My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains

by Susan Page Davis

  She had to face reality now. Freeing herself from Uncle Silas was not connected to Freeland, although she had made up her mind in the moment when Freeland was closest to her. She could go on with this alone. She had to, because there was no going back to her life of lies. A pang of regret hit her as she resumed brushing her hair. She would never meet another man like Freeland McKay.

  As she slid the last pin into her hair, Mrs. Finney tapped on her door.

  “Ready, dear?”

  “Coming.” Carmela picked up her hat. She had no Bible and no handbag. It was too hot to wear a shawl. She felt underdressed as she walked the quiet streets to the church beside her landlady.

  “I thought some of the boarders would come out this morning,” Mrs. Finney said. “I guess it takes a lot to get them into a church.”

  Carmela remembered many times she had spoken in churches, and the rooms were packed, but she didn’t say anything.

  The church had three walls closed in now and a pine pulpit at the front. When they entered, Reverend Bardwell came down the aisle to greet them. Only a few people had arrived before them, families from outlying ranches who had driven into town for the service.

  “Good morning, Reverend,” Mrs. Finney said.

  The minister shook their hands. “Thank you for coming early. I’d like to seat you near the front so that you don’t have far to walk when I introduce you, Miss Wade.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, though sitting up front would enable everyone to stare at her all through the sermon. He led them to the first row, where Mrs. Bardwell stood to greet them with a warm smile.

  Carmela sat down between her and Mrs. Finney, her stomach aflutter.

  Other people began to trickle in, and as the hour for the service drew nearer, they came in clusters and droves, until the unfinished building was filled. Carmela looked around only once, and the stares kept her facing forward after that, but she could feel them crowding in and hear the shuffle of feet, the low chatter, and the protesting creaks of the benches.

  “Land sakes, we never have this many people,” Mrs. Finney whispered. “Word must have gotten around.”

  To Carmela’s surprise, the Reverend Mr. Bardwell didn’t wait until after his sermon to present her. They sang one hymn, and he opened in prayer. Then he looked out over the congregation and said, “I know you all didn’t come here this morning to listen to me. You came to hear what Miss Carmela Wade has to say. I remind you that she is a sister in Christ, and she is striving to obey the Lord’s commands. In the past, she was made to bear false witness under duress. But today, she is here to tell the truth.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd, and Carmela shuddered. She wasn’t used to this type of reception, where people came inclined to doubt and condemn her.

  “So, Miss Wade, if you’ll come up here now, I’ll turn it over to you.”

  Carmela stood with difficulty. Her legs were like sticks of dried firewood. She managed the few steps to the front. Reverend Bardwell smiled at her, but she took no encouragement from him. Slowly, she turned and faced the people.

  She began her story much as she did when she told the captive version, telling how she had set out with her parents for a new life in California. But the part where their wagon journey was interrupted was much different this time from her usual tale. Her parents became ill, and their wagon and two others were left behind by the train. She told of the deaths in her family and the Jessups’ and the Basfords’. One by one, their loved ones slipped away. She told of arriving weak and hungry at Fort Yuma with Mr. Basford and his one surviving son, and of how the kind Captain Owen and his wife had cared for her for several months, until her new guardian, Uncle Silas, had arrived to claim her.

  She felt numb as she told what happened after that, and yet her heart felt lighter than it had when she’d given a performance. Instead of glancing to the side and seeing Uncle Silas’s grim face as he listened to every word, alert for inconsistencies, she saw Mrs. Finney and Mrs. Bardwell in the front row, nodding with sorrowful eyes.

  Carmela found that she was able to look beyond them, at other faces in the congregation. Most held the rugged features of miners and ranchers, but a few families were sprinkled throughout the room, and here and there a couple sat together. She found the Roote family, with Lucy and her siblings sitting between their parents. The sister next to Lucy listened wide-eyed, and tears streamed down Lucy’s cheeks.

