Copyright Information
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2012 by Chelley Kitzmiller
Originally published in 1994 by Chelley Kitzmiller
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
eISBN: 978-1-937776-28-2
Also by Chelley Kitzmiller
The Warriors of the Wind series:
The Seeker
The Healer
El Dorado
Oscar Goes Camping
A Family Affaire (a short story)
Sedona Sunrise (a short story)
(Profits from the sale of this title go to the Have a Heart Humane Society.)
To learn more about Chelley, visit www.ChelleyKitzmiller.com
or follow her on Twitter @chelleykitzmlr.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to the 500+ cats and dogs me, my daughter and our Have A Heart Humane Society volunteers have rescued and rehomed since beginning Have A Heart Humane Society. Next to writing, pet rescue is the hardest job I’ve ever done. It’s also the most rewarding. Now I know what my purpose is and why I’m here. I am blessed.
Table of Contents
The Peacemaker
Copyright Information
Also by Chelley Kitzmiller
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Seeker, Book 2 in the Warriors of the Wind series
Author Bio
Chapter 1
Arizona Territory September 1, 1869
Independence Taylor stood behind the door listening to the troopers' descriptions of the four dead miners they had come across on their way to the San Simon stage station. Bodies riddled with bullets and arrows. Stripped naked and tied to the wagon wheels. Burned beyond recognition.
Despite the summer heat Indy felt chilled to the bone. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, then whispered a short but fervent prayer. "Dear Lord, I know I've been a trial to you over the years and to my father, but I ask you to please watch over the troopers and me when we leave here. Watch over us and keep us safe. I have so much to make up for, Lord. I can't die knowing Father hasn't forgiven me."
Captain Aubrey Nolan had been about to put his hand on the door latch when he heard the beginning of Indy's prayer. He turned away, not wanting to intrude, and went back to his men. "Keep your voice down, Sergeant," he said in an authoritative voice. "She's praying for our safety."
"Yes, sir, Captain sir, but I was thinkin'. Mebbe it ain't such a good idea t'take her back with us, what with Chie on another of his killin' rampages. Mebbe if we was t'tell her how things was here, she'd catch the next stage home and get the hell outta here."
"There won't be another stage for two days, Sergeant, and I don't think the colonel would look too kindly on me, or you, if I left her here with no womenfolk to look out after her. It wouldn't be seemly. Besides, with the station keeper being shorthanded, it would be more dangerous to leave her here than take her with us."
The burly sergeant removed his forage cap and rubbed his fingers through his graying hair. "I sure would hate t'see anything happen t'her. She's such a li'l thing, not much bigger than a child, but I can see she's all growed up and right purty if I do say so, with them big hazel eyes all bright and shiny. Reminds me of a girl I knowed back in Georgia, afore the war," Moseley said with a touch of melancholy. "Fragile, like one of my mama's roses, she was. Would have wilted out here in this damnable desert heat in no time. I'm thinkin' Miss Taylor's jes' about as delicate as that li'l girl. Why'd the colonel let her come, anyway? Smart as he is—or thinks he is—seems he'd have better sense. Damn fool thing lettin' her come, if you ask me. Yep, a damn fool thing."
"Nobody's asking you, Sergeant, and I might add, it's none of our business. Now, order the men to mount up. We'll be leaving momentarily."
Moseley wheeled around and walked away, barking orders to the men.
Not once since leaving her St. Louis home had Indy doubted the wisdom of her decision to follow her father to his new post and make a proper home for him. Not until a few moments ago, anyway. What the troopers had described seeing on their way to the stage station was the reality of the "Indian problems" in the territories—the reality she'd read about in shocking detail in the Army reports sent to her father to study in preparation for his new command at Camp Bowie. The reports told a completely different story from the innocuous newspaper articles that were occasionally printed. Yet she had minimized the seriousness of the reports because she didn't want them to deter her from making the journey. She had convinced herself that her coming such a long distance to make a home for her father and be his companion would somehow break the awful barrier that had existed between them these last seven years.
She realized now, too late, that she'd been a fool. The dangers were real and every bit as horrible as the reports had indicated. She could very well die within the next few hours and all the years' efforts to gain his forgiveness and win back his love would have been for naught.
Indy took a deep breath to marshal her composure and forced a smile to her lips. It simply wouldn't do for her to let the nice captain or the troopers know she'd overheard them talk. No, indeed. It wouldn't do at all, she thought, opening the door and stepping outside into the bright sunlight.
"We're ready to go if you are," the captain intoned flatly.
"Yes, I'm ready," she replied, making certain that nothing in her voice betrayed her burgeoning anxiety. She lowered her head, lifted her skirt, and walked down the pebble-strewn path toward the open-sided military ambulance. Averting her gaze, she stepped up to the back of the vehicle and accepted the captain's gloved hand to help her inside.
