Teresa woke early, painfully sore and stiff.
“Do you want to rest again today?” Blanche asked. Yesterday, they had remained where they had stopped for noon break, too shocked and too injured to go on.
“No,” Teresa said. “I’ll feel better as soon as I start moving.” She drew Blanche down to her side where she lay in her arms until she felt guilty enough to get up. “Thank God it’s a new day,” she said finally rising.
They tried to put yesterday out of their minds as they readied the wagon and horses for travel. Still badly shaken, they were unable to eat, and fearful about continuing to travel alone. But they had at least six more days on the trail before reaching Preston. They had to go forward.
They had just settled themselves on the wagon seat to begin today’s journey when Teresa pointed toward a cloud of dust coming from the north. “Blanche, look,” she said in a near whisper.
Blanche shaded her eyes and studied the horizon. “It never rains but it pours. Those are Wichita.”
“Lord, God,” Teresa gasped. A tiny hand flew to her mouth.
Blanche said quickly, “They’re not normally a warring tribe — but get your rifle anyway and get down between the team.”
“We’ll be crushed if they shoot the horses,” Teresa argued.
“It would be better to be crushed than ravaged and scalped, if that’s their intention,” Blanche said flatly. “Let’s go.”
Teresa didn’t argue further. The western-born and better-educated Blanche knew far more about Indians than she did.
They positioned themselves between the horses’ backs. “I can’t see anything,” Teresa complained.
“Stand on the wagon tongue.”
At least ten riders raced madly toward them, bloodcurdling cries splitting the early morning air as the Indians charged, brandishing rifles, bows, and lances. As they came closer, the women could see paint on dark faces and lean bodies. The Wichita were almost upon them now and Teresa and Blanche prepared to defend themselves for the second time in two days. They rested their rifles across the backs of the horses and took aim.
“Don’t shoot,” Blanche repeated calmly. “Something’s up. They should have started firing at us by now.”
Without slowing their horses, the war party rode wildly around and around the wagon waving weapons decorated with eagle feathers hanging from the shaft or the barrel. Most of the riders had painted black or red rings around their eyes, stripes of brown on their cheeks. They wore printed shirts and fringed buckskin leggings tucked into moccasins reaching to the knee. Loincloths were worn over the leggings. Raven black hair in long braids or worn loose and decorated with one or two feathers whipped freely about their faces. Around their necks were several necklaces of large animal teeth. One warrior alone was without a shirt, showing tattoos in stripes and dots covering his arms and back and chest.
Horses of brown, black, roan, and white bulged with rippling muscles as they carried their riders bareback, faster and faster around the wagon, urged on by repeated kicks in their sides. The horses, too, had paint around their eyes and on their cheekbones and rumps.
Blanche followed the circle of raiders with her rifle as dust and dirt flew everywhere.
After several terrifying minutes the Indians came to an abrupt halt in front of the wagon in a billowing cloud of dust. Suddenly, the heavily tattooed brave raised his lance high in the air and let out an ear-splitting scream as he sent the lance toward the team of horses.
It landed quivering a foot away from Stormy. The horses reared and started to bolt but Blanche reached out a lightning-fast hand and grabbed Stormy’s bridle. “Whoa, Stormy. Whoa, Night. Get out of here, Teresa. I don’t think they’re going to kill us, but by heavens, take one of the red devils with you if we have to go.”
The women moved from between the horses. They stood watching the mounted braves holding their rifles, lances, and bows raised high above their heads as their horses pranced skittishly.
An Indian slid from his horse’s back and walked over to Teresa. The Indian said something to his companions and fingered her short hair. They laughed loudly, and slapped their thighs as he walked over to Blanche. He took the pins out of her hair and watched it fall down her back. He reached out and took a big handful, shaking it lightly. He said something else and again the party laughed.
The tattooed rider moved to Teresa’s side and pushed his horse into her, jostling her a few feet before he stopped his frightening bullying.
