Wild Splendor (5 page)

Sobbing, she picked up the hem of her skirt and ran away from the soldiers, who were now laughing and poking fun at the Indians.

Chapter 5

Thou must give, or woo in vain!
So to thee—farewell!

—A
NONYMOUS

 

 

After a night of little sleep, Leonida was woken with a start by a commotion outside. She sat up in bed and stared toward her bedroom window, wondering why there were so many excited voices, among them those of women and children.

Wiping sleep from her eyes, she crept out of bed. With the hem of her lacy nightgown sweeping around her ankles, she went to the window, drew back the sheer curtain, and looked outside. Her heartbeats quickened and her eyes widened as she watched the rush of women and children in the courtyard and saw the many trunks and travel bags being stacked on the board walkway where passengers usually waited for the stagecoach.

Scarcely breathing, Leonida watched the women and children coming together, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the stagecoach.

“There aren't that many of us women at the fort, and very few children, and it looks as though all but me are waiting for the stagecoach,” Leonida whispered to herself. “Why?”

She spun around, her eyes even wider at the sudden thought that came to her. “Unless . . .” she murmured—but didn't stop to finish her thought.

Shedding her gown, she slipped into a floor-length skirt and a comfortable drawstring white blouse. After putting on her shoes, she hurried to the door, stopping only long enough to grab a hairbrush from her dresser.

Brushing her hair with one hand, Leonida yanked the door open with the other and ran down the long corridor until she reached the officers' quarters at the far end of the building. Since Kit Carson's arrival, her father's office had once again been turned into the main officers' quarters of the fort.

Leonida resented this intrusion with a passion, even more now that she contemplated what might have happened to cause such a stir in the women and children to the point that they were waiting to flee the fort as soon as the stagecoach arrived this morning.

Leonida stopped just outside the door that led into the office. The voices inside were loud enough for her to hear what was being said. Putting her ear to the door, Leonida listened intently, growing cold inside the more she heard.

“The last of the women and children have been readied for travel,” Harold said. “Except for Leonida. I'm not sure what to do about her. The other night she left like a wild thing bent for hell, and then I found her later wearing that damn Indian necklace again. It only proved one thing to me—that she met up with the Navaho chief again, and the thought disgusts me.”

“She does seem to have a mind of her own,” Kit said, chuckling.

“If her father were alive he wouldn't allow such behavior,” Harold grumbled. “And by God, I'm not going to either. She's not going anywhere except to a preacher with me. Then I'm going to teach her some manners she's forgotten since her father's death.”

“I'd say you're asking for trouble you don't need,” Kit warned. “You've enough on your hands with the Indians in this area, much less a woman who obviously hates your guts.”

“She'll change her tune once she discovers she's the only woman left on the fort's premises,” Harold said, laughing throatily.

“You're wrong to do that,” Kit scolded. “Damn wrong.”

“She's my woman,” Harold said flatly. “I'll say what she is and is not to do around here.”

Kit laughed sarcastically. “Seems she's shown you a time or two just how much she's
not
your woman.”

“I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that,” Harold grumbled. He paused, then said, “Are all of the women and children ready? The stagecoach should be rolling in any moment now.”

“As far as I can tell,” Kit said. “I hope we've assigned enough soldiers to their protection. It's one thing to send them away from this area because it's heating up with Indian troubles. It's another thing to send them right out into the hands
of
the Indians.”

“I've assigned as many men as could be spared,” Harold said. “We're right to send the women and children away. When I received the news of this latest raid, just last night, I knew that something had to be done. Last night was the last straw. None of those settlers were left alive. And now that Sage has been pointed out to be the leader of these renegades, he must die.”

“We haven't got positive proof it was Sage,” Kit said in Sage's defense. “I know that he was angry as hell yesterday, but I assure you, he would not do anything as cold-blooded as what was reported to us today.”

“Kit, damn it, I mean business,” Harold stormed. “I'm going to stop these raids and killings once and for all. Kill all of the Navaho men, and take the women and children prisoners. They've been warned. They didn't listen.”

“I just can't do what you are asking,” Kit said somberly. “But I will round up the Navaho. For years I've been writing the Department of Indian Affairs about the Navaho being placed on reservations. At least now I'm being given the job of carrying out my own recommendation.” He paused, then added, “And one thing for damn sure, I'm going to give Sage a chance to prove his innocence.”

“I say to you, Kit Carson, that if Sage so much as looks like he's going to resist, shoot him dead,” Harold said, his voice cold and impersonal.

