Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  "I'm imagining you as a child, bloodying the nose of someone who dared to whisper you were a bastard. And God help the person who said it about one of your sisters within your hearing." He saw by Mary's pink cheeks that he had hit the mark perfectly. "You may have tormented the other Marys—and I'm sure they tormented in turn—but I'll wager that when it came to society's cold censure, the five of you closed ranks so tightly cannon shot couldn't have breached your defenses. I should think that in time Jay Mac discovered all his protection was superfluous."

  Mary nodded. "Poor Jay Mac," she said without a hint of pity in her voice. "He loves us all to distraction."

  There were two telegrams left unopened. One of them, Mary knew, had to be from her father. Her hand wavered between them. She picked the one on the left and opened it. Her sigh was audible. "It's from Rennie and Jarret," she said, glancing at the last line first. She scanned the contents quickly and then went over it again, filling Ryder in. "The search for us has all but been called off. Rennie says General Gardner thinks we left the area a long time ago and isn't willing to commit so many men to our capture. Rennie is battling him on it, of course." She glanced at Ryder. "Can't you just picture her insisting that Gardner muster all his forces for another search and all the while she knows we're somewhere east of the Mississippi?" Mary went back to reading. "Rosario's dead," she said, her voice deep with regret. "Apparently he tried to escape and fell into one of the vertical mine shafts."

  Privately Ryder wondered if there were more to the story than Jarret or Rennie cared to share. For himself, Ryder had no regrets, but he watched Mary struggle with this news. "Do they write anything of Geronimo?" he asked.

  Mary inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, composing herself. "Only that he still evades capture. There have been no more raids on the mining camp." She frowned. "This is strange. Rennie wants to know about the map. She's interested in it and wants to survey. What's she talking about?"

  Ryder shrugged. "Hell if I—" He stopped, his brows drawn together, remembering. "When we were leaving the mine... the man who stopped you, thinking you were Rennie... didn't he want a map?"

  "Oh, God, yes. I forgot. I gave him one of the ones from your saddlebags."

  Ryder jumped off the bed and went straight to the wardrobe. He took out the saddlebags, opened them; and removed the two remaining maps. The map that showed the largest geographical area was still there. So was the one that charted the caves and passages of the Cavern of Lost Souls. "You gave him Joe Panama's map of Colter Canyon. And he gave it back to your sister."

  Mary was relieved. "Well, that's not so bad. For a moment I was afraid Rennie had taken it in her head to survey the cavern. I don't think she should go around blasting a burial site, do you?"

  "I was thinking the same thing." He folded the maps and put the saddlebags away. "At least there's no harm in her having Panama's map. She's welcome to it." He gave Mary a knowing look. "As if either one of us could stop her."

  "Welcome to my family." She put aside Rennie's telegram and picked up the last one. "Do you want to open it?" she asked hopefully. "He's your father-in-law."

  "Pass." He did walk over to Mary's side. She made room for him on the edge of the desk, and he read over her shoulder when she unfolded Jay Mac's telegram.

  HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND STOP

  ON MY WAY STOP

  HAVE SHOTGUN STOP

  "Your father does not mince words," said Ryder.

  "It is succinct."

  "At least he hasn't notified any authorities. He could just as easily have turned me in."

  "That's not Jay Mac's way," Mary said, sighing. "No, I'm afraid he wants to kill you himself."

  "That's how I read it, too."

  They were silent for more than a minute, simply staring at the neatly phrased telegram before they burst out laughing. Not that there was anything remotely funny about John MacKenzie Worth's questioning his daughter's sanity or stalking Ryder with a loaded shotgun. It was just that the tension needed a release, and Ryder and Mary could find it in the most unlikely of places.

  Mary replaced the telegram carefully in its envelope and wiped the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "If Jay Mac's coming, then you can be certain he's not alone. The cavalry is coming with him."