  Then she spotted Rilla, sitting next to a careworn woman in a gray dress. Carmela didn’t recognize Rilla at first. Her hair was combed and pinned up, and she wore a dress made from soft coral-colored calico. The woman beside her must be her mother. The man beyond her was no doubt the father. He nodded as though drifting off to sleep and jerked away, meeting her eyes for a moment.

  Carmela caught a breath and went on, telling how her journey of deceit had ended when the stagecoach was robbed. She didn’t tell of her time in the desert with Freeland but simply said that when her uncle was shot and carried off by the outlaws, she knew she had reached a crossroads in her life. Now was the time to start over, to live the truth.

  She stopped and looked toward the minister. He stepped up beside her and cleared his throat.

  “I’m sure you’re all touched by this account.”

  “What happened to the uncle?” called a man in the back of the congregation.

  Reverend Bardwell looked at Carmela. “Do you wish to address that?”

  Carmela swallowed hard. “My uncle was rescued by Marshal Duffield and his men. He is seriously injured, and he’s now under the care of a physician here in Prescott.”

  “So, are you going to stay with him?” Mrs. Roote asked.

  Carmela felt faint. “He is very ill. We haven’t been able to reach an agreement yet on what to do next.”

  “But you won’t keep telling them lies,” said one of men she recognized from Lucy’s rescue party.

  “No. I won’t.” She almost went on but decided it was better to say less for now. She knew what she wanted, but she couldn’t ensure that cutting ties with the past would be easy or that her story would have a happy ending. If Uncle Silas insisted she continued performing, she would part ways with him.

  “What about all that money you stole? You gonna pay it back?” This question was hurled by Buck Chard, the boarder who claimed to have heard her speak in Albuquerque. She had sat at the table with him several times this week at Mrs. Finney’s, but he had never spoken to her directly. Instead, he had thrown her baleful glances and chosen to bring up his questions here, in a public forum.

  Carmela felt as though the air had been squeezed from her lungs. A quick look at Mrs. Finney showed her that the loyal woman sat with her hands folded in her lap and her lips moving. She’s praying for me, Carmela thought.

  She breathed as deeply as she could and straightened. “If you mean the receipts my uncle collected, I don’t know much about that. As I told you, he insisted I owed him money—that is, my father did, and I was obligated to repay it. Everything I did for him was to that end. I never received more than small amounts of money from him—enough to buy a meal or purchase sundries when we traveled. I don’t know if Mr. Holden spent it all, or if he still has some of it. I do know that the money he had collected at our most recent appearances was stolen from him when the stagecoach was robbed.”

  “Who’s payin’ for your board now?” Chard yelled.

  Carmela’s head felt like it floated above her body. Reverend Bardwell touched her arm lightly, and she looked up at him, pleading with her eyes for him to stop this.

  “It’s my understanding,” the minister said firmly, “that Miss Wade is working for her keep now. The matter of whether or not crimes were committed and restitution should be made is up to the marshal and the court system.”

  “Is she gonna be arrested?” another man called.

  Reverend Bardwell looked at Carmela, his eyebrows raised. She couldn’t speak. Her lips trembled, and she reached for his arm for support.
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  “I don’t know anything about that,” Reverend Bardwell said. “Mrs. Finney, could you please come and help Miss Wade? I think that’s enough for now.”

  Mrs. Finney leaped up and came to Carmela. She put an arm around her. “Come on, dearie. You did fine, but you need to sit.”

  “Thank you.” Carmela managed to get to the bench, but the air seemed close, and scores of people stared at her, their eyes boring into her. Tears welled in Carmela’s eyes as the people began to talk among themselves.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Can we go home?”

  “Soon,” Mrs. Finney said. “Calm yourself if you can.”

  Mrs. Bardwell reached across Mrs. Finney with a small vial in her hand, and Mrs. Finney took it.

  “Smelling salts.”

  Carmela waved it away. “No, but thank you.”

  “Let us pray,” Reverend Bardwell intoned, and the room grew quiet.

  Carmela didn’t hear the words of the prayer. She only heard the roar of her pulse in her ears and a vague, rushing sound that she knew was his voice.