“Not a word, Teresa,” Blanche warned.
The warrior looked down at Blanche for several seconds, then spoke to her in his own language before returning to the group. He spoke again to another man who moved to his side and reached into a pouch tied to the blanket of his horse. He pulled out an intricately beaded belt, handing it to the tattooed man who let the belt fall open. About six inches across and at least four feet long, covered with red, blue, white, and yellow beads sewn onto a soft, thin hide, it was a complex, beautiful piece of work.
The tattooed man rode forward, his proud bearing evident in the way he sat his horse. Handing the belt to Blanche he said in English, “Chief.” He pointed to himself. “I say, give to brave lady. You kill two —” The Indian displayed two fingers. “Bad men. Fight like wounded buffalo. Brave!” He struck his chest with a violent slap. The chief handed the belt to Blanche. “You pass safe. Sleep. We watch brave lady.”
Blanche draped the belt carefully across her arm as she looked deep into black eyes. “I am grateful,” she said in a strong voice. “I will give a gift in return.”
“Whiskey,” came the immediate and harsh reply.
“We have no whiskey,” Blanche answered.
Scowling, the chief signaled to a brave who jumped into the back of the wagon and tore it apart in a rampant search, scattering the wagon’s contents everywhere. He cut open the one remaining bag of grain and dumped it on the ground. Snatching the coffee and sugar, he grunted, “We take. Take horses.”
“Blanche,” Teresa whispered anxiously, grasping her arm. “We need the horses.”
Blanche turned to the chief saying, “I will give you my hair if you leave the horses.”
The air crackled with tension. Teresa watched Blanche’s unwavering look, the chief glaring in return. Sweat poured down the sides of Blanche’s face as she stood unmoving.
After an eternity, the chief nodded a barely discernible signal. Blanche spoke with urgency. “Quick, Teresa. Get into that wagon and find scissors or a knife I can cut with.”
Teresa hesitated and Blanche said firmly, “Go. Keep your head and look them straight in the eye.”
Still clutching her gun, Teresa searched frantically through their strewn belongings, finally finding a small pair of scissors.
Blanche stood unmoving, staring at the chief, as Teresa raised the scissors to Blanche’s head. Forced to set her rifle aside, Teresa stood on tiptoes to cut away the long hair that she had treasured so briefly, that had lain across her naked body tickling her shoulders and face and nose when Blanche lay on top of her. She wanted to drive the blades deep into the hearts of every one of the savages.
“Give it to me as you cut it,” Blanche said. “And hurry.”
Leaving a ragged three-inch growth all over Blanche’s head, Teresa handed her the thick wavy hair clump by clump. Blanche straightened the cut hair so that it fell neatly in a bunch. When Teresa had finished, Blanche bound it together at the top with a piece of string from a grain bag. Solemnly, she walked to the chief’s side and handed the trussed hair to him. He took it and raised it above his head and let out a war whoop. Teresa could see Blanche barely manage to avoid flinching at the sudden outburst. Blanche returned to stand at Teresa’s side.
A brave rode to the back of the wagon where he untied the dead men’s horses and grunted, “We take.” He retrieved his chief’s lance and tossed it lightly through the air to him. As suddenly as they had come, the Indians whirled their horses around and rode away, yelling and whooping until they were once again nothing more than a small dust cloud on the horizon.
When they were completely out of sight, Blanche leaned weakly against the wagon and put her hands to her temples. “Father told me the Wichita were farmers.”
“When did he tell you that?” Teresa asked. Her voice shook uncontrollably.
“When I was a little girl. Before the railroad started moving west.”
Teresa looked at the empty horizon and asked, “Will they be back?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Blanche said reflectively. “If they were going to kill us, we’d be dead by now. With the cavalry around, I thought this area was free of hostile Indians.”
