Comanche Moon

by Catherine Anderson

  ‘‘To who?’’

  ‘‘To all who pass. You will see, eh?’’

  ‘‘You’re sure you aren’t planning to attack my home?’’

  ‘‘No fight. You will be easy.’’

  After his lance was finished, she and Hunter made their fire away from the others, then sat near the flames to eat the traveler’s fare his mother had thoughtfully packed for them. As Loretta chewed her jerked buffalo meat, her mouth went dry. The meat got bigger and bigger, a gigantic wad she couldn’t swallow.

  This was it, the last time they would ever eat together beside a fire. The very last time. It was insane to feel sad, but she did.

  Soon after they finished eating, they arranged their respective beds near the dying fire and retired for the night. Loretta lay on her back, gazing at the stars. Hardly more than an arm’s reach away, Hunter slept. At least she guessed he was asleep. She never knew for sure. He could be still as death one minute and on his feet, wide awake, the next. All afternoon he had been quieter than usual. Perhaps he was a little sad, too. Tomorrow they would have to say good-bye.

  The word sounded lonely inside her head. And so final. Somehow, God only knew how, she had grown fond of him. Enough to make her wish they might meet again, one day. Crazy. It would be best if their paths never crossed. She had her world, he his, and the two didn’t mix. Never could, not in a million years.

  She remembered his mother thumping heads with her spoon, Blackbird’s merry laughter. Comanches. The word no longer struck terror in her heart. Would it after he rode off tomorrow? Loretta sighed. Once he left, they would be enemies again. Their truce was tentative. If he came to the farm, Uncle Henry would shoot him. The thought wrenched her heart.

  ‘‘Hunter?’’ she whispered. ‘‘Are you awake?’’

  Silence. She pulled her buffalo robe to her chin and shivered, though she wasn’t cold. Memories of those first few days washed over her. Of his arm around her while she slept, the heat of his chest against her back, how terrified she had been. Suddenly the stars above her blurred, and she realized she was gazing at them through tears. She squeezed her eyes closed, and hot streams ran down her cheeks into her ears. She wasn’t crying, she wasn’t. Couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense.

  A sob snagged in her throat and made a catching sound. She clamped a hand over her mouth, furious with herself. How could she have come to like a Comanche? Could she forget her parents so easily? It was unthinkable. Unforgivable.

  ‘‘Mah-tao-yo?’’

  Loretta leaped and opened her eyes. Hunter knelt beside her, a dark shadow against the blue-black, starlit sky.

  ‘‘You weep?’’

  ‘‘No—yes.’’ Her voice came out in a squeak. ‘‘I’m just feeling sad, that’s all.’’

  He sat down beside her and hugged his knees, gazing off into the endless darkness. ‘‘You will stay beside me?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ The thought was so preposterous that a wet laugh erupted from her. ‘‘I was just thinking. Once I get home, we’ll be enemies again. My people would shoot you if you ever came around. And that—’’ She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. ‘‘That makes me sad. And sort of scared. What if there was an Indian attack? What if I—’’ She turned her head to study him. ‘‘I might look down the barrel of a rifle someday, and it might be you at the other end.’’

  ‘‘I will not lift my blade against you.’’

  ‘‘But what if you didn’t know? What if you went on a raid and I was there, fighting to protect my family and friends? What if I sighted in on some murdering savage, itchin’ to blow him off his horse, and it was you?’’

  His eyes were dark pits in his face when he turned to regard her. After a long silence he said, ‘‘You would pull the trigger?’’

  Loretta stared up at him, her chest knotted around a huge ball of pain. ‘‘Oh, Hunter, no, I don’t think I could.’’

  ‘‘Then let your sadness go the way of the wind, eh?’’ His teeth gleamed white in the moonlight. ‘‘If we meet in battle, I will know the song your heart sings, eh? And you will know mine.’’

  She swallowed, trying to read his expression, frustrated by the shadows. ‘‘What if it happened? What if you were attacking a farm, and you saw me at one of the windows? What would you do?’’

  ‘‘I would salute you. There will be no war between us.’’

  ‘‘There is war between us, though. Our people hate each other, Hunter.’’

  He sighed and peered through the gloom at her. ‘‘Ob-be mah-e-vah.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Make room for me.’’ He lifted the robe and joined her on the pallet.

  ‘‘Wha—you’re not going to sleep with me?’’

