by Jeanne Rose
Remembering she'd dreamt of forgiveness, of asking and giving, Frances knew she and Chaco had a lot to talk about. She needed to hear what he had to say about the gunfight just as she was sure he needed to tell her. She'd been unfair to turn her back on him.
Tomorrow she would listen.
Frances lay back against her pillows and started to adjust the covers, stopping when pain shooting through her left hand made her wince. What could she have done to herself while sleeping?
Not wanting to light her room lamp, she rose and moved toward the window where she saw that the knuckles were scraped, the back of her hand bruised. Her flesh crawled and she gasped for breath. In her dream, she'd used this hand to stop the skinwalker from savaging her.
She stared out over the rooftops onto the deserted streets of Santa Fe.
Had the dream truly come from deep within herself, from the problems that had been plaguing her...or had it been sent by a very dangerous woman who walked in a wolf's skin?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHE WOULD NOT be a prisoner in her own home, a furious Louisa decided shortly after a late breakfast. She would not! How dare her mother stable her horses in town, leaving instructions that Willy was not to release any of them to Louisa unless she was properly escorted?
Just let the drunken old geezer try to stop her from taking Defiant and she would give him what-for.
She was on foot, storming toward a confrontation, when a woman's scream made her whip around to see a familiar if driverless carriage. The lathered horse was wild-eyed, slowing its frenetic pace, yet spooked by more female squeals and the excited shouts of men trying to stop him. Uncaring for Eusebio's possible inconvenience, but feeling badly for the horse, who was sure to break down if not stopped, Louisa placed herself in its path and spoke to him in a loud if calm voice.
"Whoa, boy. Where are you off to in such a rush, my friend?"
Knowing the horse recognized her, she held out her hands as he slowed and took advantage of his hesitancy by grabbing hold of his halter and reins. Only then, up close, as she easily brought the animal to a full stop, did she realize the carriage was not empty. She caught a glimpse of bare flesh on the floor of the fancy rig before the small crowd that followed closed in, cutting off her view.
Stroking the horse's nose to calm him, Louisa also noticed a despised visage bearing down on her.
Minna Tucker.
"Oh, God save us all!" shouted a man in storekeeper's apron, the first to inspect the carriage's contents. "They've gone and killed 'em, too."
Louisa's heart was beating hard. While she'd lost any respect for Eusebio, she hadn't wanted him dead. Him? The man had said them.
"Who?" she asked, meaning whoever was on the floor of the carriage.
"Injuns." The grim-mouthed shopkeeper was focused on the murderers rather than the victims. "Mutilated 'em worse'n the others."
An elderly Spaniard crossed himself. "Dios, both Eusebio and Enrique Velarde."
Louisa elbowed her way closer to get a better look, then nearly fainted at the sight that widened her eyes and brought a surge of bile to her throat. Mutilated was a kindly way of describing how the men had died. Both throats were ripped out and Eusebio was missing his...
For the first time in her life, Louisa's knees went weak and she was glad for the support of the man next to her. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Here now, Miss," he said, attempting to turn her away. "Ain't nothing for a lady to be seein'."
"She's no lady!" Quiet until now, Minna Tucker thundered the accusation. Her face was red and her eyes held a crazed cast. "And it wouldn't surprise me if she did this," the woman said, indicating Louisa.
Regaining strength in her limbs, adrenaline overcoming her horror of the murders, Louisa gasped, "Me? You are crazy!"
"Everyone knows how wild you are, how terrible your temper is – and I saw you in this very carriage only a few days ago."
"So what? Eusebio took me for a ride and – "
"You were leading this young man on." Hanging onto her cross with one hand, Minna was working herself up, spraying spittle on those closest to her. "And he was taken in by your evil ways, poor young man, until he learned the awful truth about your tainted blood."
"What's that?" the shopkeeper asked, now eyeing Louisa with suspicion.
"Why, she's a no-account, bloodthirsty half breed!"
