Woman of Three Worlds (16 page)

After dessert the men went outside with cigars and brandy. Mrs. Harmon insisted on Brittany's sitting with Mrs. Shaw over glasses of sherry while she cleared the table.

“Everything seems to have worked out quite happily for you, dear,” said Mrs. Shaw when they were alone. “It's a vast relief to have you out of the washhouse.”

“It was honest work with honest women,” said Brittany.

“Oh, I'm sure of that. Still, it was a shocking waste of your education and abilities.”

Brittany laughed. “If it came to whether we should have books or clean clothes, ma'am, I think most people would choose the clothes.”

“Yes, but it's seldom necessary to make such drastic choices.” Mrs. Shaw lowered her voice to a whisper. “It's clear that you've become indispensable to the major. The colonel says he's never known a more dedicated officer.”

“I can well believe it.”

“And so devoted to his little daughter! It's touching to see a man struggle to rear a child alone.”

“Plenty of women do,” Brittany observed.

Mrs. Shaw's eyebrows rose. “But dear, rearing children is a woman's natural province.”

“I wonder if it's that or because they just get left with children they're expected to bring up somehow. No one blames a man for turning his motherless children over to someone else, but when a woman does it, she's considered monstrously unnatural.”

After an astonished moment, Mrs. Shaw twinkled. “A penetrating observation! But you can't deny your motherly talents. Laurie's thriving, and you've got an Apache boy wanting you for his mother!”

Brittany laughed at that, though it sent a chill of warning down her spine. Zach had certainly gone out of his way to be horrid! It was as if he were still angry, though if either of them had a right to a grudge it was certainly she!

Still, in spite of the evening's success and the glowing compliments of the other guests as they took their leave, Brittany felt deflated and cheated when Zach only bowed and thanked her for an excellent meal and delightful evening. Would he be going back to his ranch without seeing her again? How could he propose to her, however reluctantly, and still behave as if they were merely social acquaintances?

Chagrined, she absently acknowledged Erskine's appreciation for presiding at his entertainment and hurried into the kitchen. “You go to bed now,” she urged the perspiring Mrs. Harmon. “You've already done far more than your share!”

“Maybe you and Major Hugh might want to sit over a cup of coffee?” suggested Mrs. Harmon hopefully.

“No,” said Brittany. “What I want is to see you get some rest.”

She put on an apron as Mrs. Harmon somewhat reluctantly put hers off and said good-night, going out with a rapturous sigh. “Such a lovely party! With Major Hugh proud as Punch and Laurie such an angel!”

Brittany's smile faded as she attacked the piles of dishes. Trust Zach Tyrell to ruin things! If he couldn't be civil, why had he come at all?

As she polished the crystal and china that had belonged to Erskine's wife, Brittany wondered fleetingly what the woman had been like. There were no pictures of her anywhere, which seemed a bit odd, considering that Erskine had obviously not recovered from her loss. Though Brittany had once or twice tried to elicit information from Mrs. Harmon, Laurie's nurse had closed off such efforts by saying firmly, “I only came into Major Hugh's employment after Mrs. Erskine was gone. I never laid eyes on her, but some who knew her said that Laurie is her image.”

So she must have been beautiful, and from the household things she'd left behind, she must have had expensive and cultured tastes. She, thought Brittany dryly, would never have gone to Soapsuds Row.

There was still a villainous jumble of pans, and Brittany was tired. She thought longingly of leaving them till morning, rejected the notion, and started scouring. She was working at the roast pan when there was a sound at the door, which stood open to admit the breeze.

Freezing, she started to scream as a tall figure ducked to enter, checked her outcry as Zach Tyrell came toward her. His eyes looked almost black, and from something in the way he moved she was sure he'd had more than dinner's champagne and brandy.

“So this is what you had in mind when you wouldn't marry me,” he said derisively. “And I was persuaded you had high principles when you moved out to Soapsuds Row!”

“What I do is certainly none of your business! I don't know why you had to come tonight if you were bent on being awkward and rude!”