Leonida's knees grew weak. Sage was being accused of raids. Had someone said that they had seen him? Had he been with her one minute, kissing her, and then killing innocent women and children in his next breath?

“No,” Leonida whispered to herself. “Sage isn't the one. He couldn't be.”

Then she recalled Harold's embittered words and his orders to kill Sage. Surely Kit Carson saw the reason for Harold's eagerness to see Sage killed: jealousy.

Her eyes wild, Leonida ran to a window and looked out again at the women and children who waited anxiously for the stagecoach. She could not believe that she had not been included. She could not believe that Harold had said all of those horrible things about her, and how he was going to force her into marrying
and
obeying him.

“That's what he thinks,” she whispered harshly, anger swelling within her.

Harold's loud voice boomed through the closed door again. Leonida cringed when she heard him talking about how the Navaho women and children would be taken prisoners and forced to march to the reservation in New Mexico. If Sage resisted, he would kill him on the spot. The Navaho had had the chance to leave in peace.

Leonida abhorred what she heard, but knew that she could not say anything that would stop them. Also, she did not know where Sage's stronghold was, so she could not warn him. She had only one choice—to leave Harold and this dreadful fort along with the other women and children, no matter the risk.

Breathlessly Leonida hurried back to her room. She locked the door behind her, then went to the window and checked to see if the women and children were still there.

“Thank goodness,” she murmured when she saw that they were. She watched the soldiers stirring up screens of dust as they prepared their horses for traveling. When a stagecoach rumbled into the courtyard and came to a stop beside the crowd of waiting passengers, fear gripped her heart. She didn't have much time. And even if she did escape from the house without Harold seeing her, how could she board the stagecoach without being caught?

Again she looked at the billowing dust from the horses, then at the stagecoach, partially hidden by the dust.

A thought came to her.

“That's how,” she whispered. “
If
I hurry quickly enough.”

She grabbed her travel bag and began cramming clothes into it, not stopping to fold them neatly. That would come later, when she was far from the clutches of General Harold Porter.

Once her bag was bulging with whatever she could get into it, Leonida started to go to her door, then stopped short when she remembered the necklace. Setting her bag down, she went to her dresser, opened the drawer, and took the necklace from it. She gazed into the mirror and secured the necklace around her neck, sighing when she recalled the two times that Sage had placed it there.

She could still feel the touch and the heat of his fingers. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to recall the thrill of his kiss.

Then she was jolted back to the present when again she heard the commotion outside her window. She did not have any time to waste.

It had not been her destiny to love Sage, nor had it been his to love her.

She went to her door and unlocked it. Scarcely breathing, she peeped around the corner. When she saw no activity in the corridor, she rushed from the room, through the parlor, and out the front door.

She was soon lost in the haze of dust and even had to feel her way across the courtyard. When she reached the stagecoach and found that she was the last to board, she threw her travel bag up to the driver and took only a moment to glance over her shoulder toward the house that her father had so lovingly shared with her.

Then with tears warming the corners of her eyes, she hastily boarded the stagecoach.

“Lord have mercy, Leonida,” said Carole, the mother of a five-year-old son, as Leonida squeezed onto the seat with them and two other children and women fitted tightly together. “I was wondering when you were coming. I thought you weren't going to make it. The stagecoach should be leaving any time now.”

“Yes, I know,” Leonida said, giving Carole a wavering glance. Then she looked slowly around her at how many were squeezed in. Besides Carole's son, Trevor, who was snuggled onto his mother's lap, his eyes wide with fear, there were four other adults and five children, squashed into a space hardly big enough to breathe, much less move.

It was obvious that this flight was an act of desperation. The fear of Indians was quite evident in the depths of each of their eyes.

Leonida herself was not all that afraid, for she was too angry and disgusted with Harold to consider that she had as much reason to be afraid as those settlers whose lives had been snuffed out the previous evening.

And she knew that no matter how many soldiers escorted this stagecoach, if Indian renegades wanted to stop the stagecoach and murder everyone, they could.

“Leonida, are you afraid?”

A tiny voice brought her out of her deep, troubled thoughts. She looked down at Trevor and put a hand on his brow, smoothing a lock of raven-black hair out of his eyes.

“Am I afraid?” she said, gazing down into wide, dark eyes that reminded her of someone else's eyes in their darkness.

Sage.

Oh, if she could just forget that she had ever met him.

Her hand went to her throat, where the squash blossom necklace lay. As long as she had that necklace with her, she would always be reminded of Sage.

“Well, are you?” Trevor persisted, reaching a hand to Leonida's arm, giving it a slight shake. “Leonida? Tell me.”