Voices rising in shock, several people moved away from Louisa as if she might kill them, too.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" she insisted, but she noted fear and doubt on many faces, glee on Minna Tucker's. "So what if my father was a Comanche, you old biddy?"
"You see, she admits it!" the hateful woman screeched, pointing an accusing finger straight at Louisa's chest. "And she wears the sign of the heathen."
Gaze stuck on her bear claw, one of the men stepped closer to her, his expression threatening. She glanced around the crowd but saw no help. No friendly faces. It seemed that with a few malicious words, Minna had convinced the others of what they wanted to believe: that they had the killer right there, in their power, to do with what they pleased.
Clear in Louisa's mind was a vigilante hanging of a young man accused of but not convicted of rustling. Only seven at the time, she'd gotten a good look at his bloated face and the way his head sat cocked on his broken neck before her mother found her, covered her eyes and pulled her away.
Panicked, not knowing what else to do, she ran, closing her ears to the yells that trailed after her. Young and well-muscled from riding, she quickly put enough distance between her and them to duck around a corner and into a doorway unseen.
But, as they rushed by, voices rising, she heard Minna yell, "She probably headed for the Blue Sky Palace and her harlot of a mother!"
Pressed up against a wooden door, Louisa squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe naturally without making a sound. Oh, Lord, now what? She'd had little enough reason to stay in Santa Fe after her last row with her mother. Now she had none. She had to leave before she ended up at the end of a rope.
Once certain the mindless mob had passed, Louisa sneaked toward the stable, zigzagging in and out of doorways, trying not to think about Eusebio or his brother. No matter that she tried, she couldn't rid vanquish the image of their mutilated bodies. Defiant would take her from this horror. She would choke Willy if he so much as put up a fuss. But once at the stable, she found the grizzled owner curled up in an empty stall where he'd made friends with a bottle of whiskey.
Defiant was glad to see her and full of spit. Dancing around her when Louisa entered his stall, he pushed his great head into her shoulder and almost knocked her into the wall.
"Yeah, I missed you, too," she whispered, placing a finger on his nose as if that would keep him quiet.
Thankfully, she hushed him long enough to tack him up, fill a canteen with fresh water and "borrow" a knife she found in the back of the stable.
Lastly, she kissed Susie and Mancha on their velvety noses, and whispered her grief-stricken good-byes in their ears. "I wish I could take you with me, but you'd just slow me down."
And she'd have to find feed and water for three horses instead of just one, not an easy task in the wilderness. She would rather leave them to strangers than take them with her if she couldn't properly care for them.
Heart pounding, she cautiously peered out the wide doorway, fearing that, since they were in sight of the Blue Sky Palace, one of the rabble rousers might be on the lookout for her. Coast clear.
She made her escape unnoticed.
It was only when she got to the edge of town, coming within spitting distance of home, that the enormity of running away hit her. She'd never see Ma again. She no longer had a home. Tears filled her eyes and she kicked Defiant's sides, turning him south and urging him to leave the area as fast as his long legs would carry him. The thunder of his hooves covered the sounds of the dry, racking sobs that would surely embarrass her to death should anyone else hear them. Thank heaven, she was alon
e.
Although not for long.
Ambushed by a flurry of chestnut hide that appeared out of nowhere, Louisa didn't have the time or sense to make a clean getaway before Lieutenant Samuel Strong grabbed hold of Defiant's reins and yelled, "Easy, boy."
Though furious at the intrusion, and ready to explode at the pretty tin soldier, Louisa stalled out and let him take control. But when they faced each other, she realized he wasn't playing some game with her. Wasn't trying to bully her. Concern lent strength to his features, and it was all she could do to stop herself from bursting into humiliating tears under his intense and worried gaze.
"I admit you're a good rider," he said, "but are you out to break your neck?"
Louisa mustered a ghost of defiance. "If I do, it's no concern of yours."
"If you do, who'll be good enough around here to race me?"
If only she had that to look forward to. Eyes filling once more, she turned her head away from him. "You'll have to find someone else anyway."
