But most of her energy was spent being terrified she would tumble to the ground with every step Matt’s pinto took. Matt had lifted her sideways onto the saddle and told her to hook her right knee over the horn. He mounted behind her and reached around her with both hands to grasp the reins.
What was she supposed to hang on to?
With the horse’s first step, she swayed dangerously and gripped the front edge of the saddle. Matt’s arms brushed against hers, and even through the soft cotton of his shirt and her dress, her skin tingled. When the horse scrambled up an incline, Angela fell back against Matt’s chest. A moment later, they plunged down the bank of a steep wash and Matt wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off.
Once more on level ground, he settled her against his chest and kept his arm around her waist, talking all the time about life in the Apache camp. He was so casual about it, Angela felt certain he had no idea how closely he held her, but surely, any minute now he would hear her heart pounding and feel her skin burning where he touched her.
Matt’s thoughts weren’t too far from hers, but “casual” was the farthest thing from his mind. His easy, gentle touch was brought about only by force of will. Not that he didn’t want to hold her. On the contrary! She felt right, somehow, resting there in his arms. She was so delicate, so lovely, he had to struggle to keep his eyes on the trail. He left the task of keeping an eye out for trouble to Chee while he concentrated on his bride-to-be.
Strange to think in a matter of hours he would be married to this girl. Lately he’d been thinking about finding a wife, but he hadn’t expected to end up marrying a stranger on a temporary basis. What was she like, this girl? He already knew she was kind and beautiful, and not afraid to help those in need. And she was strong, too. Stronger than even she knew, to have withstood Tahnito’s abduction in such good shape.
He kept up a steady stream of talk to take her mind off all she’d been through.
Matt’s deep voice helped soothe Angela’s frazzled nerves. Feeling more secure with his arm around her, she finally relaxed somewhat.
When they rode into the rancheria, Matt shifted his weight, straightened his back and raised his head. Angela tensed. He carried her before him like some conquering hero returning with his prize of war.
Matt had tried to describe the camp to her, to prepare her, but it was so far removed from anything she knew that she stared, wide-eyed, at everything and everyone.
And everyone stared back. Matt was nothing new to these people, but that he should ride in with a white girl on his lap was apparently something else again. Mouths gaped, and excited voices spread the news.
The men were dressed as she’d expected—barely at all—in breechcloth and tall moccasins. Some wore shirts, most did not, and a few wore hats. White men’s hats. Slouch hats, high hats, bowlers, and Stetsons, with a Mexican sombrero or two among them for good measure. Angela preferred not to think about how the Apaches acquired those hats.
The women came as a total surprise to her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but with all the men strutting around half naked, she had not expected the women to be wearing buckskin dresses or colorful blouses and long, cotton skirts.
The young girls all wore their hair just as did the men and boys—long and straight, hanging loosely down their backs. But most of the older women had their hair twisted up at the nape and held in place by some sort of hourglass-shaped piece of leather.
Next to these women Angela, with her ragged braid, dirty face and torn, smudged, blue gingham, felt like a street urchin. But there were too many new sights unnerving her to allow much room for worry over her appearance.
There were dozens of grass huts, which Matt called wickiups, arranged in small groups and spread out everywhere. Every place there was a clearing in the trees, there was a group of wickiups. The ground around them was hard-packed and bare, any growth having been beaten down and worn away by hundreds of feet over the years. Dogs and children ran everywhere, dark, copper-skinned children and mongrel dogs of every conceivable description.
Several men called out exuberant greetings to both Matt and Chee. A few of the women smiled shyly. Angela was eyed with a disconcerting mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
Several yards ahead, a middle aged man and woman emerged from a wickiup. Chee waved farewell to Matt and Angela, rounded a bend, and was out of sight. Matt reigned in when he neared the older couple. He swung to the ground, then lifted Angela down and took her hand. She tried to return his reassuring smile, and succeeded to a small degree.
