An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke

by Denise Daye

  An older man wearing a full eagle-feathered warbonnet now stepped into the circle, followed by the native man who was wearing the soldier hat. The older Apache raised his hand, causing the loud chatter to drop into dead silence. He crossed his arms, his eagle eyes running up and down over the four of them, but mostly lingering on George and Esther. This man hadn’t even said a word, yet he had that energy around him that made others feel as if he held the wisdom and secrets of the world inside him. The younger Apache now leaned closer to the Chief and said something in their native tongue. After he was done, nobody spoke again, respectfully waiting for the Chief to take all the time in the world to do whatever he saw fit. Then the Chief spoke in their language for all to hear. The man in the soldier hat translated.

  “My father asks what you have to offer for the life of this woman.”

  George stepped closer to the Chief, squeezing Esther tightly against his chest.

  “Land.”

  He stopped, thinking about his next words. He had to speak wisely as there was not much time to explain a complex legal situation and more importantly, not say something foolish that would ruin everything.

  “The land that was stolen from you. I will give the parts back that were given to me and my friend.” At this point, George wouldn’t even dare to add mining rights for him to the agreement. That train was long gone, a different time and deal. Now all that mattered was to save the woman he loved.

  The Chief’s son translated what had just been said for everybody to hear, but mainly for his father. At least that is what George was hoping. But after the translation was finished, the Chief just stared at George in silence.

  “It’s a lot of land. The whole mountain.” George tried to push his case. He was sounding desperate, and rightfully so as Esther’s situation was taking a sharp decline, getting worse by the minute.

  “We even brought a lawyer.” Billy jumped in to aid his friend. He gave Jones a little push forward into the spotlight while at the same time tearing him out of his state of frozen fear. It worked. Jones shook his head and opened his bag.

  “Y-yes. I-I’m the lawyer, remember? I already wrote up the agreement for all the parties involved,” he stuttered, holding the parchment up to the Chief, who, unlike his son earlier, accepted it with a long, frowning stare. He said something to his son while he held the paper up against the sun as if he wanted to see if the parchment would catch on fire and burn away the lies their people had had to endure for generations.

  “My father wants to know if this will keep the white men away and approve the application for land he had sent out to your government over ten years ago. We are one of the last tribes without legal rights to our land.”

  George and Billy were completely lost, but Jones on the other hand seemed to know what application the Jicarilla Apache Chief was referring to. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and stepped closer.

  “I can’t promise that,” Jones answered honestly, shaking his head. This answer might not please the tribe but George understood why he hadn’t lied. These people had been robbed of their land, killed, sold as slaves by the Spanish, forcefully relocated by the army, lied to over and over again. They deserved every bit of honesty the world had to offer.

  “But,” Jones pressed his palms together as if he was saying a desperate prayer, “I swear to everything that is holy to me, I shall do whatever is in my power to help you with your petition. And this paper,” he pointed at the paper the Chief was holding, “will give us a fighting chance in court.”

  The Chief leaned over to his son to receive his translation. Just like before, he stood there staring down at all of them, before lifting his arms up to the sky.

  “Li yeedondi isdzan,” was all he said before he turned around, splitting the crowd, and faded through them. The silence was broken by the start of one chant that turned into dozens, their mesmerizing voices rippling across the plains under the vast clear skies. The women closed in on George and started pulling Esther, tearing her out of George’s arms. He wanted to stop them, fight them if he must, but the Chief’s son grabbed him by his arm.

  “They will heal her. Come,” he tilted his head, “we will now smoke the sacred pipe to sign the agreement.”

  The relief that swept through George was so powerful, his legs almost gave in. The Jicarilla Apache had accepted his offer. Billy let out a huge breath, while Jones on the other hand, wiped away sweat off his forehead with a trembling hand.

  “I’ll be damned! You did it!” Billy swatted George on his shoulder.

  “Maybe I’m not so foolish after all.” George now also let out a huge breath.

  “Let’s not go that far,” Billy joked.

  They followed the Chief and his son past the gathered crowd and into the shadows and coolness of a large, distinguishable teepee tent, muffling the endless chanting from the other side. None of this guaranteed that Esther would recover, but at least she had a fair chance now. The natives were famous for their natural remedies. If anybody could help her now, it was them.

  George and the others sat down on soft pelts in front of a little fire. The teepee had several ornaments hanging from its walls. Some of them were round with feathers braided into them.

  “Sacred hoops. My children like to sleep here, and it catches their bad dreams,” the Chief’s son explained as he noticed George staring at the dreamcatchers.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Ka-e-te-nay,” the Chief’s son now pointed to his father. “It means Warrior and Chief.”

  George nodded humbly toward the Chief.

  “George,” he replied touching his hand to his chest before pointing at Billy and Jones to introduce them as well. The chief nodded in response.

  “Itza-chu.” The chief’s son pointed at himself. “It means great hawk,” he added proudly, picking up a pipe that was heavily decorated with eagle feathers. “When the white men took me away from my father, I was still a small boy, forced to speak their language and read their words. They re-named me John,” Itza-chu told George, putting some sort of dried herbs into the pipe. “But when my father rescued me, John stayed with the white men and Itza-chu returned to his father.”