"Why? From the way you were just riding, I doubt you're about to give it up."
"I won't be here," she insisted, taking charge of Defiant's reins and moving him out. "I'm leaving."
Strong rode alongside her, took a moment before asking, "Your family's moving?"
"I am."
"You're not getting married?" he asked, voice oddly tense.
She gave him an astonished look. "What's it to you? No!"
His expression changed subtly, as if he were relieved. "Then why are you leaving...and where will you go?"
"Because I'm not wanted here any more...and I don't know. About the where, that is. Maybe Albuquerque. I'll decide when I get there."
"You're going now?" Finally comprehending the immediacy of her situation, he looked over her tack. "Like this, without extra clothing or food?" Silent for a moment, he then said, "You're running away from home." When she didn't deny it, he asked, "Does your father beat you or something?"
"I don't even remember my Pa. He's been dead for years."
"Mother?"
Her insides twisted at the thought of losing the one person who loved her. "Nah, Ma just yells a lot."
"Then why?"
"Mind your own business!" she blurted, swallowing the tears that threatened her once more.
He stopped asking his infernal questions but made no move to leave her side. They rode together in silence.
And Louisa couldn't help but think about the situation that had prompted her to leave Santa Fe. She should be used to it by now, people calling her a breed like she was something they'd found clinging to the bottom of their boots. She should be used to nasty names and nastier accusations. She should be used to being different.
But she wasn't.
She wanted to fit in. Wanted people to accept her. It had been bad enough when the girls at the city schools had made fun of her and made her life miserable, but now the people in her own town weren't any better. She'd thought Santa Fe with its mixture of cultures was different, that there were so many people of mixed blood – Anglo, Hispanic, Indian – that she fit right in. She'd been wrong. People in that mob had been ready to believe her a murderer, maybe string her up, all because her father had been Comanche.
She didn't understand what gave people the right to think they were better than anyone else because of who their kinsmen were. She gave Strong a sideways glance and wondered if he'd figured out her blood was tainted. Probably not, or he wouldn't be here with her.
The thought ate at her as they traversed mile after mile, heading deeper into unfamiliar country.
"You can go back to your fort now," she said tightly.
"I'm in no hurry."
"I thought you were always in a hurry. That you always have work to do whether or not you're on duty."
"I'm working now." When she gave him a disbelieving look, he said, "My job is to protect the citizens of this territory. That's what I'm doing."
"Me? You're protecting me? From whom?" She might as well tell him. Maybe then he would leave her alone. "If you're worried about the Indians, don't. I'm one of them. My Pa was a Comanche."
If she expected him to appear disgusted and turn tail, she was disappointed. His blue-green gaze stayed steady on her, and his expression remained non-judgmental.
"Didn't you hear me? I'm a savage!" Louisa yelled. "If you're not nice enough to me, I might decide that pretty gold hair of yours would be a perfect souvenir."
His eyebrows shot up. "Then I'll have to be careful that I don't make you too mad until I can convince you to turn around and go home."
"I'm not going home!"
"We'll see."
Part of her wanted to scream at him, to chase him away. But another part, the part that realized he hadn't registered any contempt at her admission, had actually seemed amused at the way she'd blurted her threat, was relieved that he wanted to be with her, even for a while. She didn't really want to be alone. And she had to admit she liked Strong, now more than ever.
It wouldn't hurt to have his company for a while, especially since she was staying away from the main road to Albuquerque and other possible traveling companions. She was afraid that vigilantes might even now be searching the main routes for her. Using the sun as her guide, Louisa headed southwest over far more difficult terrain than was normal for the trip.
Hours passed and Strong seemed no more inclined to leave her on her own than when they'd started out. Mid-afternoon, they stopped by a narrow ribbon of a stream where they watered their horses and refilled their canteens. Beneath a box elder, they shared some jerky he produced from his saddlebags. Since she wasn't inclined to talk -- her mind drawn to the horrid deaths and the possibility of meeting up with a real skinwalker -- he told her about his home, a farm in Ohio, and his father and uncles who'd been Union Army cavalrymen during the Civil War.
