IN HER ISOLATED corner of the dark Sonoran Desert, Clarissa stood guard nervously. She feared her husband had been defeated, and she would have to make Fort Buchanan on foot, carrying Natalie. Is this the end of my life, she wondered.
Then out of the night she heard horses. Her husband’s voice called, “Clarissa?”
She gave thanks to God, and the children rejoiced noisily as Nathanial rode into the clearing, still wearing war paint and his cougar skin cape, followed by the cowboys. Clarissa stared at her white Apache husband and thought, Who the hell does he think he is?
“We won,” he said as he climbed down from the saddle. Then he kissed her. “Let’s go home.”
Zachary replied, “You look like an injun.”
The children crowded around their strange father, and Clarissa felt relieved, but knew she’d never be safe until she returned to civilization. As her horse was led forward, she said, “I never truly realized how dangerous this area was, and in retrospect, I can’t imagine why you brought us all here.”
“Be thankful we won.”
“I’ve reached a decision,” she stated firmly, “and I might as well tell you now. This territory is too lawless for me, and I’m going back east with Natalie, because I could never subject my child to this again.”
“What about the ranch?”
“This ranch, and a thousand more like it, aren’t worth the life of my child!” Clarissa felt her temper coming on like the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and found no reason to apply the brakes. “What kind of man would bring his family to Arizona!”
“Let’s go home, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Stubbornly, she placed her hands on her hips. “What manner of lunatic would want to live where you have to worry about being scalped in the middle of the night?”
“If you want to run home to Mother—that’s up to you.”
“Bastard!” she screamed as the engine gathered steam. “You think that because you’re a man, you know everything! In all my travels, I’ve never experienced anything as terrible as this damned ranch of yours, where your daughter lives under the threat of instant death, and it doesn’t even trouble you.”
“Of course it troubles me, but a warrior must defeat his enemies, which I have done.”
“What warrior are you talking about?” she asked sarcastically. “You were an army officer, then you were an Indian agent, then a rancher, and now you’re a warrior? Do you think life is something you can shed, like a snake’s skin?”
“It’s getting late,” replied Nathanial wearily. “We’ve got to get back to the ranch.”
“’At’s right, Clarabelle,” said Blakelock out the side of his mouth. “How much horseshit do we have to tolerate afore we can go to bed?”
She turned to him. “You old hog—you drunkard— you utter beast—how dare you speak to me that way, after what my children have been through!”
“If they ain’t complainin’—why’re you?”
She looked at the children, and Natalie was glad to see her father in his funny new Apache costume, while Zachary tended to agree with everything his father said, whether he understood or not, while Gertie the gutter rat viewed life as clawing and scratching, and was pleased the cowboys had won.
“Children lack the capacity to understand,” Clarissa declared self-righteously, “like a certain foreman I could name. But far be it from me to keep you up all night...” It occurred to Clarissa that the men she insulted had defended her from outlaws, and had actually saved the children’s lives, but she was so angry, upset, and harried, she didn’t care what she said.
Nathanial placed his arm around her. “The crisis has passed. Relax.”
She began to cry.
“What’s the holdup?” asked Dobbs testily.
“Clarabelle’s at it again,” said Claggett. “She was a-gonna kill everybody, now she’s a-crying her pore eyes out.”
“C’mon Clarabelle,” snarled Barr. “We ain’t got all fuckin’ night here.”
She thought there was something so awful about them, they were beyond sufferance, yet they had defeated a gang of outlaws. Wiping away tears with her sleeve, she said, “I’m sorry if I lost my temper, and actually, I should thank you for doing a wonderful job. You’re really very fine...”
“Jesus God—now she’s a-makin’ a speech,” said Joe Smith, rolling his eyes.
She realized she never could please them, no matter how hard she tried. “Whar’s my damned horse?” she asked wearily.
“Right here, Clarabelle,” said Bastrop.
Without further complaint, everyone mounted up and headed back to the ranch.
Nathanial and Clarissa awoke around noon, and enjoyed a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and beans with Rosita and the children. Meanwhile, the cowboys stirred in the bunkhouse, while guards were posted at all times, like a military camp.
Clarissa felt well rested, but still wasn’t sure about ranch life. It is entirely possible, she thought, that another gang of outlaws might attack, or Apaches could burn everything to the ground, but do I want to spend my life sipping tea in Gramercy Park?
Everyone had been transformed by the outlaw war, even Natalie, Zachary, and Gloria, who had managed better than she, the former belle of the ball. Perhaps I was too pampered as a child, reflected Clarissa, but what’s wrong with being pampered?
Nathanial placed his hand on hers. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I should not have brought you here. It certainly is dangerous but I thought you’d get used to it. I feel torn apart because I love this land, but I also love you. I wish you’d give the ranch another chance. We can make it work if we just hang on.”
