Comanche Moon (57 page)

Chapter 26

OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, THE COMANCHES attacked with a vengeance. News came that the mercenaries, en route to attack another village, were all killed. Tales of Hunter filtered to the Masters farm, some horrible, some heartbreakingly familiar. As fiercely as the Indians waged war, Hunter still spared women and children. Loretta’s eyes filled with tears when she was told by the border patrol from Fort Belknap that somewhere along the Red River, Hunter had ridden up to a yellow-haired woman and saluted her. Loretta knew Hunter hoped she would somehow hear the tale and understand the message he sent to her.

She did understand, and she grieved for what might have been. With every Indian attack, the chasm between her and Hunter grew wider.

When the horror of it became too much, she found herself justifying the Indians’ actions by remembering the attack on the village. She recalled Many Horses, a frail old man, trying to rescue a child and dying as a result. She thought of the terrified young squaw, running for her life and her child’s, cut down from behind. She realized now that there was no good or bad, no right or wrong, just people fighting for their lives. Wonderful people, who lived and loved and laughed.

She thought of Red Buffalo often, finally accepting what Hunter had tried so desperately to explain, that good men can be driven to do horrible things. Red Buffalo had committed some unforgivable acts, but at long last Loretta could look deeper into the man and come closer to understanding why. She thanked God that she had saved Red Buffalo’s life during the
tosi tivo
attack, knowing that Red Buffalo guarded Hunter’s back against the
tosi tivo
with the same ferocity that he had once tried to guard Hunter’s future against one
tosi
woman.

Nearly two months after Hunter’s farewell salute to her on the rise, Loretta went to the privacy one morning and became violently sick. After repeated vomiting, she was too weak to return to the house, so she sank to the ground outside, bracing her back against the outhouse wall. Clammy sweat filmed her face. She closed her eyes, wondering if she might faint.

‘‘Mercy, Loretta Jane, what’s wrong?’’

Loretta opened her eyes to see her aunt picking her way through the patchy grass, trying to avoid stickers with her bare feet, her voluminous nightgown drifting in the morning breeze.

‘‘I’m ailin’. Do you have any bee plant? I need some of your tea. My stomach’s in a bad way.’’

Rachel crouched, pressing a palm to Loretta’s forehead. ‘‘No fever. When did it come on?’’

Loretta frowned. ‘‘This morning. Come to think of it, I was queasy a few mornings ago.’’

Rachel frowned, staring hard at Loretta. ‘‘Any dizziness?’’

‘‘Yesterday. I thought it was this insufferable heat.’’

‘‘How long since you got your curse?’’

Loretta leaned her head back, trying to remember. ‘‘I reckon it was—’’ Her eyes widened, and she clamped a hand to her abdomen.

Rachel sighed. ‘‘I’m afraid bee plant tea won’t help.’’ She fell silent a moment. ‘‘Loretta Jane, normally I’d never ask a woman this. You want me to go pick you some tansy?’’

‘‘For what?’’

Rachel fixed her gaze on the barn. ‘‘In the early months, a few doses of tansy might rid you of the problem.’’

Problem?
Loretta stared at her aunt, still trying to assimilate the fact that she might be pregnant. She didn’t
feel
pregnant. But if she was, she would never even consider aborting the child.

‘‘Aunt Rachel, how can you even ask me such a thing?’’

‘‘God’ll probably strike me dead. But I had to. It’s not good tidings, darling. It’d be bad if it was a white child, you with no husband and all. But to be in the family way out of wedlock with a Comanche’s baby? It’s a disaster.’’

‘‘It’s
not
out of wedlock! I’m married, right and proper!’’

‘‘Honey, you got no ring, no paper, no witnesses, not even a last name! And no man beside you. Who’ll believe it?’’

‘‘I don’t care who believes it. I know. That’s enough.’’

‘‘For you, maybe. How’s that child going to feel about being a bastard breed?’’

Loretta felt as if she had been slapped.
Bastard breed.
The words had such an ugly sound. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a sudden and fierce feeling of protectiveness welling within her.
Hunter’s child.
She’d love it with all her heart.

‘‘Oh, Aunt Rachel. A baby. Hunter hasn’t left me, after all.’’

Rachel threw up her hands. ‘‘Say that to me when you’re tryin’ to feed it in dead of winter. Henry’s such an ass, he’ll probably leave me if I let you stay here. The three of us gals on our own won’t have an easy time trying to make it.’’

‘‘I’ll leave, then.’’