  George nodded respectfully. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the hardships these people had had to endure and were still going through.

  One of the others who had joined them handed George a pipe heavily decorated with feathers. It was the most remarkable pipe he had ever seen. But something warned George that this was not like the usual cigars he sometimes smoked in the library after dinner. He suppressed a grimace at the sight of it, wondering what magical powders and herbs were placed in this pipe. But nothing mattered at this point, except Esther. He would do whatever it took to be by Esther’s side again soon. Besides, he thought to himself trying to be optimistic, this might be the greatest honor ever bestowed on a man like him.

  George leaned in, wrapping his lips around the pipe, taking one deep breath that seemed to have kicked him straight in his throat, instantly coughing his brains out, which united everybody—natives and whites alike—to burst into loud laughter.

  The whole ceremony of the agreement lasted less than thirty minutes, at least for George and the others. The natives seemed to prepare for a big celebration, the whole campsite shouting and moving, swirling around like busy bees.

  Jones and Billy had left for Chama the moment the Chief had put his signature on that piece of paper that would hopefully not only delay the march on the Jicarilla Apache, but maybe even save them for good. Jones had to get the document in front of Major Wicks without delay so they could telegraph Major General Patterson right away. At first, Billy wanted to stay behind, but George had convinced him that it was more important to make sure Jones got back safely. It came as no surprise that George felt safer here with the natives than he did around the cowboys who actually did try to rob and shoot him. They were peaceful and honorable people and only showed their warrior side when they were forced to do so.

/>   George entered the teepee where Esther was being cared for and found her naked waist up covered in wet cloths on her bare chest. Several women were tending to her different needs. One of the older women was rubbing herbs into her wound while another woman was singing, rocking back and forth next to a fire which made shadows dance across the tent. She was most likely singing prayers. His throat tightened seeing Esther like this. That heavy weight that seemed to have been lifted when the Chief had agreed to help her was back again, clinging to his chest as his heart sunk into dark, murky waters.

  Grabbing her weak hand, he sat down on a pelt next to her. He would not leave her side again, no matter what. Even if the world itself broke apart, he would stay here by her side and die holding her in his arms. This woman in front of him was his world now. She’d swept him off his feet long before he even knew who she really was. She made him laugh and filled the deepest corners of his soul with love. She had even risked her life for him. Not once, but twice.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her hand, kissing it. “I love you more than you will ever know…”

  Chapter 14

  M orris sat down in front of Major Wicks. There was only one chair, so Morris took the freedom to take it and let Mr. Gorsh stand next to him. This dusty, little New Mexican town had already thinned his patience. He hated it here.

  “So that sick boy that went awn to them Indians is a girl that ran away?” Major Wicks repeated Morris’ words, rocking back and forth in his chair.

  “Yes. She is my ward.”

  Morris placed Cliff’s will along with the wanted poster in front of him. Major Wicks curiously picked them both up.

  “I have been turning every stone to find her. She is confused and all alone out there. She needs me,” Morris sighed, trying to look depressed. The Major raised an eyebrow.

  “Alive or…dead?” He narrowed his eyes, locking them in on the questionable man in front of him. The Major was a simple man, but no fool.

  Morris slapped his hand against his breastbone in a loud thump, playing a theater act that was supposed to look like shock and horror.

  “A mistake! These savage bounty hunters changed the poster, I guess to make it easier for them to catch her and get the reward.” He shook his head looking down at the floor with a frown. “I was worried sick something might have happened to the dear child.”

  The Major lit a cigar. “Mhm…” he mumbled.

  “I am so relieved to hear she is unharmed.” Morris added to his performance as the Major was clearly not taken with it.

  “Mhm…” the Major mumbled again, putting his feet on the table while puffing a mist of fumes that suffocated the room in a heavy fog of blurry smoke.

  “So why are you tryin’ to may-uk that maah problem? Ah’m a soldier, not a nanny.”

  Morris signaled Gorsh to hand him a small leather pouch.

  “I am not here to cause any problems. But as you know, the civil war is over and if there is any truth to the conversation amongst your soldiers in the streets, then it seems like whatever conflict you had going on here with the Apache savages has just been resolved by coming to an agreement.”

  The Major took a puff of his cigar in silence.

  “With the military’s glorious days now behind us and thousands of men begging for work…wouldn’t ten thousand dollars help a soldier get back on his feet?”

  Morris placed the leather pouch on the Major’s desk.

  “Mhm…” the Major mumbled, still rocking back and forth in his chair. “Te-yn thousand bucks mean squat with a rope aroun’ maah neck. Ah can’t just raahd to them Indians and kill a bunch of them for some missing gal. Thuh big bosses will have maah head for that.”

  Morris pushed the pouch further over the table.

  “No killing. I would never ask that of you. All I am asking for is a few men for my safety. Maybe let them growl a little to make a statement when we get there. That’s it. The girl will come without bloodshed. I promise.”

  Major Wicks eyeballed the pouch, spewing another mist of heavy fog into the air.