Leonida turned to Carole. “Can I hold him for a little while?” she asked, reaching out to Trevor.

Carole nodded and moved Trevor into Leonida's arms. Leonida snuggled the child close, even though she was already almost too hot to breathe. “Honey, let's not talk of being afraid,” she murmured. “Let's make this story time instead. Would you like me to tell you and the other children stories to get your minds off your fears? My father was a master storyteller. I'd love to share some of his stories with you.”

Carole smiled warmly over at Leonida, as did the rest of the mothers. All of the children chimed in at the same time, telling Leonida that they wanted to hear her stories. Leonida began telling the story of the frogs who ate too much bread and blew up like balloons and floated away, and the one about twin rabbits that had nothing better to do than to eat the flowers in the gardens in the cities; because of this habit they were turned into flowers themselves.

Leonida continued telling her special stories until the children had all drifted off into a sound sleep. Left awake were the mothers, within whose eyes lay the haunting fear not only of what lay before them but also of what they had left behind them—their beloved husbands, left to settle the differences between the whites and the redskins.

Leonida lifted Trevor over onto Carole's lap, then leaned her face closer to the window, trying to inhale a breath of fresh air. Her mind was not on any soldier; instead it was on the handsome Navaho chief whose life was soon to be turned topsy-turvy.

Chapter 6

But I, grown shrewder, scan the skies
With a suspicious air—

—E
MILY
D
ICKINSON

 

 

Day lay golden along the top of the cliffs. Like a desert mirage, the canyon spread an emerald counterpane in the midst of an arid land. Irrigated by springs that swelled to a creek, the valley bloomed with willows and lofty cottonwoods. The canyon and the village of hogans nestled in the shadow of a colossal rampart of red rock wall.

Sage took the saddle and bridle off his stallion and began tying a thong about his animal's lower jaw, then stood with one hand on the horse's withers as he turned to welcome two of his most trusted scouts, riding hard toward him.

Something in Sage's heart told him that the scouts were bringing more bad news. It was in their eyes and the set of their jaws and the way they made such haste into the village. Sage was not sure that he was ready to be told anything else. He and his people had just arrived back at the stronghold, the journey from Fort Defiance a quiet one.

Although Sage and many other Navaho leaders had said they would not leave this land that had belonged to their ancestors, he knew that to stay meant death to many of his people. Kit Carson had become someone foreign to the Navaho. He had stopped being Sage's friend when he aligned himself with the other white leaders whose lives were fueled by greed and cold hearts toward all Indians.

As Sage's scouts wheeled their horses to a thundering, dust-flying halt, his thoughts returned fleetingly to the moment when he had held the lovely white woman in his arms. In that instant of passion he had forgotten everything but the woman.

But now, thinking back, she was to him like the peace that had once sealed hearts in friendship between himself and the white leaders.

Forever gone.

“What news have you brought me?” Sage asked, forcing his thoughts back to the present. “It is
hogay-gahn,
bad?”

Spotted Feather stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on Sage's shoulder. “Yes, it is
hogay-gahn,
” he said. The silver buttons on his leggings flashed in the sun, his waist-length black hair fluttered in the breeze. “A lie was spread to those in charge at Ford Defiance, and to Kit Carson. It was said that you led a recent raid that killed many settlers. Because of this lie, and because the white leaders believed it to be true, the white pony soldiers have been ordered to round up our people, and to kill you if you resist.”

Sage's heart began pumping wildly within his chest. His eyes flared with rage. “And so they go this far, do they?” he said between clenched teeth. “It is not enough that they have given the order that our land will no longer be ours. But now they will take it by force. Even kill me, while doing it?”

“Only if you resist,” Spotted Feather said, lowering his hand from Sage's shoulder. “Only . . . if . . . you resist.”

Black Thunder stepped forward, his dark eyes narrowing. “Let us gather together many Navaho and attack Fort Defiance,” he growled. “Let us show them that they are wrong to go against us in such a way. Let us fight for our land to the death. That is the honorable way.”

Sage nodded. “We will not go against the whole United States Army,” he said. “But we will use a tactic used before that made the white leaders stop and take notice. Although the strategy is unpleasant to me, I see that we must blackmail the white leaders into changing their minds.”

“Blackmail?” Spotted Feather said, arching an eyebrow. “Why do you plan blackmail? And how will this blackmail be carried out?”

“We will use white women and children as bargaining tools,” Sage said, smiling slowly.

