A Warrior's Vow

by Marilyn Tracy

  Sancho barked back eagerly.

  Alma TwoFeathers appeared on the top step, holding the little girl that looked so much like her that Leeza was easily able to picture the baby as a grown woman with a babe of her own.

  Leeza rested her hand on her flat stomach, willing her nerves to behave. Was this newfound nervousness also a by-product of finding her heart? When it had been missing, unlooked for, she'd done or said anything she pleased, and was never nervous. Was that because compunction, respect, the need for approbation—these made one afraid of hurting someone or being hurt in return?

  "I'm glad you came," Alma said, her flat voice scarcely changing inflection. Nor did her expression alter one iota until she spied Sancho in the front seat. Then she smiled a little. "It's good you brought the dog."

  Leeza approached her for a quick handshake. "Thank you for inviting me."

  "The others are not here yet. Only some of my family. You can let the dog out of the car. He knows the others."

  Leeza did so, and Sancho bounded from the car with an enthusiasm he hadn't shown in the past three weeks. She shouldn't have stolen him from Daggert.

  "Come inside. I'm making food."

  Leeza was reminded of some of the simplistic things Daggert had said during their journey. Of the river they'd bathed in, made love beside, he'd said it was a tributary. Some are big, some are small.

  But he'd also said, "Nothing's simple."

  She didn't know what she expected as she crossed the threshold of the TwoFeathers home, but once inside, felt she'd stepped into another country. The interior was different from anything she'd ever seen before. Old and well-worn sofas and chairs lined the walls in stark symmetry, with no attention to the modern practice of feng shui. Two pictures hung on the wall, one a print of a horse, the other a painting of Jesus Christ. A large-screen television dominated the far wall of the small living area, and four children sat inches away from it, staring at the picture with an intensity just shy of hypnotized. Wile E. Coyote hung in midair, turned to face them, waved goodbye and disappeared downward in a whoosh. The children giggled.

  The place was permeated with the odor of beans, homemade tortillas and frying bread. Leeza's stomach rumbled.

  "Come in the kitchen," Alma said, stepping over the children on the floor. Leeza followed, doing the same. The children never looked at them.

  Three women all but filled the small kitchen nook. Though varying in age and size, each of them resembled Alma, with the same dark eyes, broad face, and perfectly even white smile that shone to such advantage against her dark complexion.

  Each of the women was busily engaged in a different task—one rolling tamales, swiftly pressing a red-chili meat mixture into a moist corn dough and rolling it in a corn husk; another stirring a pot of posole, a hominy-pork-and-green-chili stew that smelled heavenly. The eldest was tossing a round of dough in deft fingers, creating a large, perfect tortilla.

  "These are my sisters, Angie and Doris, and my mother, Nina."

  Leeza couldn't tell which were her sisters and which was Alma's mother; they all looked too close in age for one to be the grandmother of the baby on Alma's hip. She smiled and nodded and admitted her confusion.

  Alma smiled back while the other women giggled. "These are my sisters-in-law you would say. They are my husband's mother's family and now mine."

  She must have caught a question on Leeza's face, for she added, "James's mother, who is Apache, became my mother when we were married. We never knew his father, but it doesn't matter. James will always be of the tribe."

  "And his children?" Leeza couldn't help asking.

  Alma met her gaze with a mischievous look. "Always."

  "This is the woman I was telling you about," Alma announced warmly to her family. "Her name is Leeza."

  There were smiles all around and many nods, and soon they had Leeza chopping tomatoes, shredding cheese and peeling green chilis.

  If Daggert could find peace anywhere, she thought, wiping the streaming tears from her eyes from the sting of the chili, and grinning at the teasing women, it would be in this warm kitchen with the rich smells, the laughter and the simple hard work of preparing a feast.

  * * *

  Daggert froze in the doorway of the living area, watching Leeza Nelson in his ex-wife's kitchen, laughing at something his former mother-in-law had said.