“Why can’t you return east with Natalie and me?”
“I will, but I don’t believe Natalie wants to leave.” Nathanial turned to Natalie. “Do you?”
Natalie smiled and tried to say no.
Clarissa declared, “You’re manipulating the child for your own personal gain, like the scoundrel everyone says you are.”
“It never stops,” said Zachary wearily. “Why’d you two ever get married?”
Gloria piped up, “I’m sick of you two arguing.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go east where it’s safe?” asked Clarissa.
“No,” replied Zachary.
“Me neither,” added Gloria.
Clarissa felt like tipping the table onto them and screaming at the top of her lungs. Since childhood, she’d always shoved her frustrations into the piano, so she stormed to the parlor, sat at the Steinway, and ran her fingers over the keys.
The instrument had gone out of tune, but somehow seemed more appropriate to her feelings. She hammered discordant notes, slammed deep bass chords, and ran her thumb along the treble. Strange, horrible vibrations emitted from hammers and strings, but they reflected her feelings precisely, and helped her feel better. She wished she’d never met the rapscallion Nathanial Barrington, because he was the one who’d led her astray, and she tried to convince herself that she’d been perfectly happy before he’d come along.
In the midst of her atonal concerto, as she drowned in the music of despair, a gruff voice said, “Hey, Clarabelle—are you tryin’ to drive everybody loco ’round here?”
She spun on her piano bench and saw Blakelock standing in her parlor, hat in hand, a mournful expression on his face. “How dare you tell me what to do in my own home!” she yelled. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Clarabelle—the men can take so much,” he replied patiently. “We’ve got a chance to relax an’ wash our socks, an’ we got to put up with you? Why don’t you play ‘My Old Kentucky Home’?”
Who, she asked herself, is this depraved abomination of nature, for whom mayhem is sheer pleasure, yet he has sensitive ears and loves the good American music of Stephen Collins Foster? “All right,” she said, poising her fingers over the keys.
He appeared shocked. “You mean you’ll do it?”
“I would not be alive right now, were it not for you dirty bastards, and I will play anything you like—you need only ask.”
Clarissa fingered the keys, and sang in her smooth soprano voice:
The sun shines bright
in the old Kentucky home
’Tis summer, the darkies are gay
The corn top’s ripe
and the meadow’s in the bloom
while the birds make music
all the day...
Clarissa noticed the beatific expression on Blakelock’s face as he stood beside the piano and hummed. She wondered what it was about the tune that so enchanted him, for it was not nearly as magnificent as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, yet somehow, in its very simplicity it managed to evoke the blue grass of Kentucky, it’s farms and horses, and apparently Blakelock’s youth.
At the end of the song, Blakelock clapped hands appreciatively. “That was real fine, Clarabelle!”
“Are you from Kentucky, Mr. Blakelock?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
It was the first time he’d ever called her ‘ma’am.’ “Did you ever meet Henry Clay?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. When I was a boy, he came to the Grayson Country Fair. What a gennelman he was. They say he could drink with the best of ’em.”
“I don’t mean to be argumentative, Mr. Blakelock, but what is the distinction of drinking with the best drunkards? I hope you won’t consider me ignorant, but I truly don’t understand what you’re talking about most the time.”
“I know that you truly don’t,” he replied, “and that’s cuzz you allus turn everythin’ onto its head. But we don’t mind as long as you don’t play the piano the way you was. Why cain’t you be sweet ‘stead of bitter?”
Is that what he thinks I am? she asked herself. Bitter?
“It don’t hurt none to smile,” he said in a fatherly way. “What are you so mad at all the time?”
“Well, my life is very hard, and—”
“Oh hell, Clarabelle—don’t make me laugh. You’ve got a maid and a bunch of cowboys to do yer chores, and maybe that’s what’s wrong with you.”
Clarissa struggled not to become indignant, because she could see that Blakelock was vaguely human. “But—”
“Why don’t you jest play the piano? The boys can use some entertainment. We can move the piano outside and have a party.”
As Clarissa was crafting an answer, from afar came the dreaded word, “Apaches!”
In an instant, Blakelock was headed for the door, gun in hand. Clarissa took down the shotgun over the fireplace, then Rosita arrived, baby in her arms. “Apaches?” she asked, eyes glazed with horror.
“Take Natalie to your room, and keep your head down.”
Clarissa followed Blakelock outdoors where the cowboys were gathering, guns in their hands, and even Zachary and Gloria were there, along with her husband, all eyes on the approaching rider, Joe Smith coming at a gallop from the western range. “Apaches on the way!” he cried, long black mustaches trailing in the wind. “About fifty of ’em. I think they saw me.” He pulled his reins.
Nathanial smiled. “Maybe they’re old friends. I’ll take a look.”
“Can I come?” asked Zachary and Gloria in unison.