“I guess some of us are like that. Don't know better than to come watch the cat lick cream off its whiskers. Erskine was all but purring.”

“He invited you at Mr. DeLong's request!”

Zach laughed harshly. “Like hell he did! He invited me so he could show me how neatly he'd fitted you into his household.”

“For heaven's sake, keep your voice down!”

“Don't want him to hear?” Zach smiled wickedly. “Then come for a little walk with me.”

“You—you're drunk.”

“Not drunk enough. DeLong and me, we had a few, and if you think I'm soused, you should of heard him. Got to remembering the Camp Grant massacre. All those Apache women and kids with their skulls bashed in—”

Horrified, Brittany gasped, “What are you talking about?”

“Never heard about that? Oh, our Sidney's been a leader in the territory! He was one of six white men who went with forty-eight Mexicans and ninety-four Papagos to take care of the Apaches who'd settled around Camp Grant in 1871. There was some evidence that raids and killings in the Santa Cruz valley were their doing and when the army wouldn't act, this group did.”

He seemed to have sobered and stopped as if he didn't want to say more. “What happened?” Brittany demanded.

“The Tucson group hit the Apache camp before dawn. Lots of the hundred and twenty-five people, the lucky ones, didn't know what killed them. Only eight men were murdered. The others were off hunting—or maybe, as white citizens claimed, they were off raiding somewhere. Twenty-nine Apache children were stolen away. A few who were kept in Tucson were given back to their people later, but most must have been sold into Mexico, for they were never found.”

“Wasn't anything done about it?”

“Do you think a territorial jury would punish anyone for killing an Apache?” Zach asked. “The eastern press hollered, of course. President Grant called it murder and threatened martial law if there wasn't a trial.” He shrugged. “It took all of nineteen minutes for the jury to bring in a verdict of ‘not guilty.'”

At the look on Brittany's face, Zach said in a gentler voice, “DeLong didn't expect to be killing babies. Actually, the Papagos, who've lost women and children in hundreds of years of Apache raids, did the clubbing. Mexicans and whites fired on Apaches who tried to get away up the gulch. At a time like that men fire at anything.”

Brittany felt sick. Even though DeLong apparently suffered remorse for his part in the horror, she didn't think she could ever speak to him again. Zach gripped her by the shoulders.

“Things like that aren't in your books, are they? You're too soft for this country. Maybe you're smart to angle for the major. After this tour, he can transfer back east, where you'll make a most elegant officer's lady.” His tone dropped, and his fingers caressed her throat. “But you could still have a walk with me tonight.”

She jerked back from his cajoling touch, which, indignant as she was, still had the power to make her legs weak under her, make her wonder crazily what it would be like to feel those strong warm hands trace her body, linger—

“I won't walk with you!” she blazed. “Some women may like the way you act, but I don't!”

“You prefer the major?”

Zach's grip bruised her arms as he caught her against him, stopped her angrily parted lips with his. At first she tried to stiffen her mouth, stay cold and unmoved in his arms, but the pounding of his heart vibrated through her, making her veins pulse as though powered by the surge of his blood. Her breasts ached. Sweet flames uncurled in her loins, sent weighted honey through her. She felt like a flower opening, spreading petals to the warmth, eager to reveal and yield her secret fragrance. She almost fell when Zach stepped away.

“Can the major make you feel like that?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned scornfully and flung out into the darkness.

Brittany scarcely slept that night. Why couldn't Zach love her instead of just wanting to use her? Since he didn't love her, what right did he have to condemn anything she might do? He had a maddeningly unfair way of interpreting everything she did, assuming he knew the answers without giving her a chance to explain—

And why, pray, should she explain her actions to him? Of all the men in the Territory, he had to be the most wrong-headed and exasperating!

The answer was devastating, but she kept coming back to it as she turned restlessly from side to side on her pillow. She cared what he thought because she loved him. There didn't seem to be much she could do about that.

She had hoped against hope to see him again. When Erskine remarked that he'd left before dawn that morning, her heart sank, though she sternly told herself that it was just as well, since they seemed fated always to quarrel.

