“I’m all right,” James answered, moving his eyes back to Cale’s. “Thanks to you, apparently.”
Cale scowled. “What do you mean? We all did what we could.”
“We?” A tear slipped down James’s cheek. “I failed him—father and mother both,” the boy choked out.
Tuttle screamed again and a chill moved down James’s spine. There was the Indian side of his father, and again his mother had suffered because Caleb Sax was Indian. It was bad enough that James was nothing like his Indian father and hated his Indian blood. But now he was disgraced. He had failed to protect his mother. And Cale, the Indian grandson of whom Caleb was already so proud, had been the one to save the day.
James stormed past Cale and headed for Lynda and Jess’s cabin to get John.
Sweat beaded on Caleb’s forehead, and Lynda reached over to press a cool cloth to his face.
“You should have let me tend to that wound, Father,” she said, dabbing the dried blood on his face. He had come in, removed his bloody clothing, and washed thoroughly, but had refused to take the time to wash and bandage the deep flesh wound at the side of his forehead. In all the confusion he wasn’t even sure how he had gotten the wound, but it appeared to be from a wild bullet.
He stood in clean pants but no shirt, bent over Sarah. Lynda had washed around her mother’s wound, and Jess was in the room with them to help hold Sarah while Caleb cut into her. Cale, James, and John waited in the outer room while Caleb worked at removing the bullet buried in Sarah’s shoulder.
“God, I don’t want to do this again,” Caleb said in a near whisper. He had dug for the bullet once, bringing heart-wrenching moans from Sarah’s lips. He had been unable to find it. He had to search again. In these parts people had to tend to their own wounds, and it sickened him to have to put his Sarah through this pain. He was more sure now than ever that he had to find something better for her. The dangers of the elements, Indians, and outlaws in this land was too great. Now some of his horses had been stolen. If he couldn’t get them back, it would be a hard year financially.
“It’s . . . all right, Caleb,” Sarah said weakly.
He swallowed. It was all he could do to keep from breaking into tears himself. He looked over at Lynda. “See if you can get a little more whiskey down her throat.” He leaned closer to Sarah. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’ll try to get it for sure this time.”
She managed a weak smile, meeting his eyes lovingly. “I know . . . you’re doing your . . . best. At least it hit . . . nothing vital . . . and James didn’t get hurt.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You did a brave thing, Sarah Sax. You might have saved James’s life. When I think of what could have happened—losing either one of you—”
“That won’t happen,” she whispered, her strength waning again. “You just . . . get this thing out of me and go . . . go after those horses. You can do it. You can find them.”
Lynda raised her mother’s head and helped her gulp down a couple more swallows of whiskey.
“Caleb, I think . . . your wife is . . . drunk,” Sarah joked then. “I’ve never been . . . drunk before.”
Caleb smiled sadly, then handed her the piece of rawhide to bite on. “Here we go.” He looked at Jess, signaling him to again hang on to Sarah’s ankles. Lynda put one knee on the bed and held her mother’s wrists at each side of Sarah’s body, keeping a firm hold as Caleb’s knife again dug for the bullet.
In the outer room Sarah’s shuddering groans pierced James’s heart like a sword. He had said nothing, finally going to the loft and getting some clean clothes before he walked outside. Several minutes later Caleb came out of the bedroom, his face looking haggard, his eyes bloodshot.
“Are you all right, Grandfather?” Cale asked.
Caleb sighed and nodded. “I’ll be better when I know for sure your grandmother will be all right. And when I get those horses back.”
“I will help you. I can get some of my Cheyenne friends to help, too. That way Jess and James can stay here and watch things. How is Grandmother now?”
“She seems to be fine, as long as there is no infection. That’s the biggest worry.” He wiped at perspiration with a shaking hand. “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he added, his voice choking. He breathed deeply, looking around the room. John lay sleeping in a big chair. “Where is James?”