“No, because they might be Indians whom I don’t know, and that could be trouble. Stay with the cowboys, and look out for your little sister. Everybody keep your eyes open. Are you all right, Clarissa?”
“I was thinking that danger never seems to end at this ranch of yours.”
“If they’re friends, I’ll ride back with them. If not, I’ll return alone. And if you don’t see me by nightfall, you can assume the worst.”
He pecked her forehead, did the same with his children, then headed for the barn. They heard him saddle a fresh horse. He rode into the sunlight, and putting spurs to a big black stallion named Max, proceeded at a trot toward the open land.
“All right—everybody back to work,” said Blakelock, then he turned to Zachary and Gloria. “Don’t wander too far from the main house.”
As soon as the foreman was out of sight, the children headed for the nearest mountain, where they could climb and see. Clarissa returned to the piano to play the music of Stephen Collins Foster, while struggling to control her fears. What if the Indians massacre us all?
Chief Mangas Coloradas led the procession, his head high, heart filled with anticipation. Sunny Bear will offer wise words, I am confident, he thought.
Jocita had caught up with them yesterday, and delivered the message from Captain Padilla. Mangas Coloradas wanted to know Sunny Bear’s opinion concerning the peace powwow at Fronteras, because Sunny Bear possessed much knowledge about the Mexicanos.
Meanwhile Jocita rode among the women, wishing she’d remained at the main camp, because she feared Sunny Bear. What will I do if he looks at me? she asked herself.
Juh glanced at her, aware of her inner turmoil, for he knew she loved Sunny Bear, and feared she would leave him. Often he regretted marrying Ishkeh, but a chief needs sons. Juh was split between love of power and love of Jocita, producing an extremely volatile personality.
Behind Juh rode Major Beau Hargreaves, also filled with emotion as he neared Nathanial’s home. Anxious to return to civilization, he had no idea what to do about Constanza. He could feel her eyes burn into the back of his shirt. How can I give her up? he asked himself. But how can I not?
Meanwhile, Constanza stared at him from her place among the women, wondering how she could surrender her first love. She contemplated suicide, feeling morbid, lonely, desperate.
“I want to talk with you,” said a voice nearby.
It was Victorio, who had ridden alongside while she stared at Beau’s back. “What is it?” she asked coldly.
“I wanted to say”—it appeared he was having difficulty speaking—“that I am sorry.”
She spit in his face. “That is what I think of your apology,” she told him.
The People were aghast that anyone would commit such a discourteous act against gallant Victorio. Shegha, a wife of Geronimo, riding nearby, took a swing at Constanza’s head. Constanza didn’t see the punch coming; it caught her full on the ear. She was dazed, and then Nah-Dos-Te, wife of Nana, slapped her face.
“Enough!” cried Victorio.
He and other warriors forced the women off her. “What is going on back there?” asked Mangas Coloradas from the front of the column.
“Nothing!” replied Victorio.
Victorio looked at the wives sternly, and they moved away from the Nakai-yes woman, her spittle stinging his cheek like acid. Never had a woman dared such an outrage against Victorio, but he did not lose control, and felt pleased to have spoken his peace. He could not be blamed if she did not comprehend.
“There he is!” shouted Chatto, pointing straight ahead.
They spotted a solitary rider approaching across the verdant valley, emanating from the sun like a mythic being, with layers of wispy white clouds behind him. He wore Pindah clothes, a wide-brimmed hat, astride a mighty black horse, with a gun on his hip and a knife sticking out his right boot.
Sunny Bear nudged his horse, and that spirited animal launched himself into a full gallop. Sunny Bear raced toward the People, who could see him crouched in his saddle, working with the motions of his horse, like black lightning. Mangas Coloradas held up his hand as Sunny Bear slowed about a hundred paces away. Then his horse walked the final distance to Mangas Coloradas.
“How wonderful to see you,” said Sunny Bear, extending his hand.
“So Sunny Bear has become a herder of cattle,” replied Mangas Coloradas. “Look—we have brought a surprise.”
Mangas Coloradas turned in his saddle, and out of the mass of warriors rode a familiar thick-set figure in army blue, an enormous smile on his face. Nathanial was jolted by the incongruity of his old West Point roommate among the Apaches. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.
“I was taken prisoner,” explained Beau, “and I told them I was a friend of yours. So they’ve returned me to you.”
The other warriors crowded around, to clasp Sunny Bear’s hand or slap his back, and Sunny Bear saw many old friends, bringing back memories of happy days among the People. Then Sunny Bear spotted her among the women, long, tangled hair and inscrutable eyes, causing his heart to trip. He feared sinking and drowning in those limpid pools, so he turned to greet other friends, such as Victorio, Barbonsito, and Juh.
