The Darkest Heart (46 page)

And he was angry with himself and torn up inside.

Jack was rigid with self-loathing. Nahilzay was lucky to be alive—and had he been shot, it would have been Jack’s fault. His fault for hesitating. There was no place in battle for a man whom his friends could not trust to come instantly to their aid. No place at all. His hesitation had almost cost a great warrior his life.

He was realizing his priorities might be confused. It was a difficult understanding, one he fought. He still felt that his duty lay with the Apaches. But he knew he was worthless to them it he could not conduct himself bravely and ruthlessly in battle.

The black was tired, and walked in a subdued manner through the camp. There was much rejoicing all around him, but Jack was in no mood for a celebration and had no intention of taking part. He looked forward to seeking solace in Candice’s arms. He would be happy just to be with her. He spotted her the minute his
gohwah
emerged into view amid the other lodgings.

She saw him too, and his heart leapt at the excitement that crossed her face. She dropped what she was doing and came rushing toward him, half running. He urged the black forward, then jumped off. “Foolish woman,” he cried, grabbing her. “Don’t run!”

“Jack!” She threw her arms around him. He smiled, holding her tenderly. Embracing her was awkward now that she was so large.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, after he had kissed her thoroughly.

“Fine. Jack—” The baby’s loud wail cut her off.

Jack started and stared toward the
gohwah
. Then he looked at Candice.

“You have a son,” she said, regarding him closely. “A beautiful boy.”

Jack sucked in his breath. The boy was quiet now. “Is—are they both all right?”

“Now they are,” Candice said enigmatically. “Why don’t you go see them, because afterward I intend to give you a piece of my mind.” She glared at him.

He ignored the threat and hurried forward and into the
gohwah
. He stopped short at the sight of Datiye nursing the baby. She met his gaze and smiled softly. Jack strode forward and stared down at his son. An overwhelming sense of love flooded him.

“His eyes are so pale,” he said, startled. And then he felt joy, for he knew the boy had to be his.

“Like his father,” Datiye said.

Jack studied him. His skin was swarthy, and the few wisps of hair were blue-black. He felt a sudden grimness—the boy was too obviously a half-breed. He remembered all the times he had been called such, and how he had hated it. It would be a painful cross for his son to bear, one he wished he could spare him, but knew he couldn’t. “He has a healthy appetite,” he remarked. He touched the boy’s silky head. The baby seemed to look at him, while still sucking greedily. Jack smiled.

“We will call him Shoz,” he said. “Little Shoz.” He looked at Datiye. “He is beautiful. Thank you.”

Datiye hesitated. “He is a crybaby, husband.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “How so?” He knew very well what happened to crybabies, and didn’t understand. If his son was a crier, why was he alive?

Datiye hesitated. “Candice would not let him be killed. She fought for him. I—I let them take him away. But she saved him. It is to her you should give thanks.”

Jack was stunned. He couldn’t believe it; in fact, he didn’t. “Are you sure?”

“She went to Cochise for protection. He gave it for as long as we remain in this safe place.”

The baby had finished nursing, and his little fist clenched
against his mother’s breasts. Jack touched it. The baby made a noise, and his hand tightened around Jack’s finger. Jack took Shoz gently into his arms. He smiled at him. “Little Shoz,” he said, gazing at him. He had had no idea he would feel so fatherly toward a child, any child, except maybe Candice’s. “You must learn not to cry, Shoshi.”

Datiye stood. “Do you want me to take him now?”

Jack nodded reluctantly. Datiye turned her back, and Jack placed Shoz in the cradleboard she was wearing. Shoz smiled and fell asleep.

Outside, Jack found Candice waiting impatiently. Before he could say anything, she tore into him. “Why didn’t you tell me how cruel the Apaches are? Jack! They tried to kill your son! Because he cried! No one is going to kill my child, Jack, I warn you!”

He pulled her close. “Thank you, sweetheart, for what you did. And no one will kill our child, I swear. I’m not leaving your side from now until you have the baby, I promise.”

“And I’m not going to be tied to a tree either!”

“It’s not as bad as it looks …” he began.

“No!” There was panic in her tone.

“All right,” he soothed. “You won’t be tied, I swear.”

She relaxed somewhat. “Jack, would you have let them take him away if you were here?”

He grimaced. “I—I don’t think so,” he said.