  When he finished, people began to stand and shuffle. Skirts rustled, and men’s boots thumped on the board floor. Mrs. Finney sat with her arm about Carmela’s shoulders.

  “Might be best to wait here a few minutes,” Mrs. Bardwell said. “Some folks are lingering.”

  Carmela nodded and took the handkerchief Mrs. Finney held out. No use going down the aisle now and running a gauntlet of harsh comments.

  “God is pleased with you,” Mrs. Finney whispered.

  Carmela gulped and swabbed at a new rush of tears.

  About ten minutes later, the church had emptied. Reverend Bardwell came in from where he had stood outside the door to greet people.

  “Well, Miss Wade, I think that went rather well,” he said.

  “Really?” Carmela croaked.

  “Oh, yes. Could have been worse. Much worse.”

  A wave of anger washed over her for just an instant. If he’d thought they might tear her apart, why had he encouraged her to do this?

  Mrs. Finney must have read her expression. “You did the right thing.” She patted Carmela’s shoulder. “Shall we go home and put dinner on?”

  Carmela could barely breathe. “What about Mr. Chard?”

  “He’d better not cause trouble, or I’ll toss him out. Let him find other lodgings if he wants to fuss about you telling the truth.”

  Mrs. Bardwell nodded and patted her hand. “That’s right, dear. Some of these people don’t understand. They’re used to being lied to and cheated.”

  The reverend lifted his gaze toward the ceiling and quoted, “ ‘O, full of all subtilty and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou enemy of all righteousness, wilt thou not cease to pervert the right ways of the Lord?’ ”

  Carmela blinked at him, wondering if he was in some kind of trance.

  “That’s from Acts,” his wife said. “My husband knows the most obscure passages. But he’s right. Some of the people in this territory will turn the purest things into mischief. When a body wants to change, they have no idea what’s going on, and they’re not sure they can believe it. Time will be the proof.”

  “That’s it,” the minister said. “You’ll live an honest life now, and after a while they’ll see.”

  “Thank you.” Carmela rose and walked slowly to the door with Mrs. Finney. It sort of made sense to her now. Would she be able to go on living in Prescott, or would the hatred of some be too divisive?

  As they headed toward the boardinghouse, she realized that didn’t really matter. She would be bothered if some of the townspeople misunderstood or rejected her, but her biggest disappointment was Freeland. He’d known this would be an ordeal for her, but he hadn’t even bothered to come.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After lunch, Carmela helped do the dishes and then retired to her room. She lay on her bed thinking about the condescending looks Buck Chard had sent her way during the meal and the disapproving sniff from Mrs. Tuttle, one of the newcomers. She supposed she ought to go and see Uncle Silas, but she needed to gather her courage first.

  A soft knock came on her door, and she sat up.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve a visitor in the parlor, dear,” Mrs. Finney said.

  Carmela bounded to her feet and shoved her shoes on. Freeland? She hoped so. She hurried down the hall but slowed as she reached the empty dining room. What if it was someone who wanted to rail at her? Or worse, what if Marshal Duffield had come to arrest her?

  Her legs shook as she stepped to the open parlor door. Rilla waited for her, sitting primly on the settee in her becoming Sunday dress. She jumped up when she saw Carmela and came to her smiling. Carmela couldn’t help but notice she wore black leather shoes, not the worn moccasins.

  “Carmela! Dear friend, are you all right? I wanted to stay after church and talk to you, but Pa insisted we leave right away. His mare is going to foal any minute, and he had to be there. But he let me take the wagon this afternoon. Tell me! How are you?” Her bright brown eyes and eager questions chased away Carmela’s dread.

  “Aren’t you angry with me?”

  “Angry? I think you’re wonderful.” Rilla seized her hands and drew her to the settee. “Tell me how you dared to do it.”

  “To … tell the truth?”

  “Yes. After so long, it must have been hard.”