Sitting high on a white cliff, Zachary and Gloria observed the spectacle. In the midst of a wide valley, a horde of Indians had gathered around their father, obviously he was their friend; there were whoops of laughter. Zachary and Gloria turned to each other, and they didn’t have to say a word, so attuned were they to each other’s thinking. What’s this? they wondered.
At the ranch, Clarissa played the piano in an effort to stop worrying. Nothing had been heard of Nathanial since he left four hours ago. Why must a person worry about getting killed? she asked herself. What is wealth for, if not to protect against life’s hazards? When this emergency is over, I’m going where it’s safe, she promised herself. If Nathanial refuses to follow, to hell with him.
She came to the end of the song, wondering what to play next, when she heard nervous feet behind her. Turning, she saw Claggett wearing a bloodstained white apron and his cowboy hat, holding a bowl of steaming souplike substance.
“I made some son-of-a-bitch stew,” he said, “and thought I’d bring you a bowl.” He smiled shyly. “Everybody says I make great son-of-a-bitch stew.”
“What’s in it?”
“The guts of a steer, some tallow to make it innerestin’, and the heart, brains, and marrow, spiced with chili peppers.”
“I don’t think I’d like it, Mr. Claggett, but thank you anyway.”
“There ain’t no dead rat in there, or nawthin’ like that, and I washed everythin’ real good afore I started cookin’.”
It smelled appetizing, but she didn’t care to sample such a brew. Something told her a lizard’s head might be in there, because she wouldn’t put anything past her cowboys. “Is this a joke?”
“Oh no, ma’am.”
She didn’t want to touch the concoction, but he noticed her hesitation, and an expression of pain came to his eyes. “If’n you don’t want it,” he said huffily, picking the bowl off the table, “I’ll give it to somebody who does.”
“I should at least sample it,” she said quickly, because she didn’t want to offend him, “but if I find a lizard, I’m sure God will punish you.”
“I wouldn’t feed you a lizard, Clarabelle. What makes you think somethin’ like that?”
“So you could have a good laugh in the bunk-house.”
“Hell—yer funny enough on your own, Clarabelle, without me doin’ nawthin’ special.”
The concoction was dark brown, filled with chunks of steer organs, fragrant with chili. She took some on a spoon, raised it to her lips, and tasted a blend of savory beefy flavors. “It’s quite good,” she said honestly. “In fact, it’s excellent.”
“I toldja,” he said, beaming.
They looked at each other happily, and she thought, Maybe ranch life isn’t so bad after all, but then came a shout from the yard. “Injuns!”
Stew was forgotten as Clarissa reached for the shotgun. Cowboys congregated in the yard, and Indians could be seen in the distance, bristling with rifles, bows and arrows, with Nathanial riding among them. Zachary and Gloria had returned from their aerie and stared in wonder as the procession drew closer. The cowboys were tense, because the Apaches greatly outnumbered them, and they appeared outlandish to European American eyes, as if they were partially feline, or had mated with wolves.
Nathanial rode beside an old Apache man, and Clarissa sensed a tremendous gulf between herself and her husband. As the Indians drew closer, she recognized a blue-uniformed soldier among them, Major Beauregard Hargreaves. What’s he doing here? she asked herself as a cloak of trepidation fell over her.
Apaches came to a halt in her backyard, but appeared fairly friendly. Clarissa thought the women even wilder than the men, with no cosmetics or fancy coiffures, only red bandannas around their long hair as they relentlessly examined her.
Nathanial and the Apaches climbed down from their saddles, and Clarissa guessed that most warriors were around five foot six, but covered with thick sheathes of muscle, providing the appearance of tremendous power. She could not deny that Apache men were attractive in that certain beguiling way.
Nathanial approached with the stately old Apache man. “May I present my friend, Chief Mangas Coloradas.”
Clarissa turned to this singular individual, and his face looked worn and creased as a crag exposed to constant storms. His straight hair was partially gray and hanging to his waist, while his physique was massive. Clarissa bowed and said in Spanish, “I am honored to meet you.”
“And I am happy to meet the wife of Sunny Bear,” replied Mangas Coloradas, also in Spanish. “Your hair is like his, the color of the sun, and from this day onward, you will be called Sunny Flower.”
Clarissa didn’t know what to make of it, then Nathanial said, “Guess who else is here?”
Beau stepped forward, holding out his hand. “My dear Clarissa,” he said, managing to hold himself steady.
“So good to see you again,” she replied, shaking his hand.
They smiled politely, and Nathanial did not notice the extremely subtle interaction. Instead, he turned to Blakelock and issued the appropriate command. “Have some of the boys butcher a steer.”
Soon a group of cowboys returned with a likely prospect, while others dug a pit in back of the main house. Meanwhile, the Apaches cared for their horses, and Nathanial searched for the two jugs of whiskey that the cowboys had brought from Fort Buchanan.