  ‘‘Nei che-ida-ha, I am very terribly cold.’’

  Loretta suspected he was lying, but she moved over, secretly glad to have him there, her mind shying away from the enormity of what that meant. He rolled onto his side and laid an arm across her waist. Their faces were scant inches apart. Their gazes locked. His teeth gleamed again in a slow smile.

  ‘‘Are you sad? About saying good-bye tomorrow?’’

  ‘‘No. You will ride in a great circle back to me. The Great Ones have spoken it.’’

  ‘‘In your song?’’ She sniffed. ‘‘That song has caused me enough grief.’’

  He tightened his arm and drew her closer, ‘‘Sleep, mah-tao-yo. This last time, at my side.’’

  At noon the following day, the Comanches crested the rise above the Masters farm and drew in their horses, well out of firing range. Loretta clutched her horse’s reins with such force that her knuckles ached. Hunter sat astride his stallion beside her, his knee brushing hers. Loretta couldn’t look at him. Instead she stared at the little house she had thought never to see again. Nothing about it had changed. She wondered what Uncle Henry had done with the fifty horses Hunter had left. They weren’t in the back pasture.

  A flash of blue crossed the yard. Amy. Running to the house to warn Aunt Rachel and Uncle Henry that Indians were coming. It seemed like a hundred years ago that Loretta had done the same.

  She saw Hunter reaching toward her out of the corner of her eye. She looked at him as he lowered his medallion necklace over her head. The flat stone was still warm from where it had rested against his chest. She pressed her palm over it.

  ‘‘You will wear it? For always? And remember Hunter of the Wolf? It is a promise you make?’’

  ‘‘I will wear it.’’ Her fingers curled around the medallion. ‘‘I have nothing to give you.’’

  His eyes clouded with warmth. ‘‘Your ruffles.’’

  She pursed her lips. ‘‘I’m wearing them. If you want them, you’ll have to come back and steal them.’’

  His gaze ran the length of her. ‘‘Maybe so. You will make them nice like flowers, yes?’’

  She sighed and bent her head. She knew why the memories hurt. They had become friends. It was impossible, crazy, but it had happened. And saying good-bye had a sharp edge. ‘‘Well, I guess this is it.’’

  ‘‘For this little bit time.’’

  She looked up. ‘‘Hunter, you mustn’t—’’

  He leaned toward her and crossed her lips with a finger. ‘‘You can read my trail, eh? You can walk in my footsteps and come to me. I will leave you signs.’’

  With a nod, Loretta slid off the horse and stretched the reins out to him. Instead of taking them, he dismounted and walked around his horse to stand with her. She tipped her head back, trying her best to smile. His song had nothing to do with her. Why couldn’t he understand that?

  ‘‘Thank you for bringing me home. My heart will sing a song of friendship when I think of you, Hunter—for always into the horizon.’’

  He gestured toward the stallion. ‘‘You will take him. He is strong and swift. He will carry you back to Comanche land, eh?’’

  ‘‘Oh, no! I couldn’t. He’s yours!’’

  ‘‘He walks a new way now. You are his good friend.�
�’

  Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘‘I will never return to Comancheria, Hunter. Please, keep your horse.’’

  ‘‘You keep. He is my gift to you, Blue Eyes.’’

  Words eluded Loretta. Before she thought it through, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his in what she intended to be a quick kiss of farewell.

  Hunter had heard of this strange tosi tivo custom called kissing. The thought of two people pressing their open mouths together had always disgusted him. Loretta was a different matter, however. Before she could pull away, he captured her face between his hands and tipped her head back to nibble lightly at her mouth. To learn the taste of her. And to remember.

  As inexpert as he was, when his mouth touched hers, a wave of heat zigzagged through him, pooling like fire low in his belly. Her lips were soft and full, as sweet as warm penende, honey. She gasped, and when she did, he dipped his tongue past her teeth to taste her moistness, which was even sweeter and made him think of other sweet places he would like to taste. Hunter at last understood why the tosi tivo liked kissing.

  She clutched his wrists and leaned away from him. He drew back and smiled, his palms still framing her face. Her large eyes shone as blue as the sky above them, startled and wary, just as they had so many times those first few days. She was like his mother’s beadwork, beautiful on the outside, a confusing tangle on the inside. Would he never understand her?

  ‘‘Good-bye, Hunter.’’