  He'd seen the new pickup in the driveway, but hadn't connected it with Rancho Milagro. He'd only wondered that the dogs were off somewhere, chasing up rabbits or squirrels, when there were so many good smells emanating from the house.

  He hadn't wanted to come tonight, but with all that had happened in the last few weeks, he knew it was time to set things right in his heart. And the cacique Alma's husband had brought in was a powerful one and one of the oldest in the country.

  In a million years, Daggert would never have expected to find Leeza Nelson there, laughing in the kitchen with two women who barely spoke English and two others who had shared about as much contact with the white world as Leeza had with the Apache.

  "Uncle James!" one of the children cried, and leaped up from the floor. The others did the same, and over the general chaos of him struggling to hold four children at once, Leeza looked his way and their gazes locked.

  Her eyes, still moist from her laughter or from her battle with the green chilis before her on the cutting board, seemed huge and so incredibly blue that he felt a jolt of sharp recognition in his heart. He'd seen her with tears on her cheeks, her eyes luminescent and shimmering with unshed pain. And he'd seen them wet in the aftermath of her release.

  The children clambering over him, slowly slid down his body, sensing something different about him, feeling the tension in the room.

  The females in the kitchen studied the white woman in their midst, who was suddenly still, and their eyes slowly traveled from Leeza to James Daggert.

  He suspected Leeza didn't see their exchange of glances or Alma's swift nod and secretive smile, but he did.

  "Dáoté, James," Alma said, welcoming him in Apache.

  "Dáoté," he said absently, unable to take his gaze from the sight of Leeza in this kitchen.

  He was pleased to note that her hands were trembling. She'd seemed so cool and collected in the courthouse, except for that one moment when he'd called her by his private name for her. And even then she'd only stiffened before walking away.

  She looked much more approachable in the warm kitchen, with her tousled hair slightly damp from the heat, her elegant but casual clothes steamed a bit, and her eyes linked with his. Her lips parted and he knew he would die if he didn't taste them that night.

  "Well, come in," his former mother-in-law said. "You must be hungry. Take a plate and eat."

  It wasn't the Apache way to sit down to a formal meal. When someone was hungry, he or she took food. It was simple.

  He picked up a paper plate and began dipping into the various pots to explore the feast. Stepping around the still-working women, he took a couple of steamed tamales, a bowl of posole, a chunk of seasoned brisket and, brushing against Leeza, a handful of her freshly chopped vegetables.

  She stilled again when his arm reached around her, and stiffened as he leaned his body against her back. And sighed when his breath tickled the nape of her neck. He would have kissed her right there had they been alone. And his loins reacted with sharp need.

  He pulled away from her and slowly made his way back to the living area. One of Alma's new sisters-in-law giggled as he passed her. He felt a flush staining his cheeks a deeper red than they were already. But his own lips twitched.

  * * *

  Just being in the same small house with James Daggert made her body come alive. Her heartbeat was lighter, her breathing shallower, her senses heightened. Her breasts seemed fuller, her legs silkier, her hair touchable, and her lips ached for the feel of his.

  The house continued to accrue people until there wasn't a single seat left and nowhere to move except around the various po
ts and platters of plentiful food. The television continued to blare, though no one seemed to be watching it.

  The children—by now their ranks had grown to more than twenty—were playing some game in the front yard that required a great deal of screaming and running with the pack of dogs.

  Old men with unbound, long white hair sat smoking cigarettes on the steps and old women with missing teeth and lovely wrinkled faces swapped dirty jokes—Alma had told Leeza—in Apache and giggled madly, slapping each other at the punch lines.

  Alma's husband arrived last, bringing the medicine man, the cacique.

  Leeza studied the man Alma had chosen to replace the vengeance-driven Daggert. At first glance, he seemed the antithesis of Daggert. He was short by any standard, scarcely coming to Leeza's breasts, and sported a barrel chest that continued straight to his thighs. His dark hair was short and his face round, his eyes black. But when he spoke, she heard a thread of similarity—a quiet silken tone that seemed to caress his new wife and express a deep pride in his little girl.