He carried both outside, opened one, took a swig, and handed it to Mangas Coloradas. Then he opened the other, drank deeply again, and gave it to Nana the di-yin medicine man. Clarissa watched stolidly, recalling that Apaches went berserk when they became inebriated.
Meanwhile, Zachary and Gloria roamed among the Apaches, who greeted them warmly, tousled their hair, but could not converse with them. Cowboys started a fire, the steer was carved nearby, and his parts skewered on a steel pole. Soon the aroma of roast meat filled the air, while Dobbs sat in front of the bunk-house, strumming his banjo. From the porch, Clarissa observed the panorama that her backyard had become, and noticed Beau at Nathanial’s side as Nathanial moved among the Apaches, talking, hugging, rejoicing at their reunion. My husband has entered their world entirely, thought Clarissa, while I can never be other than what I am, a progressive American woman.
The cowboys shared their hoarded whiskey with the Apaches as the sun sank behind distant bald knobs. Apaches rolled thick cigarettes in corn husks, which they passed around, and stores of peyotl were ingested. Soon celebrants could be seen weaving about the yard.
Darkness came to the land as Clarissa watched the revelry from her chair on the porch, Natalie resting on her lap, and Rosita hiding in her room. Clarissa studied her husband passing among the Apaches, speaking with old friends. How can one man become an entirely different person? she wondered.
Natalie squirmed in her lap, apparently wanting to mingle with Apaches, so Clarissa took her hand and let the child lead her onward. Natalie appeared transfixed by Apaches, and reached her small hands to touch them. A scarred warrior lifted her into the air and tried to talk with her as Apache musicians beat sticks, sending out rolling rhythms.
An Apache woman Clarissa never had met reached out innocently and touched her golden hair. Clarissa felt like a freak among them, an unusual reaction for one born to an old American family, but then she realized the Indians were the oldest American families of all.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” said Beau as he led Nathanial to the barn. “Her family was massacred, but our Apache friends are going to free her.”
They found Constanza in the hayloft, as far from Apaches as possible. Beau introduced her to Nathanial, who said, “We’ll take you to Fort Buchanan first chance we get.”
She replied formally, “Thank you.”
“Why not come down and join the party?”
“I do not have parties with Apaches,” she said firmly.
Nathanial descended the ladder, followed by Beau, and when they were outside, Nathanial said, “Are you sleeping with her?”
“Whatever makes you ask that?”
“She’s a pretty girl, and I’m suspect you’ve ‘comforted’ her, as it were.”
Beau sighed. “I regret to say it’s true. I don’t know how I can face Rebecca again.”
“Just as you did last time, and the time before.”
“You make it sound crass.”
“Romance is nothing more than breeding activity,” said the experienced rancher, “after you scrape away the poetry and folderol. And it appears I might be single soon, because Clarissa is talking about leaving. She says the frontier is too dangerous, and maybe she’s right.”
“Well, you are in a rather exposed spot.”
“It’s mine, and nobody’s scaring me off.”
“It’s the most godforsaken place in the world, but I have come to love this land too, and after living among the Apaches I’ve decided to resign my commission, just as you did. I can’t fight them anymore, after they’ve been so kind.”
Nathanial was astonished. “I can’t believe that Beauregard Hargreaves of all people would resign his commission, especially after making major.”
“The Apaches’ll be conquered sooner or later, but I don’t want any part of it.”
Nathanial placed his hand on Beau’s shoulder. “You truly are my best friend, because we even think alike. Once you get to know them, the Apaches aren’t the band of thieves and murderers that most whites say. Will you go back to South Carolina?”
“Actually, I was thinking about ranching.”
Nathanial grinned. “That’s a great idea, Beau! I’ll give you a hundred head of cattle on credit. All you have to do is round ’em up. But what I’d really prefer is to throw you this entire damned ranch, and run off with the Apaches.”
On the porch, Clarissa watched five Indian women approach. They pointed at the door, as if curious about the interior of her home. With impeccable manners, the former Clarissa Rowland of Gramercy Park opened her parlor to people described as blood-soaked savages, but they appeared shy, lithe as their men, with the capacity to show delight as they bounced on the chairs, lay on the sofa, examined the rug, and then one found the kitchen, where they puttered among Clarissa’s pots and dishes. Each carried a knife, a few sported pistols, and looked capable of using them.
As Clarissa studied them, she realized that she’d never view women the same again, for these were not coddled New York society dames who never carried anything heavier than a volume of poems. No, this was a more fundamental breed, in tune with the seasons and the stars, giving birth not by the hand of a trained doctor, but in the wilderness, with a medicine man chanting prayers.
They approached the piano curiously, for it appeared beyond their comprehension. They probably think it’s an altar, thought Clarissa as she sat on the stool. She launched into Schubert’s “Sonata in A Minor,” and they stared at her, then rushed forward to touch her hands, as if to capture the magic. Clarissa felt herself swept away by their wildness, yet they were women too, they appreciated beautiful things, proud of themselves and their culture.