They held each other, drawing on one another’s strength, trying not to cry over their possessions thrown all over the prairie along with the remainder of the precious grain. “I wouldn’t have made a very good pioneer, Blanche,” Teresa said through her barely controlled tears.
“You are a pioneer, Teresa, and we will make it. I promise.”
“Your beautiful hair.”
“It’ll grow again.”
They spent nearly two hours repacking everything and salvaging all the grain they could.
Teresa picked up the belt from the wagon wheel where Blanche had draped it earlier.
“It’s a wampum belt,” Blanche said. “It usually contains a message.”
“Do you know what it says?” Teresa asked, fingering the beadwork.
“No, but I think it’s our safe passage to Preston. At least I hope so. I think we’ll be followed the rest of the way and guarded by them. They think killing those men was an act of bravery.”
“It was, Blanche,” Teresa said sternly, grabbing her arm. “Those animals would have been shot in Starcross if they had done that to a woman.”
“But not by me. I wouldn’t have shot them.” Blanche walked a few feet away. “I did out here, though.”
Teresa walked to Blanche’s side and put her arms around her.”Don’t think about them. They’re gone. They can’t hurt us anymore.”
“Lattimer could send others.”
“He could, but don’t worry about it unless it happens.”
“I ... need to pray, Teresa,” Blanche said, embarrassed. “Do you mind?”
“There are some things I’d like to do in the wagon, anyway,” Teresa said gently, and left Blanche alone. She herself didn’t need to pray. She was damned glad those two bastards were dead.
The Indian who had torn the wagon apart in his wild search for whiskey had left the flour and bacon intact and hadn’t gotten quite all the coffee and sugar. Teresa didn’t know why, but fortunately he also hadn’t touched the package she had last bought in Samson’s Town. She didn’t know what she would have done if Blanche had seen it before she had had time to explain.
Blanche returned. Teresa kissed her fiercely, happily. “Do you know that you don’t swallow like you used to ?”
Blanche smiled and said, “I’d hoped you weren’t aware of my little quirks.”
“I’m very aware of you. All of you.” Teresa felt herself turn crimson.
“Why, Teresa, darling,” Blanche said. “I do believe you’re blushing.”
Teresa laughed. “I’m glad I still can. I guess there’s hope, yet.” She buried her face in the softness of Blanche’s breasts.
“Don’t be silly, Teresa,” Blanche scolded lightly. “You’re a good woman. You worry too much about Starcross.”
“You’re probably right, and as of now,” Teresa declared firmly, “Starcross is no longer part of my life.”
They kissed again and held each other for a long time as the heat built in their bodies. Teresa was the first to break away. “We’d better go.”
Blanche said musingly, “Do you suppose we’d be having all these problems if one of us were a man?”
Teresa looked into Blanche’s dark eyes. She rubbed a thoughtful finger across pursed lips and then wordlessly walked away, to disappear inside the wagon. “Blanche, would you consider wearing these?” she called out. She jumped down from the rear and stood holding her package. Opening it she said, “I’ve got a shirt and pants in here. Here’re some socks and boots and. . . .” She tore the wrapping paper away arid removed the clothing piece by piece laying it out on the wagon as Blanche joined her. “Damn! And a bashed-in hat.” She had tried to be so careful.
“These are men’s clothes,” Blanche said.
“I wanted to suggest the idea our first day out. But...I didn’t want to offend you.” Teresa’s embarrassment was readily apparent.
“But they’re men’s clothes,” Blanche said again.
“Are you upset?” Teresa asked nervously.
“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve spent enough years envying men’s comfortable attire, but to actually wear them myself. . .” Blanche fingered the blue denim of the pants and gray flannel of the shirt. She picked up the boots and hat, looking them over carefully. “Are they the right size?”
“I had to guess but I’d say so,” Teresa said. “Try them on.”
“Pants,” Blanche said smiling.
“To match your hair,” Teresa said.
Blanche put a hand to her head. “What do I look like?”