  The cacique was probably the oldest man Leeza had ever met in her life. Like Alma's husband, he was short, but there was nothing diminutive about him. He radiated peace and concern. He touched women, men, children. And held Leeza's hand for a long time, searching her eyes as if looking directly into her soul. Like Daggert, he could read her. Instead of making her uncomfortable, she smiled at the old man.

  He smiled back and patted her hand.

  "Denzhoné Bidáá," she heard Daggert telling the old man some time later. She asked Alma why Daggert would tell the cacique the name he'd given her.

  Alma looked at her for a long while before smiling. "He wants the cacique to sing a song for you."

  To restore balance, Leeza thought. To say farewell.

  "Will he do that for anyone?" Leeza asked Alma.

  Alma shrugged.

  "Can you teach me a phrase in Apache?" She no longer found it strange to be talking so intimately and easily with Daggert's ex-wife. Alma and Daggert had been childhood friends, were friends still and had shared Donny. They had family and culture in common.

  "What phrase?"

  Leeza told her.

  Alma looked surprised, and her eyes shifted to Daggert, far across the room, before returning to Leeza. She smiled and nodded. "Like this. Hidloh N'deen."

  Shortly before Alma's husband herded everyone outside to a roaring fire he'd built in the side yard, away from the pine trees and cars, Leeza approached the old cacique.

  She haltingly made her request and was relieved when he didn't shake his head. He corrected her pronunciation and patted her hand, walking away muttering, pulling his long, colorful wool blanket around his shoulders.

  Leeza had expected a solemn, perhaps dolorous ceremony with many rituals she wouldn't be able to follow. Instead, the crowd of some fifty people easily formed a loose circle around the roaring blaze and either sat or stood around with drinks in their hands or smoking cigarettes. The cacique sat on a sawn log at the westernmost edge of the circle, slightly in front of the others. A couple of other men joined him, sitting directly on the earth. They set large deer hide drums on their sinewed sides, their drinks away from danger of tipping over, and began striking the drums with long, hand-hewn drumsticks.

  The sound was hollow and resonant and quieted the rowdy crowd somewhat.

  The cacique began chanting in Apache, his old man's voice strong and sure in his atonal singing.

  Daggert slipped behind Leeza and breathed a translation in her ear.

  "The

  stars shine down on these people.

  The

  stars are our brothers.

  The

  stars keep the deer safe for us.

  The

  stars show us the way home.

  Good

  are the stars.

  Good

  are our brothers."

  His warm breath played on the sensitive skin beneath her ear, mingling with the cacique's song and the sweet meaning.

  Unconsciously, she leaned back against him, and, at the contact, sighed and felt she'd finally come home. She belonged in this man's arms. Belonged to him in a way she could never fully understand nor wanted to analyze. His arms wrapped around her and sheltered her from the chill late September air.

  The cacique continued to chant with the beat of his drummers. Daggert's hot breath returned to her throat.

  "The

  moon shines down on these people.

  The

  moon is our mother.

  The

  moon keeps the elk safe for us.

  The

  moon shows us the way home.

  Good

  is the moon.

  Good

  is our mother."

  Leeza let her head loll against Daggert's broad shoulder, savoring the feel of him, aching to feel even more, his velvet voice as seductive as his eyes and luring her deeper into love for him.

  The drummers stopped, but she could still feel Daggert's heart beating against her. It was the rhythm of the drums, she thought. A perfectly natural rhythm that echoed man's heartbeat, the heartbeat of the earth.

  The cacique drank a sip of coffee and began chanting again.

  Leeza waited for Daggert's translation and turned her head to look at him when he didn't whisper in her ear. His face was as closed as his tightly shut eyes. She didn't have to ask for the meaning; she knew it was about Donny.

  But then Daggert's lips moved and he said against her cheek,

  "A

  man and a woman followed their brothers.