“He got some clean clothes and went out. He was still pretty dirty. Those men poured whiskey all over him.”
Pain moved through Caleb’s eyes. “I know.” He walked over to a hook on the wall and took down a buckskin shirt, pulling it on, sighing deeply. He moved his sad eyes back to Cale. “I don’t know if we can stay here, Cale. For me it’s fine. But I’ve got to find something better for Sarah. I know you like it here, but it’s possible we’ll have to move on. You’ll have to decide whether to stay or go.”
The boy nodded. “I know.”
Caleb looked him over, realizing for the first time how big Cale was for his age. “You did a good job tonight, Cale.”
The boy smiled proudly. “I snuck up on him good, didn’t I?”
Caleb nodded. His eyes darkened with revenge then. “I made a pretty bad mess of Hank Tuttle’s body. Early in the morning I want you and Jess and James to dig some graves. None of them deserve burying, but we can’t let them just lie around. Get whatever identification you can, and I’ll report all this at Bent’s Fort. Then we’ll go after those horses.”
Cale looked toward the door. “James feels pretty bad, Grandfather. He thinks it is all his fault.”
Caleb rubbed wearily at his eyes. “What time is it?”
Cale looked at the mantel clock on the fireplace. “Three o’clock in the morning.”
Caleb threw back his head and sighed deeply. “I’ll go talk to James. Everybody had better get some sleep. We have a lot to do. Lynda and Jess are going to sleep here tonight in case I need them. They’ll go up to James’s bed and John can sleep between them. James can sleep down here in a bedroll. You go get your gear. You can sleep in here or outside, whichever you want.”
He walked up and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Cale.” He walked outside with the boy and Cale headed for Lynda and Jess’s cabin, where he had left his bedroll outside. Caleb could see James in the moonlight, standing near the well and splashing water on his face from a bucket. Caleb walked over to where he stood. As soon as James saw him coming he turned away, pulling on a clean shirt.
“You all right, James?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad as hell nothing happened to you. I’m sorry about the gun. It’s never jammed up like that before. It was just one of those things.”
James shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t have happened to you—or Cale or Jess.”
“That isn’t so. It could have happened to anyone. It’s happened to me before. Not with that gun, but it has happened.”
James turned, tears in his eyes. “Why don’t you say it! Why don’t you tell me I’m no use—that you hate me for what happened to Mother!”
Caleb shook his head. “I’m not saying it because it isn’t true.”
“Yes, it is!” The boy picked up the bucket of water and threw it across the well, banging it against the side of the stone wall. The water in it splashed out over several feet. He faced his father again. “Who really helped tonight? Cale! It’s always Cale! I’m smart in the head, but Cale is smart in the ways you have to be smart to survive out here! I don’t belong here, Pa. Sometimes it seems as if I don’t even belong to this family! I was afraid of horses when I was little; I don’t—I don’t like being around the Indians; and when you and Mother need me most, I fail you! You say it’s okay and that it wasn’t my fault. But it was, Pa! It was! Besides that, these things are going to keep happening—because we’re Indian. You heard what they said when they poured that . . . that damned whiskey on me.” The boy sucked in his breath in a near sob. “Calling me names. I stunk like that goddam
ned . . . whiskey . . .”
“James, I’m sorry about that—”
“Don’t be, Pa. Just don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry, because when I grow up I’m going someplace where there aren’t any Indians and men who can break the law whenever they want—and someplace where nobody knows I’m part Indian! Maybe you can put up with these things happening to you all your life. You have to. Anyone who looks at you knows you’re Indian, and Cale too! But not me, Pa! Not me. I can get away with it. I’m . . . I’m damned sorry I have to say it.” His body jerked in another sob and he quickly wiped at his eyes. “I really am, Pa. But I’ll never forget what happened in Texas: losing my home, losing my dog. And now—tonight. If I have a chance I’ll never have to put up with that again.”