‘‘You’ll do no such thing. I said it wouldn’t be easy, not that it’d be impossible.’’ Squaring her shoulders, Rachel gazed off into the distance a moment. When her eyes slid back to Loretta’s, there was a glint of determination in their blue depths. ‘‘Watching you and my daughter, seeing how you’ve survived things other women couldn’t—’’ She licked her lips. ‘‘That steel in your backbones came from your bringin’ up, from me. I’ve taught you to stand up and fight back. I’ve raised you proud. Lately, I’ve been staring into my looking glass, wondering where the old Rachel has got off to.’’

‘‘Oh, Aunt Rachel, you’ve only done what you felt you had to for me and Amy.’’

Rachel nodded. ‘‘Yes. But there comes a time when a body must draw the line.’’ She sighed and rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. ‘‘If it’s a draw between a baby and Henry, I’ll kick his ornery butt all the way to the fancy house in Jacksboro and tell him to stay there this time.’’

Appalled and uncertain how to react, Loretta said, ‘‘Fancy house?’’

‘‘You don’t
really
think he goes there to get tobacco and coffee and the
Godey’s Lady’s Book
for us, do you?’’ Rachel touched Loretta’s shoulder. ‘‘Don’t look so woebegone. He leaves me alone for nigh on a month after. I consider it a blessing.’’

Loretta threw back her head and gave a weak laugh. ‘‘Uncle Henry visiting a fancy house? Oh, Aunt Rachel, I bet those ladies double their rates when they see the likes of him coming!’’

‘‘No doubt,’’ Rachel said grimly. ‘‘A lover, Henry ain’t. I’ve wasted a lot of years kowtowing to him. I don’t plan to waste any more. I can make it without a man. Just you watch me.’’ She pushed to her feet and extended Loretta a helping hand. ‘‘Come on, little mother. I’ll fix you some remedy for that rolling tummy.’’

‘‘Oh, Aunt Rachel, do you think it’s for sure?’’

‘‘Sure enough that we’d best start cutting out night-shirts. I got flannel tucked away in my barrel. That’ll make up nice.’’

Loretta smiled, and taking a deep breath, she passed a hand over her brow. ‘‘I am powerful pleased, Aunt Rachel!’’

‘‘Just keep thinkin’ that way until I get Henry told.’’

‘‘Do we have to tell him right now?’’

‘‘Honey, if you go to upchucking of a morning before you can reach the privacy, he’s gonna know anyway. May as well light his fuse when we’re expecting the explosion.’’

There was no such thing as being prepared for Henry’s temper when it blew. Though Loretta was braced for it, she still jumped at the first roar.

‘‘You’re
what
?’’

‘‘I’m in the family way.’’

With one suspender up and one down, his shirt partially untucked, and both feet bare, Henry was ill prepared for throwing a tantrum. His face mottled, the spots an alarming shade of purple. Eyes bugging like blue marbles, he croaked, ‘‘With that bastard Comanche’s get?’’

‘‘He isn’t a bastard. I met his father.’’

Henry worked his mouth like a beached catfish. Leveling a finger at her nose, he hissed, ‘‘I done told you what I’d do if you threw an Injun brat. I’ll swing it by its heels and bash its brains, that’s what.’’

Loretta’s stomach twisted into a knot. Fear for her unborn baby made her retreat a step.

‘‘Shut up, Henry.’’

Rachel’s voice was so soft, the words so calmly spoken, that for a moment neither Loretta nor Henry turned to look at her. Then Loretta registered what she had heard. Her aunt stood by the rifle rack. She had the Spencer in her hands; the barrel was pointed at the floor, but she was ready, if her stance was an indication, to throw the butt to her shoulder.

‘‘What did you say?’’ Henry grated.

‘‘I said
shut up,
Henry.’’ Rachel’s voice was still soft, but the glint in her eyes was fighting mean. ‘‘I’ve put up with your cussedness for nigh on nine years. No more. You apologize to Loretta Jane this instant.’’

‘‘Or you’ll do what?’’

Rachel lifted a challenging brow. ‘‘Well, I reckon you’re too big for me to grab you by the heels and
bash
your brains. Guess I’ll have to blow them out. Now apologize. I won’t have that kind of talk in my house.’’

‘‘
Your
house?’’

‘‘That’s right.’’

Henry did an admirable job of trying to appear amused. Placing his hands on his hips, he bent one knee and eyed the rifle. ‘‘Rachel, darlin’, you have a gun right now. Here shortly, you’re gonna have to put it down and cook. And when you do, I’m gonna beat the sass plumb out of you. Now I suggest
you
be the one to apologize. If you do it convincin’ enough, maybe I’ll forgit this ever happened.’’