Erskine rode with her and the children that afternoon, seeming in a happier mood than she could remember. After Laurie and Jody had their story and games and had gone to bed, instead of going to his desk, the major paused beside Brittany, who was just taking up some mending.

“Would you have some sherry?” he suggested.

Puzzled by this departure from custom, Brittany said, “It's not necessary, sir.” Making a feeble joke to hide a slight uneasiness, she laughed. “The party was last night.”

“A fine party it was, too,” said Erskine. “But there's no reason we can't enjoy a few quiet moments together.”

What next?
Brittany groaned inwardly.

As the major poured her sherry and his brandy, she steeled herself for yet another unacceptable proposal. Nothing seemed further from his mind, though, as he talked about post affairs and then inquired about the children's progress in their studies. After perhaps a half hour, he complimented her again on the dinner, excused himself, and retired to his work.

Relieved, Brittany folded her sewing and took up Melville before she realized, with a surge of alarm, that what had happened was in a way more worrying than a proposal.

The major had talked to her as a man would to his wife.

XII

Next day, accompanied by Harris, Jody in his uniform, and Laurie in a tiny blue riding habit with gold braid trim, Brittany paid little attention to where they were going, except that they had passed the cemetery. She kept remembering Zach's arms about her, the harsh melting sweetness of his kiss. When with great effort she put him out of her mind, Erskine took his place. What a muddle it all was!

She and Laurie were behind Harris and Jody as they greeted the men at the stage station and followed the road toward the summit. They couldn't have been more than a mile from the stage station when Harris threw up his arms, made a strangling cry, and fell slowly out of his saddle, two feathered shafts sprouting from his back.

At the same instant, a bush beside Brittany turned into a man who grabbed her horse's reins and dragged her out of the saddle, clamping his hand over her mouth. Laurie was held by a stocky warrior who yelped as she bit him, then laughed and clamped her jaws together with fingers and thumb. One Indian was stripping off Harris's weapons and clothing, another had caught the frightened horses, and the tallest Apache was embracing Jody.

But only for a moment. Leaving Harris's body sprawled by the road, the Indians started over a rocky slope where they'd leave no tracks, carrying Laurie and dragging Brittany. When they were in a thick growth of oak, the tall Apache halted, spoke severely to Jody, who hung his head and sadly unbuttoned his tunic. When he peeled off the gold-striped trousers, he wore his breechcloth underneath. His eyes filled with tears as the big warrior bundled together the boots and uniform and handed them to one of his companions with a few brusque words.

This man trotted away, high moccasins noiseless, going in the direction they had come. Towering above Jody, the leader stared at Brittany. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were green and his hair had reddish glints. He was considerably lighter than the others; probably he was born of a Mexican captive, like the beautiful daughters of Mangus Coloradas, who'd been advantageously married to leaders of various groups, including Cochise.

“My son no wear Bluecoat rags!” he said in thick but understandable English. “These days I see him like that—” He didn't finish, but Brittany could imagine, even in her dread, how he'd felt to see his son in the garb of the enemy. This must be Kah-Tay.

Brittany said desperately, “Please send the little girl back safely!”

The Apache frowned at the child whose blue eyes were dilated with terror. “Think I turn her Diné like her father do my boy.”

“It wasn't her father,” Brittany defended. “If you have to blame someone, blame me. Let her go home.”

Kah-Tay spoke to Jody. Jody answered in a rush, his tone pleading, before he came to stand hopefully by Laurie. After a moment, Kah-Tay said, “He calls her ‘sister.' Says she good to him. Her father good. She go back.” He paused. Brittany's rush of relief was tainted by wondering what her own fate would be. “You come with us,” went on Kah-Tay. “I know you good to my son, but you no yell, no run away. You do, we kill.”

Brittany believed him. She thought of poor young Harris with a rush of horrified pity. At least Laurie was being returned; at least she was still alive.

Embracing Laurie, she warned her to be quiet and make no trouble for the warrior who was going to carry her back to the road so she could find her way to the stage station. Then the child was taken from her, and Kah-Tay lifted her back on her horse.