The Pride of Hannah Wade (30 page)

“And what piece of information did she obtain in return?” John T. knew her game.

“She wanted to know ‘bout Miz Wade.”

“Poor woman. She’s been through plenty.”

“Poor woman,” Cimmy Lou scoffed, and snuggled against him. “What about me? I ain’t had plenty.”

“I swear to God ain’t nobody can use you up. It’s like tryin’ to drink, a river dry.” But his mouth came down on hers just the same. She was soft and silken, and he felt himself sinking. Her parting lips dragged him inside to all the sweetness of her mouth and mating tongue. When John T, came up, needing air, he murmured thickly. “You taste like peaches.”

“I had some at Miz Goodson’s.” She didn’t stop, her warm, moist mouth traveling along his neck and under the rolled collar of his shirt, while her hands slid down to tug at the cinched belt of his trousers. “That’s all right, ‘cause you taste of salt,” she said, the tip of her tongue licking his skin on a downward journey.

“Will you stop it, Cimmy Lou?” he protested vaguely and looked around the shadowed barn, belatedly seeking any observer.

Her hands were inside his pants, cupping him. “I always did like my meat salty.” Her lips continued inexorably downward.

“Jeezus, woman, what d’ya think yore doin’? Stand up!” Then a moan convulsed him as the stroke of her lips surrounded him.

I
DLENESS MADE THE MORNING PASS SLOWLY FOR
H
ANNAH.
Things that she recalled as having taken up so much of her time actually took very little. She had approved the day’s menu that Delancy had submitted, unable to remember why it used to take her so long to decide whether cornbread stuffing would go better with the smoked turkey than sage dressing. It had been the same with selecting her dress for the day. Few of the routine housekeeping chores required her assistance, let alone her supervision.

By later morning, she could stand the idleness and confinement no longer. She left their quarters to reexplore the fort, reincorporate the military rhythm of living, and walk off some of this restless energy.

It was a mild February day as she turned up Officers’ Row. To the north, the jagged edges of the Pinos Altos mountain range cut into the sky, with Hermosa Mountain nearby and tall Signal Peak beyond. Everything in
between the fort and the mountains was a jumble of desert canyons and stony parapets, like the land beyond them—the Mogollons and the Gila River country where she had lived with the Apaches. Hannah brought her attention back to the row of adobe housing that faced the parade ground.

A large, heavyset man in a derby hat, checked jacket, and a solid vest was walking her way. It was not uncommon for civilians to visit the fort, but it was sufficiently unusual to attract her notice, as were the eastern-style clothes he was wearing. The man studied her with close interest as they approached each other. He lifted his hat to her, revealing the bald crown of his head, which had been hidden under the derby. The lack of hair on the top of his head was compensated for by the long, flowing sideburns on his cheeks.

“Mrs. Wade?” he inquired as he stopped before her. Politeness obliged her to pause as well.

“Yes?”

“We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before. The name is Boler, Hy Boler from Silver City.” The careless charm he exuded did not reach his eyes, so very piercing in their study of her. “I’d like to be one of the first to welcome you back.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Boler.” Hannah was polite but reserved. Between the Apache’s suspicion of strangers, which she had not yet lost, and Stephen’s attitude concerning her captivity, she was very much on guard.

“Not at all. It must have been quite an ordeal you went through, Mrs. Wade.”

“I survived. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Boler.” She nodded to him and resumed her walk, but he fell into step beside her.

“Your husband and I became well acquainted while you were living with the Apaches. I’ve taken a very deep interest in your story right from the beginning.
You see, I publish the newspaper in Silver City. I ran a lot of stories about your husband’s gallant search for you and printed all the posters with the reward offers.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It isn’t often that a story like this has a happy ending. I’d like to write about it,” he said.

“I’m sure my husband will give you all the information you need to know, Mr. Boler. Why don’t you speak to him?” From the stables came the angry squeal of a horse being broken to saddle and the muffled shouts of men encouraging its rider to stay on.