These would be his adoptive parents, Angela thought. Matt had told her about them. He spoke to them, and she knew what he was saying even though she couldn’t understand the language. If Angela hadn’t been so run through with horror at losing her parents, terror at being captured, and bewilderment that she was soon to marry a total stranger, she might have smiled at the comical expressions the surprised couple wore. Matt tugged on her hand and pulled her forward.
“Angela, this is shimá—my mother—Huera, and shitaa, Hal-Say. They welcome you.”
Angela smiled shyly at the couple. Huera stepped forward and embraced her lightly. Hal-Say and Matt nodded their approval. It could have been a bad thing if Matt’s adoptive mother was not willing to accept his wife.
“Come on,” Matt said, tugging on Angela’s hand again. “Let’s go find the old man.”
“The old man?”
“Dee-O-Det, the shaman.”
Huera called after them with an anxious tone in her voice. Matt threw a reply over his shoulder without breaking his long-legged stride. Angela had to practically run to keep up with him.
Near the center of the compound they stopped at a wickiup whose door faced east. In fact, it appeared all the doors faced east. But this wickiup had a ring of stones surrounding it, whereas the others didn’t.
Matt called out something toward the wickiup, then turned to Angela. “These are sacred stones,” he explained. “No one is allowed to cross them to Dee-O-Det’s wickiup without his permission.”
A moment later an old, gray headed man stepped through the door. His face was a collection of wrinkles and folds. When he stood still, Angela would have sworn he was the oldest living thing on earth. Except he stood straight and tall, not all stooped over like so many old people. Then he came toward them and Angela blinked in surprise. His step was lively, his bearing proud, and his eyes sharp.
“Matt!” A high pitched voice called out breathlessly from behind them before the old man could speak.
Angela watched, astonished, as the beautiful young half-breed girl from the fort ran toward them, dodging baskets and fire pits, people and dogs. At the fort, she’d been shy and quiet…wary even. Now she was sparkling, alive with excitement and curiosity.
Matt greeted her with an indulgent look. “Hi, princess.”
“Matt, is it true?” the girl demanded breathlessly. “Is she your wife? Did you get married without even telling anybody?”
“Hello, Serena,” Matt said with exaggerated politeness. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking. And how are you? You remember Angela, don’t you?”
“Matt!” the girl cried. “Of course I remember. She stood up for us when that old windbag…” She flashed a sheepish grin at Angela, who tried desperately to keep from laughing. “Uh, I mean…when that…lady…started screaming. Are you married?” she asked again, glancing back at Matt.
“Not yet. We seem to have been interrupted.”
“Matt,” the girl pleaded.
“All right,” he relented. “Angela and I are getting married. Angela, this little busybody is my sister, Serena. And this,” he added, indicating the young boy who’d quietly joined them, “is Pace, my brother.”
He’d told her before that the twins were his brother and sister, but surely he and the twins had only one parent in common, for no part of Matt gave hint of Apache blood. Where he was blond, the twins’ hair was black, except for the startling streak of white
sprouting at Serena’s temple. Matt’s eyes were dark brown; theirs were bright pale blue. They were both beautiful children. Their Indian heritage showed in their skin and hair, but not their facial features or their eyes.
They were Matt’s family. He had made it plain to her earlier that even they must not learn the truth about this marriage.
When she’d originally promised to keep silent about her abduction, she hadn’t realized the lies she would have to tell. But she had promised, so there was nothing to do but make the best of it. She held out her hand first to Serena, then Pace. “How do you do? I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Do Mother and Dad know?” Serena asked.
Mother and Dad? Angela thought frantically. Did Serena mean Matt’s real parents? Would Angela have to lie to them, too?
“I haven’t told them yet,” Matt answered easily. “But you know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You mean Mother might have seen,” Pace said.
“Maybe. Who knows?” Matt said. “If she doesn’t already know, she will when we get home, so don’t worry. I’m not trying to keep any secrets.”
Mother might have seen what? Angela wondered.