"With your permission, Miss Taylor, I thought I'd ride with you until we reach Camp Bowie."
"Why, of course, Captain. I'd be pleased to have you." Crouching to avoid smashing her hat beneath the canvas roof, she contemplated the best place to sit. There was none. Rough wooden benches, which served as beds for the wounded in the field when they were needed, stretched along each side of the wagon bed. She moved to the right and sat down.
The captain took his Spencer carbine out of the leather boot hanging from his saddle and tied his horse's reins to the back of the ambulance, then climbed in and sat on the opposite bench. "I can lower the canvas curtains if you like. It might help cut down on some of the dust and dirt."
"No thank you. I'm sure it will be fine as it is. Besides, I'm beyond the point of worrying about my appearance," she said, making her point by pulling a long stray lock of hair over her shoulder. She held it between her two fingers and frowned. More than two weeks of round-the-clock travel, with only brief basin baths at the more civilized stage stations, had turned her light brown hair, which had been glossy with good health, to a sickly gray-brown.
The real reason, however, that she wanted the canvas curtains left up was so she could see everything going on around her. She'd grown up in a military h
ousehold on military strategies and knew that one should always be aware of one's surroundings, especially when going into the unknown.
"If you don't mind my saying, Miss Taylor, you look just fine. It'll be a real treat for the men to have someone as pretty as you in their midst." He smiled appreciatively.
Tilting her head down, Indy demurred. "You flatter me, Captain, but I thank you for it." The last two weeks had opened her eyes to many things, one of them being that men found her attractive—even pretty, where she had always considered herself plain. Having been something of a recluse these last seven years, socializing only with her father's stuffy officer friends, who talked of nothing but the art of war, there had been few opportunities to experience the company of a young man, let alone hear a word of flattery or admiration.
Blushing beneath his admiring scrutiny, she tugged downward on the braided hem of her jacket to smooth out the wrinkles. She had selected her travel clothing carefully, making it clear to the dressmaker that comfort, durability, and practicality should take precedence over current fashion. The skirt was of a dark blue serge, not nearly as full or long as the skirts and dresses she'd left at home in her wardrobe. The matching jacket had black lapels and was trimmed with black braid. It was nipped in at the waist and flared flatteringly over her hips. Beneath the jacket she wore a simple white muslin blouse with a tiny, rounded collar. Her hat was her only concession to frivolity, a black velvet sailor hat, low-crowned with a moderate brim, turned down over her forehead.
The driver took up the double set of lines, released the brake, and called out to the mules. "H'yaw! Hee-yaw! Gee up, thar, you Longears." Leather snapped smartly over the team's backs and the ambulance lurched forward. To keep from being thrown off her seat, Indy held on to the wooden framework that supported the canvas top. Once the four-mule team moved onto the road, the ride smoothed out and conversation again became possible.
"How far is it to Camp Bowie, Captain?" Indy asked. The captain had hardly looked at her since they'd left San Simon. He was watching out for Apaches, she supposed, forgiving him his negligence. So far he hadn't said a word to her about the dangers they could be facing.
"Twenty-two miles," he replied. "Three and a half to four hours . . . depending," he added a moment later.
Indy waited for an explanation but soon realized he hadn't intended one. "Depending on what, Captain?" she prodded, wishing he would talk to her and tell her exactly what problems, if any, he was anticipating.
His gaze came slowly back to hers. "Depending upon the mules, the road, the weather. All those things," he said, then quickly changed the subject. "I'm sure you must be anxious to end your travels and get some rest. I know what it's like to try to sleep sitting up in a crowded stagecoach."
"It was an experience I will never forget, I assure you," she answered coolly. She was beginning to resent the way he tried to protect her with his silence. He should give her credit for knowing a little something about the dangers they faced—she was, after all, the post commander's daughter. He obviously thought she was one of those fragile females who would panic and become hysterical.
It was everything she could do to hold her tongue, but she knew if she didn't, she'd regret it. He seemed a nice enough man; he simply wasn't accustomed to a woman who knew her own mind and went about as she pleased.
She turned away and focused her gaze on the flat open terrain. Having studied botany in school, she recognized beargrass, agave, sotol, and several other species of desert chaparral.
Her interest quickly waned. It was hard to think about anything when at any point in time an Apache warrior could jump out from behind a rock and attack the detachment. She wished there had been more information available for her to read on the Apaches as a people; it would help to understand them, which, in turn, would help her to know what to expect. But very little information existed—only accounts of their attacks, raids, tortures. They seemed to be little more than savage beasts who preyed upon soldiers, white settlers, miners, and travelers.
She hoped the captain was more informed than she. She also hoped he was well trained in the event there was an attack. Acting with speed, or celerity as her father always phrased it, was the key to a success in any battle—no matter who the enemy. Being well informed ranked a close second. After several minutes of entertaining her own thoughts, which were succeeding only in making her more nervous, she decided to broach the subject of her father. Perhaps she could glean some insight into how he would receive her, though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.