  “One morning of your time.” Morris kept hammering the Major, noticing a crack in his defense. “In and out, nothing more…” His voice sounded almost hypnotizing.

  “In and out…” Mr. Gorsh’s slimy voice parroted after Morris. The Major relished the last remaining puff of smoke, spewing it all out onto Morris’ flinching and coughing face, staring back at him with suspiciously narrowed eyes. He crushed the embers on an ashtray before leaning forward to grab the weighty pouch with his hairy hand.

  “In and out, nothing more,” the Major repeated, almost like a warning.

  Esther felt cold and grabbed down to her waist to pull her blanket up, but instead of the expected wool of a blanket, she felt the soft plush of pelt in her hand. Panic made way to her sleepiness, and she shot up just to fall right back into a daze. In front of her was an old native woman tending to a fire in the hearth of what seemed to be a teepee. Esther rubbed her eyes as hard as she could, but the scene in front of her stayed the same. She was indeed inside a teepee! Her gaze wandered around, searching and discerning the space around her, only to freeze upon the sight of George soundly asleep next to her bed, his face buried into her hand. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through her aching body and she couldn’t help but smile. Seeing the man, she loved so dearly by her side…it meant everything to her.

  “Dataa,” the native woman said with a smile that broke through the wrinkles on her face. She was pointing a finger at George then both of them. Esther surmised it meant something like ‘husband,’ or ‘lover,’ as her cheeks flushed red.

  Slowly, the bits and pieces of her last moments before she’d passed out came crashing back to her. The pale wooden room at Billy’s in Chama, George’s voice in the unreachable distance calling for her, and now she was here within the shade of an unknown teepee filled with indistinguishable scents and the dancing flames of a warm fire. But how?

  “Iya,” the woman handed her a bowl with some sort of mushed berries and plants in it. “Iya,” she repeated in a friendly but somewhat demanding tone.

  George slowly opened his eyes, staring right at Esther who was not only alive, but sitting upright and holding a bowl.

  “ESTHER!” he cried out, pulling her into his arms.

  “You are alive!” He squeezed her so tightly, she coughed a little. Her bowl dropped right out of her hand and spilled its contents onto the floor.

  “Did you think I would just let you have all the fun without me?” she teased him and nestled her head against his warm, muscular chest. It felt wonderful.

  “Impossible! You are the adventure,” his voice touted with happiness, uplifted to new heights.

  “Iya,” the woman now commanded as she picked up the bowl from the floor and filled it with food again. George released Esther from his grip of loving death so she could start eating like a good girl. But one bite of the bowl’s contents was enough to twitch her whole face into a grimace.

  “It tastes like a thousand lemons,” she cringed. The native woman giggled while George threw his head back in laughter.

  “Wait until you smoke their sacred pipe—I hallucinated for hours. For a moment I thought old Peggy was a bangtail.”

  Esther smiled back at him. “Old Peggy?”

  George laughed again. “The most stubborn bloody horse in the West.”

  It was such a blessing to not only still be alive but to get to see George laugh again. She could shed tears of happiness.

  “I assume your agreement with the natives was accepted?” She carefully took another tiny sip from the bowl, shivering just at the thought that she had to get that down again. But George didn’t answer. He just looked at her with a faint smile on his lips.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” Esther placed the bowl aside, drawing her brows tighter in worry. This agreement meant so much more for George than money. His family depended on it, and so did the natives.

  “…More or less.”

 
; He tilted his head with a cheeky grin to distract her. But she cared for this man too much to be put off so easily. George picked the bowl back up and handed it back to her.

  “You should eat. I will explain everything later.”

  Esther was about to inquire more about this horse Peggy when a loud voice coming from outside startled her.

  “George!” Jones’ voice echoed into the teepee from not far away. She and George exchanged worried looks and she was about to try to get up on her feet by maneuvering all her weight onto her arms, when George grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Wait here,” he said in a gentle but firm tone. “I’m certain it is nothing…” Just like that he kissed her on her forehead and left.

  Esther exchanged a confused glance with the native woman. Something felt off here. George acted strangely enough when she asked about his agreement to mine the land for the natives, but now Jones added a new level of concern to the whole matter by shouting about like that.

  Esther pushed herself onto her knees and tried to get up at once, but her body couldn’t find the energy for it and she fell back onto her buttocks. The native woman now walked over to her.

  “Yidiits’e,” she said, touching her ear.

  Was she telling her to wait here and listen? But Esther tried to get back up again, this time almost making it before flopping back onto her buttocks once more.

  “Yidiits’e,” the woman tried one more time before she rolled her eyes and grabbed Esther under her arm to lift her up back onto her feet. Esther now realized that she wasn’t wearing anything waist up but a wet cloth of some sort. She looked around for her clothes but the Apache woman grabbed a leather shirt from the floor instead and pulled it over Esther’s head, carefully helping her with her arm to avoid touching the still very painful wound on her shoulder. Esther now took a more detailed glance at her savior. The woman had silver strains running through her coal-black hair. Her leather shirt and skirt were beautifully decorated with beadwork and she was wearing jewelry made of turquoise. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was what her mother would have looked like before she was forced into the white man’s world.