Loretta figured the bluff would probably work. Aunt Rachel had never been long on guts, and Loretta didn’t see her getting a goodly supply in the space of ten minutes. Rachel surprised her, though. Instead of apologizing, she set her jaw and raised her chin.

‘‘Henry, if you touch me when I’m cookin’, I’ll rip you from stem to bow with my butcher knife. I’ve had it up to my gullet with you.’’

‘‘Give me that gun!’’ Henry stomped toward her.

Rachel took quick aim. The explosion of noise nearly scared Loretta out of her skin. Henry jumped straight up, clearing the floor by several inches.

‘‘Holy Mother, you near shot my foot off, you damned fool woman!’’

‘‘Next time I won’t miss.’’

Henry sputtered, so mad he looked fit to bust. ‘‘Rachel, I swear, I’ll give you the hidin’ of your life for this.’’

‘‘Touch her, Uncle Henry, and I’ll knock you senseless with a chunk of firewood,’’ Loretta inserted.

‘‘And if she don’t do a good job of it, I’ll finish it for her!’’ Amy yelled from the loft ladder. ‘‘Good for you, Ma! Give the old wart toad what for!’’

Rachel returned the Spencer to the rack. ‘‘Well, Henry? It sounds like three to one. You gonna apologize to Loretta Jane or not?’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I reckon you can leave, if that strikes your fancy. But if you’re stayin’, you’ll apologize before you have your breakfast.’’

Henry doubled his fists, trembling. Loretta moved toward the hearth and grabbed a chunk of wood, just in case she needed it. Amy swung off the ladder, ready to do the same.

‘‘I swear, I don’t know what the world’s comin’ to,’’ Henry rasped. ‘‘Women lippin’ off and threatenin’ a man like they don’t got good sense! I could take on the three of you and roll a smoke while I was at it.’’

‘‘Then make like a frog and hop to it,’’ Amy challenged. ‘‘Otherwise, you tell Loretta you’re sorry like Ma says.’’

Henry hesitated, as if he were considering his options, such as they were. ‘‘As if I’d really hurt a baby!’’ he snorted. ‘‘If Loretta Jane don’t got the sense to know better, then I surely do apologize.’’

‘‘Accepted,’’ Loretta murmured.

Henry jerked up his left suspender and raked his hand through his hair, looking at the hole Rachel had shot in the puncheon. ‘‘What in hell you gonna tell people happened to your floor, missy?’’

Rachel smiled. ‘‘Why, I’ll tell them how quick you got in and fixed it, Henry. We can’t have holes in the floor, can we?’’

Late that evening Loretta went outside and sat on the top rung of the fence near the front gate, swinging her feet and gazing at the rise. Rachel had won the first round with Henry, but she was still afraid for her baby once it was born. She considered trying to find Hunter, but how? He might be anywhere in a vast radius—if he had survived the battles since her last word of him.
Please, God, let Hunter be alive. Bring him back to me.
An ache of yearning centered itself in her chest.

Lances, leaning like drunken soldiers standing guard, lined the perimeter of the property, feathers fluttering, their slender shafts black lines in the moonlight. Henry had learned his lesson after the Comancheros’ visit. This time he had let the lances be. Loretta wondered which was Hunter’s. If she knew, she could take it inside and keep it in the loft.
A keepsake for her baby.
The child might never have anything else.

Tipping her head back, she studied the moon. Mother Moon, Hunter called it. The wind caressed her cheeks. Loretta closed her eyes, thinking of the four directions. Below her was Mother Earth. Come morning, Father Sun would show his face in the east. A primitive man’s gods? Loretta smiled. Hunter worshiped the creations of God, the visible signs of His greatness. One God with many faces, whom they each addressed in different ways.

Was Hunter out there somewhere, looking up? She wondered. Was he praying?
Please, Mother Moon, let him be all right. Lead him in a great circle back to me.
Aloud, she whispered, ‘‘I love you, Hunter. I need you. Your child needs you.’’ She hoped her words would float on the wind and speak to him. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, she prayed the golden light would remind him of her, his bright one.
Come back to me, Hunter.

Climbing off the fence, Loretta sank to her knees and made the sign of the cross. Then she began to pray, to her God, to Hunter’s. Peace filled her. He would find his way to her.

Loretta pulled her thread taut, checked the edges of the seam, and then took another bite of cloth with her needle. The flannel felt soft beneath her fingertips. She imagined a tiny body warming it and smiled. Giving another push with her feet to keep the rocker going, she glanced up at her aunt. ‘‘You know, I should start thinking on names. I have to be over two months gone. A name is important. Especially for this baby.’’