The boy turned away, his shoulders shaking. His father just stared at him for several intense seconds before replying. “I told you back in Texas, James, that if you deny your Indian blood, you’ll never be really happy. I still believe that. But you’re approaching manhood now, and you’ll have to make those decisions for yourself.” He stepped closer, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “But I’ll tell you here and now that whatever you decide to do, I’ll always love you, and so will your mother. It won’t change how we feel about you, not ever. You’re free to do whatever you think you have to do whenever you’re ready. But I know that if you go off pretending you’ve no Indian blood, you’ll never be happy inside, and one day you’re going to have to admit to what you are. Otherwise your spirit will never be free.”
“I have no spirit,” the boy mumbled. “I’m not like you and Cale and Tom.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t know it yet, but you are. Spirit is something deep in the soul. Every man has one, and there is no stronger spirit than the Indian spirit. It brings a man close to the elements, close to God, gives him strength in times when all true physical strength seems to be gone, brings out an ability to withstand pain and to face a truth that can sometimes be painful.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulders. “Right now, just believe me when I say you are not to blame for what happened to your mother tonight. Don’t make her feel worse by telling her that. She would only worry about you more.”
James sniffed and swallowed. “Will she be all right?”
“She will, as long as there’s no infection. Tomorrow I want you to help bury all these bodies. Then I’m going to Bent’s Fort to report all this, and Cale and some of his friends are going to help me find those stolen horses. I want you to stay here and help Jess guard the place.”
“I might not be much good at that.”
“You’ll do just fine. It was the gun’s fault, not yours. I’ll give you that newer repeater I bought at the fort a few months ago.”
James wiped at his eyes again. “Mother saved my life.”
“She was doing what any mother would do—a natural reaction. It doesn’t mean you did something wrong or that you owe her some kind of apology. We’re family, James. Each one would lay down his life for the other. If the gun hadn’t jammed, you would have shot those men who came inside and Sarah wouldn’t have been hurt. Things just happen, James.”
The boy shook his head. “Damned gun,” he muttered.
“Come on.” Caleb patted his shoulder. “Come inside and get some sleep. You’ll have to sleep on the floor in a bedroll. Lynda and Jess are going to use your bed so we’ll all be together tonight.” He started to turn.
“Pa?”
Caleb waited. James was still turned away. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you . . . about not wanting to be Indian. I . . .” He swallowed. “I love you, Pa. But I feel like . . . like that part of you isn’t in me.”
Caleb put a hand to his chest, feeling an odd pain. “Well, maybe someday in your search for the real James Sax, you’ll find that part that’s missing, James. I hope for your sake that you do.”
Caleb turned and walked back to the house, feeling suddenly older and more tired. What else could he say to his son? He walked into the bedroom, where Sarah lay looking peaceful, breathing deeply in a heavy sleep. It hit him then full force what could have happened. A little lower, a little more to the left, and the bullet would have killed her. Or if she hadn’t jumped in front of James in time, he would have lost yet another son. He had already buried two sons in Texas. He dreaded the thought of ever burying another.
He went to his knees beside the bed, putting his head down beside Sarah and holding her hand. He wept quietly.
• Chapter Eight •
In all of Tom’s life he could not remember a more beautiful moment than this one—a soft summer dusk, sitting with Juanita in a gazebo that was enclosed with climbing roses. Their perfume filled the warm air, and in this place where not even mosquitoes bothered a man, he wondered if anything came closer to heaven than California. He had already learned to live with the only apparent danger in this land, earthquake. Still, it was not difficult to get accustomed to the occasional tremors that sometimes knocked dishes from the shelves but seldom did any worse damage.
Birds sang in nearby trees, preparing to nest for the night, and Juanita’s ever present personal maid, Luisa, sat on a bench outside the gazebo. Tom rested an arm on the gazebo bench behind Juanita, facing her, smiling at the way she almost always kept her face turned away, as though if she faced him he might see the desire in her eyes.