  Reluctantly he released her and watched her lead the horse down the hill. At the base of the slope she turned and looked back. Their gazes met and held. Then she turned toward home and broke into a trot, the horse trailing behind her. Hunter shook his head. Only a White Eyes would walk when she had a perfectly good horse to ride.

  His gaze shifted to her wooden walls. He could only trust in the Great Ones that all would be well for her there. He feared her adoptive father might abuse her, but there was no way he could protect her when she wasn’t at his side. His chest tightened. What if the song did not come to pass? What if the great circle of fate never brought her back to him?

  He clenched his hands into fists, struggling with himself not to go after her. His woman, yet not his woman. Did she know she took with her a little bit of his heart? With a heavy sigh, he swung onto his black.

  ‘‘Are you ready?’’ Old Man asked.

  "No. Let her reach her wooden walls, eh? So she has no fear."

  Chapter 14

  HOME. LORETTA BURST THROUGH THE GATES and started screaming. ‘‘Aunt Rachel! Amy! I’m home! I’m home!’’

  The house looked as still as death. Loretta’s footsteps dragged to a stop before she reached the porch. She had seen Amy in the yard. Why hadn’t anyone come out to greet her? Surely they didn’t intend to turn her away. Uncle Henry, maybe. But never Aunt Rachel.

  With quivering hands, Loretta tied her horse’s reins around the porch post and took a hesitant step. The reality of her world and its harsh judgments came rushing back to her. A tainted woman. Aunt Rachel would never willingly turn her away, but Henry had the say here. His fists had a way of carrying the vote.

  Panic worked its way up Loretta’s throat. Surely she hadn’t gone through all she had only to find she had no home here. The doeskin membrane on the left window moved. Loretta peered at the narrow crack.

  ‘‘My gawd, girl, you’ve gone and brung death right to our doorstep!’’ Henry snarled.

  Loretta looked over her shoulder at the Comanches on the rise. She hurried onto the porch. ‘‘They won’t hurt you. Hunter promised. Let me in, Uncle Henry.’’

  Relief washed over her when she heard the bar rasp. Then the door cracked open, scarcely wide enough for her to squeeze through. When she stepped inside, Henry slammed the door closed behind her as if the hounds of hell were outside. Loretta spun and spied Aunt Rachel crouched before the other window, at the ready with a rifle. Loretta flew across the planked floor.

  ‘‘No need for shooting,’’ she told her aunt, snatching the weapon from her hands to lean it against the wall. Rachel rose slowly to her feet. ‘‘Lands, Aunt Rachel, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes. And you smell like sheer heaven. Rose water!’’ Loretta threw her arms around the other woman and swayed blissfully. ‘‘Oh, mercy me, there were times when I would’ve given my right arm to do this.’’

  Instead of hugging her back, Rachel drew away and stood there staring, her blue eyes as big as yeast-raised biscuits. Loretta’s heart sank. Not Aunt Rachel. She could bear rejection from anyone else, but this woman was like her mother.

  ‘‘I’m okay, Aunt Ra—’’ Loretta licked her lips, determined to play this out, to believe in her aunt’s goodness. ‘‘Reckon I’m a mess, but aren’t you glad to see me?’’

  Rachel still seemed struck dumb.

  ‘‘Did y’all think I was dead?’’

  Rachel licked her bloodless lips. "Y-you’re talking."

  Loretta touched her throat and nodded. ‘‘Isn’t it wonderful?’’

  Rachel smiled slightly, and tears filled her eyes. ‘‘God forgive me, I gave you up for lost. It’s a miracle.’’

  ‘‘Unbelievable, more like,’’ Henry snarled.

  Loretta ignored him. ‘‘Didn’t Tom tell you he saw me?’’

  ‘‘He said you were starving yourself, that you weren’t likely to last more ’n a few days.’’ Rachel caught Loretta’s face between her hands. ‘‘We figured you—’’ Her voice broke, and her throat worked as she fought to speak. ‘‘We thought you were long since dead. Tom and some others went out searching for you. Couldn’t find a trace. I gave up hope.’’ Her mouth began to quiver. Looking a little sheepish, she shrugged and blinked. ‘‘I don’t know why I’m cryin’. I should be happy.’’

  With a sob, Rachel began checking Loretta for injuries, her hands trembling as she ran them over her niece’s clothes. ‘‘Are you—did they cut you anywhere? Burn you? Are you all right?’’ When she spied the medallion, she cupped it in her palm and stared at it. ‘‘Lord Almighty, what’s this?’’