When they were rested, Louisa expected Strong to give her an ultimatum, to say he was heading back with or without her. But he silently remounted his chestnut and waited patiently until she was ready to leave.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked as she settled on Defiant's back. "Staying with me when you shouldn't?"
"Because I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Louisa," Strong said, his sincere words thrilling her. "And when you change your mind, I want to make sure you make it back to Santa Fe safely."
If she were to change her mind. And if she knew how to get back. Taking a long look around, Louisa realized she didn't have the faintest idea of where they were.
EARLY EVENING SHADOWS grew long in The Gentleman's Club sitting room where Frances was listening to Ruby's excited plans for Avandera's wedding dress – the other girls would pay for the material and Ruby would design and sew it – when Belle rushed in, gasping for breath.
"She's gone!" the madam wailed, grabbing a sofa-back to steady herself. "Damnation if Louisa ain't run away!"
"What?" Frances asked with a start, wondering if Belle weren't merely exaggerating. She'd been getting more and more off-balance on the topic of her daughter. "Did you and Louisa have another fight?"
"No. I never even got the chance to talk to her like I said I would."
"Then how do you know she's gone?"
"I been looking for her all day, finally checked the stable. Defiant ain't there. And then a neighbor told me he saw Louisa riding south, hellbent for leather late this morning."
"Maybe she's just angry you took her horses away and wants you to worry," Ruby ventured.
Shaking her head, Belle sank onto the sofa and choked back a sob. "Ain't that at all. That Velarde boy and his brother are both dead, killed like the others. Mutilated. Minna Tucker got some of the townsfolk riled up and believing Louisa's a savage and that she did it...all 'cause her Pa wasn't white."
"That's ridiculous!" Frances stated, feeling her very flesh crawl.
In addition to being angry that once again Louisa was the brunt of stupid prejudice, she was aware that more similar deaths pointed to the work of the skinwal
ker. Since waking from a dream to find her hand battered, she couldn't help but believe, at least on some level.
"They scared her, so she took off." Belle began sobbing. "I can't lose her. I can't lose another child!"
Another? Frances turned to Ruby. "Could you get Belle something to calm her nerves?"
"Sure, Mrs. Gannon."
No sooner had the blonde swept out of the room than Frances asked, "Now what's this about another child?"
Wild-eyed, Belle said, "I was hardly more'n a child myself when I ran away with Ralph Janks. Ma had a dozen kids and couldn't give us nothin'. Ralph said he loved me and would take care of me." Her tone grew intensely bitter. "He took care of me, all right."
"He beat you." At the madam's surprised expression, Frances explained, "Louisa told me."
"What she couldn't tell you was about Tommy. He was the sweetest little boy. Didn't once deserve the back of his Pa's hand. I tried to stop Ralph...and then I had to watch him beat a three year old to death."
"My God!" Tears sprang to Frances's eyes.
"I held his little broken body in my arms and cried until I had no tears left," Belle whispered with a terrible sob. "Something snapped in me, Frankie. I don't really remember much. One minute, I had Ralph's hunting knife in my hand. The next I was standing over him, still holding onto that thing, only the blade was bloody. His blood."
"You killed him." And while she had a hard time accepting the concept of one human being taking another's life, Frances realized she had no sympathy for Ralph Janks.
"That time's still like a buncha bad dreams," Belle was saying. "I was locked in a jail cell for a while. Later I learned the judge wouldn't hang a woman, and then someone realized I wasn't right in the head. So they shipped me to an asylum in New Orleans."
And Frances had thought she'd been through some rough times. "That must have been awful for you."
"Only once I got my wits back, which was more'n a year later. I escaped that hell hole and headed west. Paid my way as a working girl. A bunch of us were headed for a new bordello in Amarillo when the Comanches attacked."