“And where do we get these captives?” Black Thunder asked, as he curved his fingers around a knife clasped at his waist. “Do we take scalps from some and leave them dying beneath the sun, to prove we have others as hostages?”

“No, no scalps,” Sage said, his thoughts once again catapulting to Leonida and the beautiful color of her hair. It was as golden as the sun, and it gave him a feeling of foreboding to think even for a moment of seeing it hanging on a scalp pole.

“And no, no deaths,” Sage said in a deep growl.

“Where do we get these captives?” Black Thunder persisted. “Do we raid the settlers' homesteads since we are already being accused of the atrocity anyway?”

“No,” Sage said dryly. “We will not raid the homesteads to get our captives. We will go in search of a stagecoach. Those who journey aboard that sort of travel vehicle are usually related closely to those in charge at the fort. Those will make the best bargaining tools of all.”

“There are always military escorts,” Spotted Feather said, leaning his face close to Sage's. “Do we kill them?”

Sage glowered at Spotted Feather. “Did you not hear me say there are to be no deaths?” he snapped angrily. “We will avoid killing at all costs. We kill only if forced to save our own lives.”

Sage gave his horse a fond pat, then walked away from it. He looked over his shoulder at his two scouts. “Spread the word. Let us make haste in preparing ourselves. I will be waiting in the sweat lodge for my warriors.”

Hardly aware of anything around him, his mind so torn with feelings, Sage walked through his village, paying no heed to those who spoke to him from the doorways of their hogans or from the outdoor cook fires where many had gathered in the late afternoon. He was hardly even aware of the pleasant aroma of corn roasting over the large, communal outdoor fire, or of the sounds of the looms at work throughout his village. In his imagination he was experiencing an impossible dream that involved Leonida.

He was feeling her deeply within his heart.

He was tasting her.

His fingers were warm on her body, arousing her.

Oh, how he wanted her.

Oh, how he was missing her.

As he stepped up to the four-foot-high conical sweat lodge, many of his warriors were already assembling around it. He nodded to them, his mind now back where it belonged, on what was right for his people as a whole instead of just himself, a man who hungered for a woman.

Sage shed his clothes while Spotted Feather built a fire close to the sweat lodge and began heating stones in it. Sage had seen to it that the hut was made large enough to seat as many men as were required for warring, and each of them bent down and entered after he had stripped himself.

Wedged together in a wide circle inside the low, pitch-dark enclosure, the warriors sat with their legs crossed and their heads lowered. They were silent as Spotted Feather began shoveling hot coals into the lodge.

After enough rocks were piled in the center of the floor, Spotted Feather set a huge wooden vessel of water inside, removed all of his clothes, then crawled into the hut and sat down beside Sage.

Slowly and methodically, Spotted Feather began splashing water from the container onto the hot rocks. A wave of intense heat wafted around the inside of the hut, striking the warriors' bodies, causing them to sweat profusely. Some who got too hot sank their heads lower, between their legs.

“Han-e-ga! Han-e-ga! ”
rang out among the men each time water splashed on the rocks, meaning “good.”

Then Sage began singing softly,
Naye-e sin,
the War Song. After the song was finished, the men would put special war feathers in their hair. Ornamented with turquoise, the war feathers were never seen by women or children. Each of the warriors believed that if a woman or a child saw his war feathers, it might cause him to behave like a woman or a child in battle. For Sage and his men, such behavior would bring disgrace to the god Nayenezrani, who had given them the War Song and the rituals surrounding it.

After singing and taking the sweat bath, they left the lodge and dived into the river to cleanse themselves, then banded together as they dressed in their finest warring gear. They put on war shirts made of the thickest buckskin obtainable. Since Sage was their chief and the wealthiest of them all, he used four thicknesses of buckskin, glued together with sticky gum from leaves of the prickly pear cactus.

Each of the warriors fortified himself by eating dried yucca, which would give him energy, and then they all mounted. They made a fine sight on their beautiful horses, the men wrapped in striped blankets belted at the waist, with the silver buttons on their tight breeches gleaming in the sun. Their brightly painted lances bristled fiercely at their sides, and many of the men carried bows and arrows and rifles as well.

Sage felt displaced. Never had he expected to have to go against the white pony soldiers for any reason. Especially not now, for he did not want to think that Leonida might be harmed. At this moment in time, her heart was pure toward the Navaho. But how would she feel once she discovered that he was capable of abducting innocent women and children? He despaired to himself.

He sighed heavily, knowing that he must restrain himself from ever thinking about her again or caring what she thought about anything.

She was now as much his enemy as Kit Carson was.