“I will, but I was hoping for some comments from your viewpoint.” A glint of appreciation for the way she was eluding his questions shone in his eyes, but he persisted. “People would like to know what it was like, living with the Apaches all that time. Were you treated harshly?”

“Naturally it’s something I’d rather not talk about.” She continued walking, her strides lengthening. The high leather shoes were beginning to pinch her feet and the heels made walking over the rough ground slightly hazardous. Her moccasins had been much better suited to this, Hannah realized.

“I understand you became the wife of an Apache chief.”

“Who told you that?” She froze inside, but her pace never altered. She didn’t want to believe that Jake Cutter would tell.

“I’ve spoken to some of the Apache prisoners who were brought in. Spanish is a useful language in this part of the country. They said you were given the name Coloradas.” The newspaperman waited for a comment, but Hannah remained silent. For several seconds, there was only the crunch of their shoes on the gravel. “Perhaps you could describe an Apache marriage ceremony.”

“I didn’t live with the Apaches long enough to
understand their rituals.” Hannah stopped and faced him. “And I don’t wish to discuss the subject any further. I bid you good day, Mr. Boler.”

When she continued on her way again, he didn’t follow. At the end of Officers’ Row, she turned to walk past the headquarters building, the commissary, and the trader’s store, nodding to those she met. Gradually, Hannah became aware of the heads turning, the stares, the murmured comments too low for her to catch.

She left the quadrangle and walked along the less-traveled route in back of the buildings. Behind the barracks, the tent housing for the families of the enlisted men stood—Suds Row. Hannah lingered along it, watching the colored children at play, some of them minding little brothers and sisters and carrying babes almost as big as they were.

A horse whickered and Hannah lifted an idle glance toward the stables. She turned toward the corrals where the brown and bay cavalry mounts lazed in the warm sun. Cimmy Lou Hooker came out of the barn, her arms making a wide circle around a large laundry bundle. Her husband, the black sergeant, was only a step or two behind her, smiling and looking loose and relaxed.

“Mornin’, Miz Wade,” Cimmy Lou drawled, a secretive gleam in her eyes as she passed Hannah.

“Good morning, Cimmy Lou,” Hannah responded, and observed the slight sobering of Sergeant Hooker’s expression. “Hello, Sergeant.”

“Good day, Miz Wade.” His glance followed his wife for an instant, then came back to her with sharp attention. “Were you lookin’ for the major, ma’am?”

“Is he around?” She hadn’t anticipated that she might encounter him on her walk, but she welcomed the chance occurrence.

“I haven’t seen him, ma’am, but I’ll see if I can find him for you.”

“No. Thank you anyway, Sergeant.” Her long skirt swished mere inches off the ground as she walked toward the corral, where a curious sorrel horse stood with its neck arched over the fence.

The sergeant moved toward the corral as well. “It ain’t accordin’ to regulation, I know, but it is nice to see your wife durin’ the day.”

“Especially when she is as lovely as your wife.” The corners of her mouth deepened with a hint of a smile.

“Yes, ma’am.” His wide, pleasant smile agreed with her. Turning, he hooked a boot heel on the lower rail of the corral. “If you’re thinkin’ of gettin’ yourself a good ridin’ horse, we’ve got a nice-travelin’ blaze-faced roan with four white stockin’s. Too nice a horse for these troopers of mine to be poundin’ through the desert on.”

“I hadn’t thought about getting another horse yet.” She studied the blue roan he’d pointed out, but only with vague interest.

“No riders are permitted off the post without an escort. Too many Apaches around. If you get another horse, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to do much ridin’ ‘cept around the parade ground,” Sergeant Hooker informed her.

“I suppose not.” She moved away from the corral. “Thank you, Sergeant. And I’ll remember your recommendation of the roan if I do get another horse.”

For a moment, he watched her wander away from the stables in the general direction of the parade ground, then slipped his suspenders onto his shoulders and went back to his work.