"Tell me, Captain. My father—is he well?" "Yes, ma'am. The colonel is fit as a fiddle." Indy laughed lightly. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone use that phrase to describe Father." A flash of humor lit the captain's face. It changed his entire countenance and made her take a second, harder look. She liked what she saw. He was younger than she had first thought when he introduced himself at San Simon. In his late thirties, she guessed. It was the tint of his skin and the tiny sun lines radiating from his eyes that had given her the impression of an older man—the indelible marks of a cavalry officer.
The captain's clean-shaven face was pleasing, though far from handsome—a sincere and kindly face—a face that inspired trust. He had a high wide forehead and his brows rode low over deep-set eyes that were an unusual light blue. A ghostly gray layer of dust covered his well-fitted dark blue fatigue blouse and stole the shine from his boots. Beneath his hat, his hair appeared to be a rusty brown. Both his manner and dress were militarily correct, and he exuded competence, but displayed none of the self-important airs she had seen among her father's friends.
"Will you be staying at Bowie long?" he asked, giving her his full attention.
"Until my father is reassigned, I expect. He's convinced, as I am, that someone in the War Department made a mistake sending him to the frontier, when his expertise is in civil engineering. He appealed to President Grant as soon as he got his orders, but there wasn't time to hear back before he had to report to his new post." Indy paused a moment to bolster her courage before broaching the question that would give her the answer she sought. "Captain, I hope you won't think me presumptuous, but I was wondering— would you happen to know—was Father terribly upset when he received word of my arrival?" No sense pretending that she thought her father would welcome her with open arms.
The captain raised one brow and looked away. Out of the side of his mouth he said, "He was . . . surprised."
Indy rolled her eyes. That wasn't the answer she had been looking for. "Please, Captain Nolan, it would help me considerably if I knew just how upset he is so I can prepare myself."
His expression turned grave. "Well, then, Miss Taylor, I suggest you prepare for the worst."
"Oh," she breathed and looked down at her gloved hands. "It's possible I may have underestimated his objections. He did, after all, give strict orders that I was to stay in St. Louis and maintain the house." She lifted her gaze. "Father doesn't like being disobeyed." The captain nodded as if he understood, but of course he didn't really, and she wasn't about to enlighten him. "I hope he doesn't send me back. It's not a trip I would relish making again so—" She broke off, her eyes widening in alarm when the captain took his Spencer carbine in hand. "What is it? What's wrong?" She swung her head left, then right, trying to see what had prompted the action. But there was nothing to see. A second later she realized he had merely been changing his position. Her face colored with embarrassment.
"Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to startle you."
She struggled to regain her composure. "I'm afraid I owe my anxiety to one of the stage passengers," she lied, drawing on the incident as she had seen it affect the whiskey drummer. For some reason she couldn't bring herself to admit her fear of an attack. "The poor fellow hadn't slept in three days and was convinced that we would be attacked by the Apaches," she continued. "Eventually he became so hysterical that he had to be restrained. He's staying on a day or two at San Simon to rest."
"Things like that happen more often than you'd think. It's a difficult journey, especially now with Cochise, Juh, and Chie leading their braves in all-out warfare, but I'm certain you knew that, what with the colonel being sent here specifically to deal with the Indian situation."
Finally, he was admitting that there was a situation! "Yes," she said pointedly. "I'm aware that there have been problems. I don't envy you having to go back for the man."
Nolan looked up. "Begging your pardon, Miss Taylor, but we won't be going back. The colonel has called a halt to civilian escorts until we can get things under control. The gentleman will have to find his own transportation."
"Halted the escorts? But—you came for me."
"No, ma'am, not exactly." Clearly embarrassed, he adjusted the brim of his hat. "Officially we came to pick up the mail. The stage line has refused to deliver it as long as the attacks continue."
"Oh ... I see . . ." There was a catch in her voice and she felt the threat of tears. But for the mail, she would have been forced to find her own transportation just like the poor whiskey drummer. Staring down at the thin canvas mail pouch near her feet, she tried not to reveal her dismay. After a moment, she queried, "Is it customary to send an ambulance after so little mail?"
"No, ma'am, but I told the colonel that I had reason to believe the stage might also be bringing the Harper's Weeklys and newspapers we ordered. They're a month overdue and the men are anxious over what's happening in the East with the President and his Indian policies." He inclined his head and grinned.
Indy perceived the small conspiracy and smiled gratefully.
The ambulance rattled along, rocking and swaying like a storm-tossed ship. Jagged-topped mountains ringed the valley floor, one range feeding to another, the crevices and folds purpling as the sun slowly sank into the western sky.
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