She arose from the piano and invited them to play, so they pressed the keys, seemingly hypnotized by the sounds, and to Clarissa it became a strange atonal ballad. They were pure, childlike, with a marvelous openness, and she couldn’t help envying their freedom from the restrictions of civilization. Maybe Apache life isn’t so bad after all, she thought. Should I run off with Nathanial and live with the Apaches?
Nathanial sat with Mangas Coloradas and Nana the medicine man a short distance from the dancers. “So tell me, my friend,” said Mangas Coloradas, a cigarette in his hand. “How have you fared since you left us?”
“I visited my family in the eastern lands,” explained Nathanial, “and then I was at Fort Thorn with Dr. Steck. I was his assistant, trying to make peace among the Mescalero People, White Eyes, and Mexicanos, but I failed, because the hatred was too great. Then I started this ranch, but many times I thought of returning to the holy Lifeway.”
“Often I have wished for your council,” said Mangas Coloradas. “Does the Pindah army plan to wipe us out?”
“That always has been their plan.”
“Are they strong enough to defeat us?”
“They will be eventually, but you can always sign a treaty.”
Mangas Coloradas shook his head emphatically. “I have not the right to bargain away this land. My plan is to make peace with the Mexicanos. Do you think I am right?”
“I would not trust the Mexicanos or the White Eyes if I were you.”
Mangas Coloradas peered into Sunny Bear’s eyes. “Your words are harsh, Sunny Bear.”
“But true, my chief.”
“What will the White Eyes do if I surrender?”
“Cheat and humiliate you.”
“If you were Mangas Coloradas, what would you do?”
“I would think of future generations, but it is not easy to be cheated and humiliated. To suffer such punishment, a new kind of warrior is required.”
Then, out of the night walked Coyuntura, brother of Cochise, carrying a thick book that he had acquired on a raid down Mexico way. “Sunny Bear,” he began, “what is this thing?”
Nathanial looked at the spine and it was a King James Bible. “It contains the most holy words of my people.”
“And what do the words say?”
“They tell us to honor truth, love justice, and walk humbly with the Lifegiver.”
“What does it say about courage, Sunny Bear?”
“The greatest courage is not to fight at all.”
“And what does it tell about death?”
“There is no death to those who lead righteous lives.”
“And evil?”
“It is everywhere.”
Coyuntura opened the Bible at random, pointed to a page, and asked, “What does that say?”
Nathanial brought his eyes closer, and in the firelight saw the Book of Job. “It is about a man who suffers much, but then is rewarded by the Lifegiver.”
“Why does he suffer much?”
“It is a test.”
“Of what?”
“Of faith in the Lifegiver.”
Coyuntura nodded. “Where would the People be, if we did not respect the Lifegiver? This book has great understanding, Sunny Bear.”
Mangas Coloradas turned to Sunny Bear. “How can a warrior have faith, when his prayers are not answered?”
Sunny Bear’s eyes were glassy from smoking and drinking. “A wise man once said it is preferable to believe than disbelieve, because the believer at least has the opportunity for paradise, but never the blasphemer.”
Chief Mangas Coloradas pondered the statement, then said, “I am certain the wise man was right, because the blasphemer will be cast into the pit, while the believer shall be exalted forever.”
Beau slipped into the barn, climbed to the loft, and said into the darkness, “Constanza?”
“I’m here,” she replied.
He found her huddled in a murky corner, wrapped in her blanket. Without a word, he sought to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
“You and I are finished,” she said coldly.
He did not argue, but instead reclined beside her, rested his head on his hands, and said, “Anger is poison, and eats from within.”
“You are philosophical after drinking with the murderers of my family, but I shall never be happy again.”
He could not mouth the usual platitudes about putting the misery in the past and looking ahead toward a bright, new future. “I wish I could...”
“But you can’t,” she replied, interrupting him.
He realized that her heart was permanently scarred, and nothing, not even a million gorgeous sunsets, could make her forget the most terrible reality of all. And then a wave of sadness came over him, because she would live under the cloud of the massacre for the rest of her days. “Perhaps I should leave you alone.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Yes—you must go now and never return, because if you stay, I will give myself to you, and the screaming of those savages will be nothing compared to me.”
Clarissa sat among Apache women and observed the dance. The hypnotic drumbeat, plus sips of various libations, had made her dizzy. She felt welcomed and even loved by the Apaches, and it was not the same as a New York drawing room, where a woman’s most important attribute was her clothing, her essential humanity quite beside the point.
She wondered what her mother would think if she could see her pianist daughter sitting among Apaches. They’re not as bad as I thought, she realized. In some ways, they’re better.