“Datiye let the old witch take him.”

“Why did you protect Shoshi, Candice?”

“Is that his name? Shoshi?”

“Shoz. His name is Shoz. Shoshi is an endearing form of Shoz.”

She smiled. “Shoshi. That’s a good name for a child, but what happens after he’s older?”

“His name will be Shoz,” Jack said firmly.

“You’re naming him after Shozkay,” Candice said.

“Yes. Candie, you didn’t answer. Why?”

“I’m a human being, Jack, it’s that simple.” She frowned. She didn’t tell him she somehow had come to love Shoshi, that she wished she could hold him. But she didn’t dare ask Datiye. After not speaking to her for five months, how did one start? Candice didn’t want to be friends with her
anyway. She still hated her—well, disliked her. The woman was her rival. The woman had borne Jack a son. That would never change—although Candice had realized very recently that all this was Jack’s fault, not Datiye’s. Datiye was a woman, and what woman could resist Jack’s seduction? If Jack hadn’t been such a horny bastard, she wouldn’t have to share him with Datiye right now. But, no matter what, Shoshi was innocent.

And now Datiye owed her. Candice knew that when the time came, Datiye wouldn’t be able to refuse aiding her in her escape. The thought should have been uplifting. It wasn’t. It was disheartening.

Datiye was cleaning up after their dinner. Jack held Shoshi, making faces and sounds. The baby gurgled and smiled back. He flailed his little arms, catching Jack’s chin. Jack laughed. Shoshi ga-gaahed, smiling in that peculiar way young infants do.

He looked up. Candice, bigger than ever now, was watching, standing a short distance away, to the side. He felt a bit guilty, but studied her for signs of jealousy and didn’t see any. Datiye got up and left with the pot to wash and sand it. Candice approached slowly, then, awkwardly, sat down by his feet. Their eyes met.

“I guess I look sort of silly,” Jack said sheepishly.

Candice smiled, but she wasn’t watching him. Her eyes were fastened on the baby. “Can I?”

He started. “Sure.”

He handed her the baby. He watched, amazed, at the soft smile that spread over her beautiful features. She cooed to Shoshi, rocking him gently against her breast. He felt overwhelmed by the sight of her there, holding his son.

Later that night Jack climbed into the bedroll beside her. She still insisted on sleeping with him, which was fine for her. She practically passed out these days. But he was so afraid to disturb her, he could barely sleep. Now, however, he saw that she was awake. He leaned over to kiss her mouth lightly. Her arms came up, clenched him, and her lips opened, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He did. Incredibly, surges of hot desire swept him. Even with her due in a few weeks, he still wanted her as much as ever. No, more.

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Promise me something.”

“If I can.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Don’t let them tie me to a tree like they did Datiye.” There was a tremor in her voice.

“Candie, it helps, it really does.”

“No!” she cried.

“All right,” he soothed, taking her in his arms and propping himself into a sitting position. “I’ll hold you up myself. Not all women are tied. Some squat. But believe me, trust me, it’s easier than lying down.”

She didn’t answer. He looked down and saw fear on her face. He suddenly was overwhelmed by a dread sensation and an image of Chilahe lying dead in a pool of her own blood after giving birth to their child. God, he didn’t want to even think it! He hugged her harder. What if Candice had a hard time? No, she was as healthy as a woman could be. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, but he was suddenly sick with anxiety himself.

“I’m not worried,” she said, and they both knew she was lying.

His fears wouldn’t leave. As the days passed, he became obsessed with memories of how Chilahe had died after hours of agonizing pain and awful, heart-wrenching screams. He reminded himself that the shaman had said her passage was too narrow, her hips too small. He had Candice examined by a medicine woman against her will. The shaman was cheerful and optimistic, assuring him that Candice was healthy and should have no problems. When he had asked about the size of her hips and birth canal, the woman had laughingly told him to leave well enough alone. He couldn’t help it. He was terrified with the thought he might lose her. He wished he could stop remembering Chilahe’s death.

He knew he was being completely foolish. One had only to look at Candice to know she was meant for bearing children. She was a woman built strongly. Her hips were wide without being overly large. Her breasts were full now with milk. She was the picture of health, but he was obsessed with fear.