  A

  man and a woman followed their mother.

  A

  man and a woman went on a big quest.

  The

  quest was important.

  Their

  brothers and their mother helped them.

  Their

  cousins, the wind and rain, helped them.

  A man

  and a woman found what they were looking for.

  Good

  to have brothers, a mother and many cousins."

  Daggert finished his translation by pressing his lips against her cheek.

  She made an almost inaudible sound of acceptance and he lowered his lips to the hollow of her throat, grazing her collarbone with slow, warm hunger.

  The cacique swallowed another sip of his coffee and signaled the drummers to begin anew. The beat was faster this time, and Leeza realized it once again matched their heartbeats exactly.

  Several cheers went around the circle and the cacique waved Daggert and her forward. Thinking this might be a thank-you for searching for Donny's killer, half afraid she would have to do something and, in her inexperience, spoil the ceremony, Leeza clung to Daggert's hand as he led her forward until they stood near the cacique.

  The old man motioned for them to sit down. Someone brought a large blanket and handed it to Daggert. He looked at it for a long moment, then at her. She suspected it had been Donny's. His lips quirked in a half smile that addressed some inner pain. Then he shook the blanket open and draped it around their shoulders. Beneath the blanket, he put his arm around her and drew her close. She rested her arms on his bent leg.

  The cacique began to chant, and soon others in the circle were chanting with him. The drummers beat their instruments faster and faster and the crowd around the circle chanted louder and louder. The fire leaped into the air, showering sparks across the dirt. Children began dancing from foot to foot to the beat and were soon joined by many of the adults. Someone splashed beer over Daggert and Leeza's heads.

  The drummers stopped and the cacique's song seemed to linger in her ears even as the crowd cheered.

  Whatever the song meant, it was obvious it lifted everyone's spirits and was cause for celebration.

  Not taking the blanket from their shoulders, Daggert raised them up in a fluid motion. To the crowd's satisfaction, he kissed her.

  To the crowd's delight, she kissed him back.
>
  Chapter 17

  Daggert didn't translate the cacique's last song for Leeza. Her sparkling eyes and smiling lips let everyone believe she knew what had been chanted in her name. Using her name.

  It was all he could do to drag his lips from hers amid cheers from his cousins, friends and their families. But he didn't let her go. He folded her elegant hand in his and held her close to his side as the sing broke up.

  He felt released and born anew.

  Maybe if he'd come to one of the sings anytime these past four years, he would have felt better, but he didn't believe it. It had taken three perfect days with Leeza and the capture of his son's murderer to allow him to seek the peace that used to live within him.

  If he'd come to one of the sings, he'd have been accompanied not by a beautiful woman with mountain water in her eyes, but an angry, writhing vengeance. And he would have resisted the chanting that might have driven it away.

  Alma approached them, carrying her little girl. He suspected she was pregnant again because she'd taken on that radiance some women adopted when new life quickened inside them.

  "James, I'm happy for you," she said, meeting his eyes directly.

  He gave her a tender kiss on her upraised cheek and flicked the sleeping baby's tiny nose. "And I for you, Alma. Thank you."

  Alma turned to Leeza and pulled the blanket a little tighter around the blond woman's shoulders. "I'm glad you came tonight," she said formally.

  "Me, too," Leeza said, smiling that dazzling smile that lit her eyes and stole his breath.

  "The cacique is staying with us. We've arranged for you to stay at the Tsotses's house down the road. James knows the way there. Okay?"

  "That's wonderful," Leeza said. "Thanks again."

  A smile flickered across Alma's normally stoic features. "Until tomorrow." She turned away, then called back over her shoulder, "And take your dog with you, James. He doesn't like sleeping outside and I won't have dogs in the house."

  Daggert was stunned. "You brought Sancho with you?"

  Leeza looked surprised. "Alma told me to." She averted her gaze. "I thought…"

  "What did you think, Denzhoné?"