  The same thought had occurred to Ryder. It didn't matter that none of the other telegrams mentioned it, the rest of the family would be there if for no other reason than to prevent Jay Mac from committing murder. "I suspect the Marys are about to close ranks," he said.

  "Be thankful we're closing them around you."

  He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. "I give thanks every day."

  It wasn't until they reached Baltimore that Ryder told Mary about his uncle. He didn't expect anything to dissuade her, so he simply put off the unpleasant task until time ran out.

  Mary had bought a newspaper at the Baltimore station, and she was reading it, her eyes intent. He took the paper out of her hands when calling her name had absolutely no effect on her concentration.

  "What is it?" she asked. She was not successful at masking her annoyance. "I was reading that, you know."

  Ryder folded the paper and tossed it on the desk. It slid across the surface, teetered on the far edge, then fell to the floor. Mary started to rise to get it, but he stopped her. "I want to talk to you," he said.

  It was his grave tone more than the words themselves that had Mary sitting again. She looked at him curiously, her annoyance vanishing.

  "I know you've put a lot of stock in my uncle's help," he began. "Indeed, you can't imagine that he wouldn't come to our aid. That's easy to understand when you've been privileged to have your experiences. Wilson Stillwell—that's how I think of him, not as Uncle Wilson—we've never been on close terms. He was my mother's stepbrother. They were the same age and not particularly close themselves although they were raised together from the time they were eight. When my mother married, Wilson was already in the state legislature. By the time my sister was born he was a congressman and except for obligatory visits back to Ohio for campaigning and fund-raising, we rarely saw him."

  Ryder ran a hand through his hair. "He never took much interest in us or we in him. It's not anything anyone's ever regretted. It's just the way it was... the way it is."

  Mary was silent, waiting for Ryder to make his point.

  "I know you think he was present for my trial because he cared what happened to me. Given your experiences, that's a reasonable assumption. But it's not an accurate one. He was a character witness at my trial; he testified on my behalf."

  "Surely that—"

  He held up his hand. "He needed to do it to absolve himself. Wilson Stillwell wields a lot of power in the Senate. He sits on a number of important committees and has the ear of the President. He was largely responsible for my assignment to the Colter Canyon patrol. He saw that I got good assignments, that I came to the attention of people who could further my career. In fact, he had a lot to do with my favored status among the Army commanders."

  "I don't believe that," Mary inserted quickly. "If your status was favored it's because you earned it. I'll never believe anything else. Anyway, if there weren't some feeling on his part, why would he want to give you important assignments or see that you enjoyed any privilege?"

  "To absolve himself of more guilt." Ryder sat in the chair behind the desk, turning it so he could stretch his legs out to the side. The curtains in their private car were drawn back. Sunshine filtered through the weather-stained windows and touched the side of Ryder's face, highlighting his austere, angled features. "I hold Wilson Stillwell responsible for the death of my daughter, my wife, her family, and the thirty other Chiricahua who were massacred at Antler's Ridge."

  It was a horrible accusation, one that Mary did not fully understand, but she had little doubt that Ryder held it close to his heart.

  "When my family was murdered by the Tonto, and I was abducted, there was no search, there were no reprisals
by the Army. I find no fault with that. Someone, somewhere, had decided the killing should stop. After all, the raid on our wagon train was a retaliation by the Tonto Apache for a previous Army attack on one of their camps. The only point I want to make is that my uncle saw no reason at that time to have the raid investigated or to put any pressure on anyone for revenge. Instead, he used it. He accepted that we had all been killed and mourned our passing very publicly. It served his purpose very well; he closed the narrow margin that separated him from his political opponent and took a seat in the Senate."

  "You cannot be so cynical," she said softly.

  It made sense to Ryder that she would see it as cynicism whereas he only saw it as truth. "Years later, when I began to go on raids, and a rumor surfaced about a gray-eyed, white boy living among the Chiricahua, my uncle decided it was expedient to look into the matter."