Hannah was diverted from her path by a trace of movement, the low mutter of the loose-sounding Apache language. Impelled by an inner force, Hannah turned toward it. She traveled several yards before she saw the brush-covered
jacals
and the dozen or fewer Apaches around them, a temporary encampment for
the prisoners erected on the fort’s perimeter. She was oddly drawn toward her former captors.

“Halt!” A guard moved to block her path, a stout soldier with muttonchop whiskers. His fierceness quickly dissolved into uncertain apology as the black private recognized her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but nobody’s s’posed to go near the prisoners.”

“I understand, Private,” Hannah assured him, and moved away at right angles to the camp.

A small Apache woman came out of one of the dome-shaped huts, a cradleboard holding an infant tied to her back. Hannah stopped when she saw Gatita. If the Apache woman noticed her, she gave no sign of recognition. Hannah wasn’t certain whether she had expected any. They hadn’t been friends. Yet she had gone through more in the company of that Indian woman—hunger, pain, thirst, danger, birthings, deaths —than she had with any other female, including so many of the officers’ wives she called friends. She and Gatita weren’t quite friends and they weren’t quite enemies. In many respects, theirs was an oddly close relationship between two strangers.

Hannah had started to turn away when she heard the hard gallop of a horse, which quickly turned into a clattering slide to a halt. Stephen dismounted before his horse came to a full stop. Everything about him suggested a contained riptide of feeling as his long, stiff-legged strides carried him toward Hannah.

“So this is where you are,” he said in accusation. “I’ve been turning the whole damned fort upside down looking for you.” His glance flashed to the Apache encampment. “Couldn’t you stay away from them for one day?”

“I was out walking. I had no idea they were here.” His whole attitude stung her. She lifted her skirts, turned from the camp, and started back toward the quadrangle, a faintly stubborn set to her chin.

Stephen caught the crook of her arm, “Don’t he to me, Hannah.” He managed to keep his voice down so that the onlooking guard couldn’t overhear, but it shook with anger. “I know they found you with a baby. Did you come to see it? Is it yours?”

“No.” She was hurt and angry. “No, he isn’t.” She removed her elbow from his grip with a trace of disdain and set off once again toward the parade ground, walking as fast as the high-topped leather boots would permit on the rough, uneven ground. Stephen came after her, leading his horse.

“Hannah, I’m sorry.” But the clipped edges of his words indicated that anger, not regret, was still the foremost of his emotions. “I don’t think you appreciate my concern when I returned to our quarters and discovered you weren’t there. You didn’t even tell Delancy where you were going.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was confined to quarters.” She steadfastly refused to look at him, concentrating all her attention directly ahead, looking to neither the right nor the left.

“You aren’t, but you could have told someone where you were going,” he snapped in return. “Mrs. Bettendorf wanted to come by, but I told her you weren’t receiving yet. Why couldn’t you have been content to stay in our rooms?”

“I was restless. I wanted to walk and re-explore the fort. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing.” A horse whinnied to Stephen’s mount as they approached the stables.

“Of all the places to walk, why did you have to go to that damned Apache camp?” Stephen muttered in exasperated anger. “If they treated you as horribly as you claim, I would have thought you’d never want to set eyes on any of them again—that you’d keep as far away from them as possible.”

“I didn’t know they were there,” Hannah reminded
him tersely. “I presumed that they were being transported to the reservation. I came upon the camp by accident.” Hannah walked close to the stable wall, her skirts up, in order to avoid the horse apples in the main path. She spared one glance over her shoulder at Stephen, the snap of anger striking deeply through, the brown, wells of her eyes. “And I dislike your insinuations to the contrary.”

Immediately she returned her attention to the possible obstacles in her path as she rounded a comer of the stable. Too late she saw the boots in front of her and bumped into the officer coming from the opposite direction. His hands were quick to reach out and steady her, and she looked up to find Jake Cutter’s weathered countenance before her, a startled expression on it.