Matt then introduced Angela to Dee-O-Det, the old shaman. The two men began speaking in Apache, and Serena gave Angela a running account of the discussion.
“Matt’s asking Dee-O-Det to perform the wedding gutál, or ceremony, for you, because white people always have a ceremony. Dee-O-Det is reminding him that, for the Chúk’ánéné—that’s what this band of Chiricahua call themselves—Chúk’ánéné. Anyway, for them a wedding ceremony is rare. Usually, when two people get married, they don’t have a ceremony, they just move into a wickiup together and say they’re married.”
“They do?” Angela asked, beginning to feel uneasy. Would she be expected to just live with Matt that way, and call it marriage? But then, she reminded herself, it really didn’t matter, since they were only pretending anyway.
Dee-O-Det finally agreed to perform the ritualistic ceremony for Matt and Angela when Matt pointed out that his stepmother, Woman of Magic, would expect it, since she and Travis, Matt’s father, had the ceremony performed for them, and by Dee-O-Det himself, some ten years ago.
Huera approached the group at a fast walk. With her were two women about her age, and a younger woman. “Shiye’!” she called. “My son!”
Angela stood bewildered as Matt was swamped by the women, who all seemed to be arguing with him. Did they not want him to marry her? Would Matt give in to them and return her to her captors?
“Serena, what’s going on?” she asked during a lull in the chaos. “Who are these women?”
“Huera is Matt’s shimá, the woman who adopted him. The other two older ones, Nali-Kay-Deya and Tesal Bestinay, are my grandfather’s wives.”
Wives? My goodness!
“And the younger one, Nod-ah-Sti, is Tesal Bestinay’s daughter-in-law. They’re telling Matt he can’t marry you until you have your own wickiup, and until you’ve had a chance to rest and get cleaned up. Nod-ah-Sti says he’s mean and terrible if he expects you to get married in a torn dress.”
Angela looked down at herself in dismay. She must look a fright. It had been days since she’d bathed, combed her hair, or changed clothes. But she had no other clothes, only the blue gingham dress she was wearing.
Matt finally threw up his hands in surrender. Again Serena translated.
“He’s says all right, but he’s not real happy about it. He says they can have you today and tomorrow, but that tomorrow night you get married. They’re saying that’s not enough time, but he won’t change his mind.”
Angela glanced uneasily from the women, to Matt, to Serena. “What does he mean, they can have me?”
“They’ll help you build your own wickiup and get you some more clothes, things like that,” the girl told her.
“Me? Build a wickiup? Women don’t build houses, even huts of grass like these. Matt can do that, can’t he? I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do.”
“Matt can’t do it, Angela,” Serena explained. “An Apache man only hunts and fights, and while he’s here, Matt is an Apache. Everything else is done by the women. Don’t worry. We’ll all help you,” the young girl offered. “You’re getting off lucky, really. There should be two wickiups—one here in the compound, where you’ll live, and the other out in the woods somewhere for your honeymoon.”
Angela swallowed uncomfortably. “Honeymoon?”
“An Apache marriage is supposed to start with a ten-day honeymoon, when you go off by yourselves, just the two of you. It’s supposed to get things off to a good start, or something. But Matt says there won’t be a honeymoon. Don’t you want one, Angela?”
“N-No. It’s not n-necessary.”
In the next moment, the women hustled Angela away, with Serena along to translate. Angela glanced back at Matt. He just grinned and shrugged, as if to say, “What could I do?”
His grin was wonderful. For some silly, unknown reason, it made her heart beat faster and brought an exciting flutter to her stomach.
Serena pulled Angela into Huera’s wickiup to show her what she would be building. It was a round, dome-shaped grass hut, roughly seven feet high in the center, and about eight feet across. Around the bottom there were thin wooden poles sunk into the ground. The tops of the poles were bent toward the center and tied together, leaving an opening for the smoke from the fire pit in the middle of the floor. Only it wasn’t a real floor, just dried grass laid on top of the dirt. Bundles of dried grass covered the entire structure, but Angela couldn’t figure out for the life of her just how those bundles were held in place. She had the uneasy feeling she was about to find out.