Teresa quickly handed Blanche a small mirror. The big woman studied herself for a long time, turning her head this way and that. “Needs work,” she said.
“I’ll trim it so it looks better,” Teresa promised.
Quickly, Blanche changed clothes. “They’re very comfortable. Lots of leg room.” Enthusiastically she said, “Fix my hair,” and eagerly knelt in the dust so that Teresa could reach her easily.
Teresa shaped Blanche’s hair into a reasonably decent cut. It was almost too short for success but when Blanche looked in the mirror she expressed satisfaction. She reshaped the crumpled hat and tried it on. “Not a bad fit,” she said, pulling the wide brim low over her eyes, and looked again in the mirror.
Carefully, Teresa folded Blanche’s dress and petticoat and put them in her suitcase. She noticed the envelope Matthew had delivered still lay unopened, and wondered when Blanche would finally read it.
Joining Blanche who was already on the wagon seat, Teresa stared at her lover, trying to adjust to the big woman’s new look. Yes, she did look like a man, with even a mustache and sideburns of sorts. She thought Blanche had been bleaching her upper lip until just the last week or so. It hadn’t shown too much before then. She wondered where Blanche hid the bleach.
“You look good, Blanche,” she said. “Handsome. You’re very tan, too. It’s becoming on you.”
“I’m not a man, Teresa,” Blanche said, and blushed as she took up the reins to begin their day’s travel.
“I know.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” Teresa answered, scowling. “I don’t want some damned fool man. Your dressing this way just helps us to be safer.” Then she added, “I hope.”
“I expect the Wichita know what I’ve done,” Blanche said, and propped a foot comfortably up on the front board. “I’ll bet they’re watching every move we make.”
Teresa frowned. “Do you suppose they know we love each other?”
“That, I don’t know,” Blanche replied, and pulled Teresa close to her side. It was what Teresa would have done to Blanche, if Blanche hadn’t done it first.
Daily, now, they watched everything with wary eyes, every perceptible movement, carrying their rifles under their arms with each step they took, each mile they drove, jumping at every little sound, unable to admire the sky and the birds and animals and changing land as they had before. They were nervous and edgy, not trusting the Indians watching them, not trusting that they wouldn’t again come unexpectedly swooping down upon them. Even the Conestoga drawing closer and closer to Preston didn’t lessen the women’s alertness nor make them feel safer. They slept less, changing guard more often, always watching. Then, six days after their encounter with the Wichita, they crested a small hill in the late evening sun, and there below them lay Preston.
“That’s the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen,” Teresa said, and Blanche agreed wholeheartedly.
At the cattle pens, the reality of Preston sank into their tired minds. The air was rank with the smell of ammonia from hundreds of tightly packed cattle standing in their own dung and urine. The cattle dealer offered them an outrageously low price for their team and wagon.
“We’ll take it,” Teresa said, glaring at him. “Blanche, let’s get out of here. It’s the best we’re going to do in this hole.”
“Hotel’s just down the street,” the dealer offered. “Stage leaves every three days. Next one’s tomorrow.”
Teresa knew he meant to say train but he was openly leering at her through scraggly bearded lips as he paid her and she was anxious to get away.
She saw a look of sudden anger leap into Blanche’s eyes as the big woman, too, observed his lecherous look. “Let’s go,” Teresa said firmly to her lover. “Now.”
They hauled their suitcases out of the back of the wagon, took a moment to say a tearful goodbye to the faithful Stormy and Night, and began their walk to the hotel. Teresa squinted into the setting sun and said, “That man never mentioned a thing about your clothes. He didn’t realize you’re a woman.”
“I can hardly imagine he didn’t,” Blanche answered, matching her steps with Teresa’s smaller ones. Teresa could, but she wasn’t going to say it.
“I’m glad we arrived when we did,” Teresa said. “This place will be wild by tonight.”