  "You can't fault him for that. It's natural that he would want—"

  "He was running a close campaign for reelection. This time he was the incumbent and likely to be unseated. It would have been humiliating for him. The investigation was a way to get attention off policy and the scandal-ridden administration and to play on public sympathy." Ryder's smile did not reach his eyes, his grin was humorless. "The Army found me," he said. "Captured me, to be more specific. I ran away. Not once, but on three different occasions. I could not have made it clearer that I had no desire to return to my uncle or any other way of life. I had a wife, a daughter, and a family. They were more real to me than an uncle I could barely remember.

  "I said as much to my uncle when he came West to convince me himself. He didn't recognize me, couldn't even be certain I was his nephew, but I couldn't keep the recognition out of my own eyes and it was enough for him. I was more of a trophy than I was his kin."

  Mary's hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She bit her lower lip to keep from offering any measure of unwanted sympathy.

  "That was before I ran the third time. I was twenty years old. I had been a man—a warrior—for years, and Wilson Stillwell convinced himself I didn't know my own mind. Or he was convinced I was wrong." His jaw tightened, and Ryder's voice took on an unpleasant edge. "Or he believed that his own needs were more important than mine."

  He caught himself and straightened in the chair, drawing back his long legs and leaning forward. He rested his forearms on his knees. "The last escape was the easiest, I realized that later. But then I was confident, a little arrogant in my ability to fool all of the whites. I forgot what I had learned about caution or listening to the warnings in my own head. I forgot to embrace the waiting and struck out when it seemed easiest."

  Mary knew now what she was going to hear, and she braced herself for it.

  "I was followed. Most unusual for the Army, they waited. They waited through the celebration of my return until a raiding party was formed days later. They let the men leave. Then they struck the unprotected camp. It was deliberate, and it was savage, and it was done at my uncle's behest. He couldn't get me to leave my family so he took them away from me. That's the kind of man he is, Mary. Don't ever forget that."

  She was staring at him, her eyes revealing horror. Ryder wondered at the source of that emotion. Was she horrified by what he told her, or horrified that he believed what he was saying? She considered herself worldly, but she liked to think the best of others. She would have a difficult time accepting that he was not so inclined to give the benefit of the doubt. Ryder knew it would be her nature to try to change his mind rather than alter her own beliefs.

  "You must be wrong," she whispered. "You must have misunderstood."

  He merely shrugged. An argument could accomplish nothing. He had armed her with the same knowledge he had, the knowledge that evil could be embodied in a man who craved power. She would have to make of it what she would. "When I was captured again, I remained," he said quietly. "I was numb with grief, too tormented to suspect the truth then. That came to me over time, over years of watching my uncle and learning what he had to teach me that he did not mean for me to learn. He sponsored me at West Point. I lasted two years, but it was long enough to distinguish myself as a troublemaker. I didn't fit in, and I didn't much try to. With the exception of Walker Caide, I had no friends and no desire to find any.

  "There were professors who thought I had promise academically, but I wasn't interested in following in my father's footsteps. Some of the men there thought I had promise in other areas. That's when Wilson brought me to Washington and I began to take on special assignments."

  Ryder raised his chin a notch and said flatly, "And that's when I read the confidential accounts of the Western Campaigns and satisfied myself as to my uncle's duplicity."

  Mary took in an uneasy breath. His eyes were so cold, so hard, it was difficult to look at him and recall he was capable of any kindness. "What did you do?"

  "I confronted him."

  "And?"

  "He denied it. It was no less than I expected, but this time I saw the recognition in his eyes. He knew I knew, and it was enough for me."

  "Yet you took the assignments. You accepted his help."

  There was no regret in Ryder's eyes. "The assignments were dangerous," he said frankly. "Of course I accepted them."

  It was then Mary realized he had only been trying to kill himself. The enormity of what he had been contemplating, the grievous nature of that sin, chilled Mary to the bone. She hugged herself.