  ‘‘It’s Hunter’s. He gave it to me as a remembrance.’’

  ‘‘A remembrance!’’ Henry barked. ‘‘Lord help us, she’s plumb addled. A remembrance?’’

  ‘‘I—yes. We’re, um, sort of . . .’’ Loretta licked her lips again and glanced around the room, the words to explain eluding her. Careful, Loretta. If she said the wrong thing, it could damn her. ‘‘I can’t believe I’m actually standing here. Home. Really and truly home.’’

  ‘‘Are you hurt anywhere?’’ Rachel demanded.

  ‘‘No, not a scratch. Just a little grimy around the edges.’’

  ‘‘Lands, you are in a tangle. Don’t those Injuns have soap?’’

  ‘‘Not a sniff.’’ Loretta laughed, feeling giddy, not quite able to believe Hunter had brought her here as promised. ‘‘Maybe that’s a bad choice of words. I bet I smell to high heaven.’’

  ‘‘Like a little smokehouse.’’ Rachel grabbed her for another fierce hug. ‘‘And talking a blue streak, Henry! Isn’t it wonderful?’’

  Henry, who had stepped back to his post, peered out the doeskin membrane and swore under his breath. ‘‘Sweet Jesus, here they come!’’ He threw his carbine to his shoulder. ‘‘Rachel, git your rifle! Loretta Jane, you load!’’

  ‘‘No!’’ Loretta broke away from Rachel and ran across the room to jerk Henry’s rifle off bead. ‘‘Don’t shoot!’’

  ‘‘Don’t shoot? You done lost your mind, girl? They’re attackin’!’’

  Loretta bent to peer out the crack. There they came, forty Comanches, all whooping and hollering, lances raised, a frightening spectacle indeed. Forgetting for the moment that she must guard what she said, she cried, ‘‘They aren’t attacking. He promised.’’

  ‘‘Then what the hell are they doin’? Get outa my way!’’ Henry shoved her aside and resighted his rifle. ‘‘He promised? She’s touched, Rachel! They messed her up in the head, keepin’ her all
this time.’’

  Loretta ran for the door. ‘‘He isn’t attacking! I know he isn’t. Please, don’t shoot!’’ The bar stuck as she tried to lift it. Her heart began to slam as she wrestled with it. A vision of Hunter lying dead in the yard flashed through her head. This was exactly what she had dreaded might happen, what she’d tried to explain to him last night. ‘‘Please, Uncle Henry—he promised me. And he wouldn’t make a lie of it, he wouldn’t, I know he wouldn’t!’’ The bar finally came free. ‘‘Don’t shoot him, don’t!’’

  Throwing the door wide, Loretta ran out onto the porch. The Comanches were circling the house. She ran to the end of the porch and saw a lance embedded in the dirt fifteen feet away.

  Hi, hites, hello, my friend.

  Her knees went weak with relief. ‘‘Uncle Henry,’’ she cried over her shoulder, ‘‘they’re marking the property. Protecting us! Don’t shoot or you’ll cause a bloodbath for sure!’’ She ran to the window and peered in the crack at her uncle. ‘‘Did you hear me? If they were wanting to murder somebody, I’d be dead.’’

  She turned back to watch as the Comanches widened their circle to mark the outer perimeters of Henry’s land. Tears stung her eyes. Hunter was leaving a message to every Indian in the whole territory: those at this farm were not to be attacked.

  Within minutes the braves had driven all forty willow lances into the dirt and ridden to the crest of the hill. Loretta shaded her brow, trying to find Hunter in the swarm. Recognizing him from the rest at this distance was impossible. Then they disappeared over the rise. Loretta stared at the empty knoll, her chest aching, her knees still shaking.

  ‘‘Good-bye, my friend,’’ she whispered.

  As if he had heard her, Hunter reappeared alone on the rise. Bringing his stallion to a halt, he straightened and lifted his head, forming a dark silhouette, his quiver and arrows jutting up above his shoulder, his shield braced on his thigh, his long hair drifting in the wind.

  Forgetting all about her family watching her, Loretta stumbled down the steps and out into the yard to be sure Hunter could see her. Then she waved. In answer, he raised his right arm high in a salute. He remained there for several seconds, and she stood rooted, memorizing how he looked. When he wheeled his horse and disappeared, she stared after him for a long while.