“I really have to build one of these?” she asked Serena.
“Sure,” Serena said. “Every woman builds her own wickiup when she gets married. Don’t worry, we’ll help you. It’ll be easy, you’ll see.”
Easy?
If Angela thought crossing the country in a covered wagon was hard, hot work, it was nothing compared to what she went through during that day and the next.
Huera chose a sight for the wickiup right next to her own, and they set to work.
To speed things along, Matt and Hal-Say went down to the stream to a grove of willows and cut the poles for the women. While they were gone, the women rounded up enough digging sticks so everyone could work on the holes, to have them ready when the men came back with the poles.
As she knelt there in the dirt between Serena and Huera, Angela paused to look around. When she and Matt had ridden in this morning, the only thing she had hoped for was to be allowed to live, and then later, to leave. She had not expected to be welcomed by these “savage” strangers.
Of course, they were doing this for Matt. She understood that. But still, she felt their friendship and drank it in. As they set to work sinking the poles in the ground, a strange, primitive feeling swept over Angela. She imagined herself a young native girl in some long forgotten land, preparing a home for her mate, who would soon come striding up with the day’s kill slung over his shoulder. She would cook the meat over the fire. Later, they would embrace each other on their bed of furs.
Bed of furs, indeed! she thought. It’s the sun, that’s what it is, Angie Sue—too much sun can make you crazy.
She pushed the strange thoughts away and went back to work. But they returned with a rush later. The sun was sinking low, and she and the women had already started tying on the bundles of dried buffalo grass, when Matt walked up. Draped over his shoulders was the carcass of a young deer.
…the day’s kill slung over his shoulder.
Angela’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes drifted slowly down over his bare, tanned chest, along the thatch of blond curls that stretched from nipple to nipple, then narrowed until it passed his navel and disappeared beneath a rectangle of brown hide.
Good heavens!He was dressed like an Apache! The breech cloth ended at mid–thigh, leavin
g nothing but bare legs clear past his knees. Knee–high moccasins covered his calves and feet.
Her eyes traveled slowly back up his length. A tingling began in the pit of her stomach when she realized how narrow the breech cloth was. It left the sides of his hips bare. From the top of his moccasin up, the only thing that broke the expanse of bare skin along his side was the rawhide cord that held up the patch of hide covering his private parts and his buttocks. He was almost as dark as an Apache, from head to…knee. And that skinny little cord was no wider than a shoelace.
Good heavens, he’s magnificent! Beautiful! When his eyes met hers, it was as if he could read her thoughts, for a slow, lazy grin curved his lips. She felt the heat of her blush and turned quickly away. It was at least an hour before her hands stopped shaking.
Chapter Eight
Angela and Serena slept that night with Nod-ah-Sti, since Tahza, Nod-ah-Sti’s husband, was off somewhere with his father, Cochise.
With the five women and Serena all working steadily the next day, the wickiup was finished by mid-afternoon. It was somewhat of a record for the tribe. It usually took a minimum of three days to construct one. But then, a woman didn’t usually have so much help.
Huera brought Matt’s belongings, and the other women contributed baskets and jugs and such to complete the furnishings. They showed her how to make a téesk'e', a bed, consisting of nothing more than dry grass piled along one wall. Angela covered it with the blankets from Matt’s bedroll.
During all the hours of work, Angela depended greatly on ten-year-old Serena to help her understand what was happening, what was being said, and what she was supposed to do. When Huera, Angela’s future mother-in-law, declared the work finished, Angela noticed Serena had lost her excitement for the coming wedding.
“Serena, is anything wrong?”
The young girl heaved a heavy sigh and stared off into the trees. “No.”
“Come on, Serena. You’ve been such a big help to me, I know I couldn’t have done a thing without you. Have I done or said something to make you look so sad?”
Apache-Colton Series Page 47
