’s. Both of them looked wild and savage. They were coming to take her away with them. Her heart thudded and she wanted to run inside, bar the door, and scream at them to go away.

  She touched the ring on her finger, a tiny band that lawfully bound her like chains to the man approaching her.

  The two men paused at the bottom of the steps. “Crystal, this is Ma’ inoypo’ hi, Turtle River. Turtle River, my wife, Mrs. Black Eagle.” The last words were pronounced stiffly, and they raked over her raw nerves. “My wife.” She couldn’t believe the words, yet they were true. She felt caught in a nightmare. Travis’s features were unfathomable. She shifted her gaze to Turtle River to receive another impassive stare.

  “How do you do?” she asked politely. He nodded in return, and she thought he was as inscrutable as the man she had married.