  Ryder was watching her carefully. Her face was pale, the skin almost porcelain with its cool delicacy. Had he become a monster in her eyes? She could no longer be thinking that she understood him so well. She must be thinking that she didn't know him at all. "I survived," he said, shrugging as though it were of little account. For many years it hadn't mattered. He'd felt more anger about surviving than any sense of gratitude.

  Mary came up out of her chair. "How dare you say it like that," she said sharply. Her eyes pinned him in place, flashing. "How dare you think—" She couldn't go on. She had no words to express what she felt and anyway anger closed her throat.

  Her hands, now dropped to her sides, were clenched tightly. If Ryder had tried to touch her in that moment she would have driven one bloodless fist into his jaw and knocked him senseless.

  He came to his feet slowly, but he didn't approach her. He saw the intent in her posture all too clearly. "It was like that then," he said. "Not now."

  "It doesn't matter. Your life was as precious then as it is today. You were careless with it because you thought there was nothing to live for. Life is its own purpose, Ryder. It has meaning in and of itself." Tears glittered in her eyes. "You must never love me so much as you loved your wife. I won't allow you. I won't—"

  His arms came around her. Mary struggled briefly, but he had her in a secure embrace and in the end she quieted and leaned limply against him. "You have no say over how much I love or how well," he said, stroking her hair.

  Her damp cheek was pressed to his shirt. "I would not want you to end your life because I was no longer in it," Mary whispered hoarsely. "There would be no peace for me if that was a decision you could come to."

  Ryder kissed the crown of her head. He breathed deeply of the fragrance of her hair. "Sweet Mary," he said softly. "I would survive because I know you'd pass up the chance at heaven just to get even with me in hell."

  She raised her head and gave him a brilliant, if somewhat watery smile. "No one knows me half so well as you."

  It didn't seem there was any point in discussing things further. They were only one hour out of Washington. There were better ways to pass the time.

  Chapter 14

  They agreed they should stay in a hotel. A day ago Mary would have insisted they see Wilson Stillwell immediately upon their arrival. In light of Ryder's disclosure, she was willing to wait.

  It was raining when they disembarked. They were clearly seen by two porters and the conductor as they left the private car. Mary merely smiled as the Northeast employees watched them with so
me confusion, scratching their heads and then talking excitedly among themselves.

  "We've been found out," Mary said. She hefted a valise in each hand while Ryder carried a trunk. "Let's go before they rush to help us and ask more questions than we care to answer."

  Ryder flagged a hack just outside the station. He gave the driver the address of a boarding house he knew was suitable for Mary and reasonably priced. The funds loaned to them by Rennie and Jarret would go quickly if they weren't carefully managed.

  Mary leaned back on the cushioned seat of the hack and removed her bonnet. Water dripped from the brim and splashed the hem of her dress. She was grateful for the arm Ryder put around her shoulders to warm her. It seemed there was nothing colder than a rainy day in winter.

  Although the ride from the station to the boarding house was not overly long, Mary was drifting off to sleep by the time they arrived. Ryder paid the hack driver the fare and a little extra to help with the baggage so he could assist Mary.

  The Monarch Hotel had a grander name than its appearance warranted. It catered to boarders rather than overnight guests.

  The clientele appreciated the homey atmosphere, which was really just deterioration of the furnishings and neglect of the structure over time. Not that the hotel was rundown. It was just that things weren't replaced or repaired quickly.

  The lobby was small, furnished with a few overstuffed chairs and an Oriental rug that was worn in the center and frayed at the edges. The clerk's large oak desk was polished but scarred, and the potted plants that decorated the lobby's perimeter looked in need of watering.

  The book the clerk turned for Ryder to sign was a massive tome. It contained the signatures of some of the most famous and infamous politicians of the past forty years. Beside him, Ryder felt Mary shake off sleep as her curiosity was aroused by the registry. "Later," he said. "Mr. Stanley here will let you look. They're very proud of this book at the Monarch."