  Carmela gulped. “It was. I’d been telling that story since I was twelve.” She blinked against tears. “I’m sorry I let you believe the lie. I didn’t dare tell you the truth when I first met you. I was very frightened of what might happen if people found out. Can you forgive me?”

  “I already have.” Rilla sobered. “When I first heard the rumor, that you had lied about your captivity, I didn’t believe it. But then I thought, if that’s so, why then were you taking a bold step to correct things?”

  “I never wanted to lie.” Carmela fumbled for her handkerchief as her tears began to fall.

  “He forced you to, didn’t he? That awful man! At least the Apache were honest about what they did to me.”

  Carmela wiped her face and eyed her friend for a long moment. “How can you not hate them?”

  Rilla sighed. “I still feel all mixed up inside, and it’s hard not to be angry with my parents. My pa wasn’t there when the Indians came, and he should have been. He could have protected us. Ma and I were out in the garden. When we saw them, instead of running to the house, Ma pulled me down the path to the river to hide. She hoped they wouldn’t find us there, but they did. And do you know what Ma did when the warriors found us?”

  Carmela shook her head.

  “She shoved me into the river.”

  “She was trying to save you from them,” Carmela said.

  Rilla gave a bitter laugh. “She tried to hold me underwater. She said it was better to drown me than to let me be captured.”

  Carmela’s breath left her in a puff. How could a mother think that? And yet, after all that Rilla had endured, perhaps her mother had some logic.

  “They took you.”

  “Yes. Pulled me right out of the water.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “They killed her.”

  “What?” Carmela stared at the girl. “But … your ma and pa were in church this morning.”

  “She’s my stepmother. They hatcheted my real ma.”

  Carmela couldn’t breathe. She wanted to say something comforting, or at least offer a sympathetic pat, as Mrs. Finney would, but she couldn’t move.

  “By the time the army brought me back, my pa had got married again,” Rilla said.

  Speechless, Carmela felt tears sting her eyes.

  “But I survived,” Rilla said softly.

  “I’m so, so sorry.” Carmela sought her hand, and Rilla squeezed hers.

  “What you had to do was awful, too, but in a different way.”

  “No,” Carmela said. “I wasn’t injured or made to live with a savag
e man.”

  Rilla shook her head. “At least I don’t have to lie about it. I think … I think we could be friends. If you want.”

  “Oh, yes.” Carmela’s tears flowed freely now.

  Rilla took a folded handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to her. “I’ve started praying again.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Carmela choked. “Might we pray together?”

  Rilla smiled and took her hand again. “I’d like that. We can pray for each other, and maybe the two of us can help Lucy Roote.”

  Carmela’s heart leaped. “Do you want to go visit her?”

  “Yes, if you’ll go with me. And if her parents will let me in the door. They don’t think much of me.”

  “They have no reason for that.”

  Rilla shrugged. “I suppose I was rude to them. I probably said some hurtful things when Lucy was taken. At that time, I was acting more like an Apache.”

  Carmela approached Dr. Greenwood’s house reluctantly that evening. Her uncle would probably scream at her and demand that she make travel arrangements. She had floundered among her options and decided that if the doctor gave Uncle Silas leave to travel, she would buy him a stagecoach ticket, but she was staying here. Mrs. Finney had assured her that she could stay as long as she liked, and her work at the boardinghouse would more than pay for her room and meals.

  Mrs. Greenwood opened the door. Her eyes flickered when she saw Carmela.

  “Come in, please. The doctor is with Marshal Duffield. He asked me to bring you in if you came.”

  “With the marshal?” Carmela’s stomach fell. The specter of arrest hung over her once more.

  Mrs. Greenwood opened the door to the doctor’s cramped office. To Carmela’s surprise, Freeland was in the room with the doctor and Duffield. He stood back, leaning against the wall. When Carmela entered, he straightened and nodded soberly to her.

  “Oh, good, Miss Wade is here,” Dr. Greenwood said. He stepped from behind his desk and touched her sleeve. “Please sit down, my dear. I have news.”

  “What is it?” Carmela sank onto the chair he indicated.