“I wish there was a way we could meet alone,” he told her, longing to touch her, hold her, meet her lips.
She twisted the lace of her dress nervously through her fingers, her hands resting in her lap. “So do I,” she said shyly. “I . . . I have enjoyed seeing you, Señor Sax. All the things we have talked about . . . we know so much about each other’s past and each other’s dreams. We are like . . . good friends. But I have . . . I have also wished we could be alone.”
He saw the flush of her cheeks. He grinned, moving his hand to lightly stroke her hair behind her head where Luisa could not see the movement.
“You’re so damned beautiful, Juanita,” he said softly. “I hope you’ll keep seeing just me until you’re old enough that I can . . .” He took a deep breath, hoping he would not frighten her away; “Old enough that I can marry you.”
That remark made her look up at him, her dark eyes wide and dancing. “Señor Sax,” she whispered in surprise.
He laughed lightly. “Will you quit calling me that? It’s Tom.”
Their eyes held. “Is it true? You wish to marry me?”
Tom glanced at Luisa, who sat reading a book. “It’s true,” he said in a near whisper. “But I don’t think your father would want me asking so soon. It’s just that—” His eyes moved over the pink, lacy dress, the way her full, firm bosom filled out the bodice. “It’s just that the waiting will be very hard. Every night I think about making you my woman; Juanita—my wife. And I’m getting old enough that I must soon start having a family.”
She blushed more and looked down. How she longed to know how it would feel to be kissed by him, held by him. She had only a partial awareness of what it meant to be a wife, where babies came from. It was enough to make her both frightened and excited. The act was frightening, but the thought of Tom Sax being the one to make her a woman, the thought of giving him sons and daughters, filled her with a fiery desire she had never felt in her innocent young life.
“I would be honored to be your wife and to give you children,” she said shyly, still looking at her lap. “When I think of how you lost your first wife I think how sad it all is—how long you have gone without a woman’s love.” She raised her eyes to meet his dark ones, feeling almost daring to actually look into his eyes and speak of love. “I weep for you sometimes. Now that I know you, Señor . . . I mean . . . Tom. Now that I know you so well, and we have talked about so many things, I feel older, wiser. And the thought of your suffering makes my heart sad. You are a good man. My father knows this. Perhaps he would consider—”
Their eyes held, and Tom felt ready to explode with de
sire. His whole body felt hot, and he trembled with the agony of not being able to take her into his arms and taste her mouth, feel her breasts against himself, and most of all to lay her down and teach her about making love.
“I will wait just a little longer,” he told her. He took her hand, an allowable touch. It felt tiny and soft, and his felt strong and sure wrapped around her own. “I wanted you the first day I set eyes on you, Juanita.” He kept his voice low so Luisa could not hear. “And now that I know you better, I know that I love you. I want you to be in my life forever, if you’ll have me.”
She felt spellbound by his dark eyes and handsome face. Suddenly it wasn’t embarrassing to look straight into his true, loving eyes. “I want to be in your life forever, too.”
“Your time is up, Juanita,” Luisa called from the bench.
Juanita frowned, glancing in the woman’s direction. “Yes, Luisa. Just a moment.” She looked back at Tom.
“The time goes so fast,” she whispered. “I hate it when I have to go.”
Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I am deeply honored, Juanita, that you want to be my wife. I must tell you that I have to go away for a while, but when I return, I intend to speak to your father about our feelings for each other.”
“Go away? Where?”
“I am going to San Francisco. Your father says there is someone there who raises palominos—supposedly the finest a man could want. I am going to look them over for him and buy a good stud and mare for him.”
She blushed slightly at the words. A stud and mare were for breeding. She had seen horses mate before. What was it like for humans? It seemed so appalling and frightening, yet sitting here with Tom’s strong, warm hand wrapped around her own, she trusted Tom Sax would never let it be that way for her. She glanced over at Luisa, who had not yet moved to rise, then allowed her eyes to meet Tom’s again.
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