She wanted to speak with her husband, and rose to look for him. Out of the night loomed Mangas Coloradas, smiling warmly. “I am looking for my husband,” she said.
“He is with the Mountain Spirits,” replied Mangas Coloradas, pointing toward the wilderness. “Sometimes a warrior must be alone, but you may speak with me. What is wrong?”
“I do not know …” she began.
“You have been taught to hate the People, but now you are not sure, no?”
“It’s not just that. I feel …”
He laughed. “You are attracted to the holy Lifeway, I see.”
“I wanted to tell Sunny Bear that I understand his great love for your People.”
The old chief smiled in the darkness as drums continued their incessant beat. “Then you must come with us.”
“I would like to, but my child—”
“I was a child,” interrupted Mangas Coloradas. “And now I am a chief. There is no telling what will happen to a babe, but there is no honor in herding the cattle.”
“Your people have been to war for centuries, and what has it got you?”
“This land. Sunny Bear understands. He cannot live without you, so you must follow him.”
“But I am not an Apache.” She pointed to her cheek. “Look and see—I am a white woman.”
“It is your duty to follow your husband wherever he leads.”
Clarissa had attended lectures by Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Candy Stanton, and the back of her neck bristled at the suggestion. “Why doesn’t he follow where I lead?”
“Because you are a woman.”
“Ah—and I’m supposed to do whatever he says, no matter how loco, dangerous, or just plain stupid?”
“Yes, because that is the way it always has been. And on his side, he must love you with all his heart, for one cannot exist without the other, and from the convergence of two, you create new life.”
“You’re advocating total surrender to love,” said Clarissa, “and I do not know if I am capable of such sacrifice.”
“What more could a woman want than a Sunny Bear, who is as wise as he is brave? And the Mountain Spirits have exalted him, because he has been struck by lightning—did he not tell you?”
She recalled Nathanial mentioning a storm but she hadn’t really paid attention. “It is my child that I worry about mostly,” she tried to explain. “She would be safe in the eastern lands.”
“If she is as clever as her father, she will avoid danger. But the difficulty is not your child. The difficulty is your fear, doubt, and panic. You are a lost creature, you have had too many servants, and you are separated from life. If you believed in yourself as a woman, you would not hesitate to come with us.”
“I would rather be alive,” replied Clarissa, “but I will confess this, Chief Mangas Coloradas. My husband believes he is an Apache, and this gives him peace, whereas I do not believe in anything except...”
“Your own safety,” interrupted Mangas Coloradas. “But there is more than safety.” He raised his mighty arm, and pointed to distant buttes illuminated by the moon. “We are children of the Lifegiver, and when we live in harmony with the Lifeway, we are a powerful people, and even the great armies of your white race are afraid of us. So search your heart, and remember that ultimately the greatest warrior is he who can truly love, for only a warrior who can love can die for the justice of the People. You White Eyes may grind our faces in the dust, but you shall never conquer us!”
Tears streamed down Mangas Coloradas’s weather-beaten cheeks as he glared at her, and she felt swept away by the power of his soul. Never had she known such an experience of absolute primeval energy radiating from one person. She discovered that she too was crying, as if Mangas Coloradas were taking possession of her. “No, we shall never conquer you,” she told him, “and all I ask is to serve you, Chief Mangas Coloradas.”
He raised his callused hand to her cheek. “If you want to serve me, follow your heart. But that is enough conversation for now. We will speak at another time.”
He turned toward a group of warriors, and Clarissa stared at his back, not sure of what had happened, as if she’d been struck by a tidal wave. Near the fire, warriors and women danced together, abandoning themselves to the beat, and then, after a night of drinking, smoking, and disturbing realizations, Clarissa hallucinated her blond fair-skinned ancestors cavorting around such a fire, wearing animal skins and brandishing spears.
I am descended from Vikings and Celts, she realized. They were warriors like Apaches, and they even bloodied the nose of Rome on numerous occasions, producing great legends, inspiring the world. And I have degenerated from that heroic vision to a spoiled rich man’s daughter, with all the common opinions of my class, a combative toad. But a Celtic warrior’s wife never would run from danger, and if I truly loved Nathanial Barrington, I would follow him anywhere, regardless of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Candy Stanton. Because marriage is about giving, even when painful or humiliating. But giving is based on trust, and if Nathanial ever betrays me, I will leave him, if I don’t kill him first.
Beau found Nathanial standing alone beside the corral, looking at the horses. “It’s a beautiful spot,” said Beau, “but I don’t know if Rebecca would come here.”
“She might surprise you, because she’s probably bored back in Santa Fe.”
“Meanwhile, there’s Constanza. It’s very sad, because I love her, I think.”
“It’s easy to fall in love,” replied Nathanial as his eyes fell upon Jocita the warrior woman, dancing beside the fire. “And so hard to fall out of love.”