It was early July. Jack was down at the creek, fishing. Not for food, for the Apaches never ate fish. But for sport and amusement and to stay distracted. He heard Candice coming a mile away. These days she waddled, making her even noisier than before. Someday, he thought, I
will
teach her how to move quietly. He turned his head to see her emerge from the woods. She smiled at him, her face flushed. “I thought I saw you coming down here,” she said, breathing a bit hard.

He dropped the spear he had been using and stood. “You look overheated,” he said worriedly. “You shouldn’t be tramping around like this.”

“You’ve become a mother hen, Jack,” she said with a smile. Then she winced.

“What is it?” He felt panic.

“Jack, I think I’m in labor.”

“You think?”

She smiled wanly and suddenly winced again. “They were so dull before, I thought I was imagining …” Suddenly a spasm took her. She gasped and sank to her knees.

Jack was at her side instantly. “Candice, damn it. Are you—”

“Oh, I think so.” She moaned as another spasm took her.

“Candice, another pain?” He was aghast. They were coming too quickly, one right on top of the other.

“Jack,” she cried out, grabbing his shoulders and digging into them. She moaned.

“Usen!
Candice, I’ll go get help! Don’t do anything until I get back! When did the pains first start?”

“A few hours ago.” She moaned, panting, pushing, straining, as she slid to her back.

“A few hours ago!”

“I didn’t know they were labor pains! Jaaack!”

“Oh, shit.” He groaned, kneeling, afraid to leave her. Her legs were bent at the knees, spread. He pushed the skirt up. “How could you not know, Candice?” he cried.

She was panting. “They were … so slight. Just a … discomfort—oohhh!”

“You have to squat,” he said, lifting her up.

“No, Jack—oohh.”

“Squatting is easier, trust me.” He panted, his arms around her, forcing her up.

“How would you know? Ohh—God!” Her hands, covering his, gripped and clawed.

“Believe me, I know,” he cried. “Are you pushing? Are you breathing? Breathe and push!”

“I’m breathing, I’m pushing,” Candice cried. “For God’s sake, Jack, you’re holding me too tightly …”

“You should be tied, dammit, you should be tied!”

“Don’t—oh!—yon even think it!” She started to press away from him, and taken by surprise, he slipped, and they went tumbling down, Candice in his arms.

“Look what you did!” Jack panted, stumbling to his knees and lifting her back up. Sweat ran down his face.

Candice grabbed Jack’s hands and removed them. “I am lying down now, Jack,” she announced calmly, placing her bottom on the ground and then her back.

“No, trust me.” Jack gasped, his arm going beneath her to lift her. Then: “Shit!”

“Ohh!”

“Usen give me strength,” he muttered, forgetting all about his wife being in the wrong position, because suddenly he could see the baby’s head. “I see the head, Candice, push, hard!”

“I’m pushing.” She panted, and she pushed.

“It’s coming,” he cried, and then before he knew it, a white-coated baby had slipped into his hands.

Candice closed her eyes and lay gasping for air.

“A girl, Candice, it’s a girl!” he cried, awed, thrilled, relieved, and exhausted. He wiped sweat out of his eyes and reached for his knife. He cut the umbilical cord.

“Oh,” Candice whispered. “Let me, Jack …”

“Let me wash her first,” Jack said, staring at the red-faced baby. She was bald, her eyes screwed shut. He hurried down to the creek and washed her, then removed his loincloth to dry her and wrap her in it. She opened her eyes and blinked. He smiled, then, drinking the sight of her in. Her eyes were blue. He noted that she wasn’t completely bald, there were a few dark hairs above her forehead. She opened her mouth, turning her face against his belly, searching. He hurried back.

Candice reached out, her face glowing. Jack knelt and placed the baby in her arms. “Oh,” she whispered. “She’s beautiful.”

“Like her mother,” Jack said softly, then started laughing. A rich, warm, relieved laugh. “You did better than any Apache woman I ever saw, Candie. I can’t believe you didn’t know you were in labor,” he said.

“But I didn’t,” she said simply, stroking the baby’s soft, downy head.

“Do you feel all right?” he asked softly.

“Wonderful,” she murmured. “Hello, Christina. You are so beautiful. My little lady,”

“Why do you want to call her Christina?”

“It’s a real lady’s name,” she said, never even looking at him. “A Christian lady’s name. And she’s going to grow up to be a fine Christian lady.”