Jocita had been among those who’d visited the inside of Clarissa’s home, and played the piano gleefully, but hadn’t been as innocent as she’d appeared. She had examined carefully the wife of Sunny Bear.
Jocita considered Sunny Flower a pale, frail creature whom a warrior woman could defeat without much effort, but who had been polite, tried to please, and it wasn’t her fault that her husband had been unfaithful. I know a secret that could shatter her life, thought Jocita. She felt an uncomfortable sensation of power, not the good power that came from the Mountain Spirits.
Jocita stayed away from Sunny Bear throughout the festivities, because she knew the dangers of impulsive behavior. For Sunny Bear was not merely a man to Jocita, but an exotic creature from another ken, a strange blond warrior of unimaginable origins, who one day had stepped out of the sun like a golden god, and made her long for him. But I am married to Juh, she reminded herself, and Sunny Bear is married to that poor wretch. Sunny Bear and I must never be alone with each other again.
She saw him standing near the corral, talking with his Pindah war brother, but glancing repeatedly at her, so she closed her eyes and danced solely for him, as if she were naked before his eyes. Gracefully she arched her back and pirouetted with arms outstretched. I cannot touch you, and I cannot tell you of my love, so let me dance for you, and let my body speak eloquently.
Nathanial retreated into the shadows, where he could watch Jocita without distraction. She gamboled in the firelight, her long, muscular limbs filling him with melancholy, for he knew he never would possess her again.
Out of the night appeared Nana the medicine man, who embraced Nathanial like a son. “Ah, Sunny Bear, if only our people could live always this way.”
“One day they will, I am sure.”
“Have you had visions since you left the People?”
“Not many.”
“Mangas Coloradas hopes you will come with us, and give up this foolish cow herding.”
“I want to, but cannot leave my wife.”
“How the women dominate young warriors. It is only when a man grows mature that he can be truly free.”
“But I don’t want to be free from her, and where did she go?”
“She was headed toward the big wickiup,” said Nana.
Nathanial turned in that direction, when a taller-than-average middle-aged warrior approached. “So you are Sunny Bear,” he said. “I am Cochise.”
Nathanial never had met Cochise of the Chiricahuas, but had heard of his exploits. “And how is Chief Miguel Narbona?” Nathanial inquired.
“He has passed to the other world, and left me with difficult decisions. Do you think we should make peace with the Mexicanos?”
“If I were an Apache,” replied Nathanial, “I never would trust a Mexicano. And if I were a Mexicano, I never would trust an Apache.”
“But what is life without trust?” asked Cochise.
“Your best chance for peace is with the Americanos.”
“Tell that to my warrior brother Cuchillo Negro, who died in the Valley of Dead Sheep.”
“When you confer with the Mexicanos,” said Nathanial, “hide a gun in your boot, just in case.”
Clarissa walked toward them, and Nathanial introduced her to Chief Cochise, who could sense she wanted to be alone with him. He graciously withdrew, leaving the couple alone. Nathanial said, “I apologize if I’ve neglected you, dear, but...” Over her golden hair, he saw raven-tressed Jocita dancing beside the fire.
“I’ve been making new friends,” replied Clarissa, “and I had the most interesting talk with Chief Mangas Coloradas. I can understand why you respect him so.”
“What did he say?”
“Can we talk alone?”
They returned to the main house, made their way to the master bedroom, and closed the door. Both windows were open, with no curtains to block the moon and stars. They faced each other beside the bed, and she placed her arms around his waist. “It’s complicated,” she said, “so I’ll come to the point. If you want to run off with the Apaches, I will follow my husband.”
He stared at her, wondering if his ears had malfunctioned. “What about Natalie?”
“If other Apache children survive, so shall she. In fact, she’ll probably adapt more easily than any of us, especially me. Chief Mangas Coloradas has convinced me that love is more important that safety.”
Nathanial kissed her forehead. “Mangas Coloradas is right, and that’s why I’ve decided to return east with you.”
“But you’d rather be with the Apaches.”
“No, I’d rather be with you.”
“Well I’d rather be with you too.”
“Then we must decide where to live. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Perhaps we should ask the children, because they’re the most important members of the family.”
Nathanial and Clarissa returned to the fire, where the three Barrington children danced with Apaches. Nathanial called to them. “I want to ask you something.”
The children gathered before him as Nana sang a high-pitched thankfulness song, reminding Nathanial of coyotes howling in the night. “What’s the question?” asked Gloria.
“Would you rather live on this ranch, or go back east, or run off with the Apaches?”
Zachary didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather be with the Apaches.”
“Me too,” added Gloria. “They’re fun.”
All eyes turned to the little girl in diapers, and someone had painted a line of ocher across her nose. She opened her mouth and said, “Ap-pach-chee.”