They walked down Preston’s crowded main street. Its several small shops were closed by now but its countless saloons were already booming. There was no sidewalk and the women had to pick their way carefully through dung and ruts. The fading light of day made way for chandeliered illumination through the saloon’s big windows and batwing doors, casting their artificial glow onto the dusty street. There were no townfolk to be seen; they had already tucked themselves safely away for the night, leaving Preston to the drovers and cowboys, some of whom stood in small groups talking and rolling cigarettes. Others rode by on big horses, or walked rapidly toward some unidentified destination.
Blanche reached down and took Teresa’s suitcase from her hand. “Thanks,” she said gratefully, and bumped into a man just coming through a pair of batwing doors.
The bearded cowboy staggered when he righted himself and said drunkenly, “Well, what have we got here?” Clumsily, he reached for Teresa.
Wanting only to lie down on a real bed and not move until tomorrow, she pulled away angrily. “Lay off, cowboy.”
“Hey,” he growled. “Don’t get so goddamn uppity.”
“Lord, how trite,” she said to Blanche. “I’ll bet I’ve heard that line a thousand times.”
Carefully, Blanche set down their suitcases. The cowboy again foolishly reached for Teresa and in a quiet deadly tone Blanche warned, “Let her go.”
“Don’t,” Teresa said quickly to her protector. “Let me handle him.”
“I’ll handle him,” Blanche roared, and stepped past Teresa to grab him.
Hardly recognizing the timid woman she had first met not three months ago, Teresa stepped back, frightened by the smoldering look on her lover’s face. “Blanche, please,” she uttered. She longed to escape with Blanche, somewhere to a place where they wouldn’t have to keep dealing with situations like this, where they wouldn’t have to constantly fight to be left alone, a place where they didn’t have to keep worrying all the time. Whether it was a storm, bad men, or Indians, always there was something. Always!
“Blanche!” The cowboy roared with laughter. “What the hell kind of a name is Blanche for a man? What the hell are you, some kind of pantywaist or something?”
Blanche smiled a murderous smile and then struck him squarely in the chest, emptying his lungs of air. As he began to drop, she hit him a second time behind the ear to speed him on his way to the ground.
Looking down at the prostrate cowboy, she said through clenched teeth, “I like the name Blanche. It was my mother’s.”
She picked up the suitcases and, walking away with Teresa, said, “I’ve got to get another name.”
Teresa couldn’t help herself. She had to forcefully suppress the laugh threatening to burst from her lungs. She hurried wordlessly beside the scowling Blanche as they strode toward the hotel. Her heart sang with love for the big lady. No man had ever cared for her the way Blanche did. Not one! The only thing men had ever wanted was a good roll in the sack. That was all she had ever been worth — until she met this marvelous woman. She remembered thinking how wonderful it had felt when she and Blanche had first started sleeping in each other’s arms, how wonderful it had been not to be. . . used! She had no idea how she would ever repay even one small part of the love that Blanche gave her. But she intended to devote her life trying.
They took a small room and for the first time since outside of Samson’s Town, they made love. They had teased each other all the time until the storm. They’d teased each other less after that and not at all after the drifters had shown up. By the time the Indians had forced them into twenty-four-hour-a-day total alertness, they hardly dared hug one another for fear of being taken by surprise. They were reduced to quick kisses, holding hands, linking arms, frightened away from each other and into the world around them.
Now that world was deliberately being shut out. The hungry lovers locked the door and rammed the room’s only chair under the knob. Teresa pulled the shade and drew the flimsy curtains and then checked the window from all sides making sure it was impossible to see inside the darkened room. That done, they walked toward each other and held one another until their bodies screamed with heat.
Teresa unbuttoned the front of Blanche’s shirt as Blanche unbuttoned the back of Teresa’s dress. Trembling fingers of passion removed layers of clothing piece by piece, letting them fall unheeded to the bare wood floor until both women were nude.
Together, they moved to the double bed. Teresa gently pushed Blanche down and back so that her feet were still on the floor. She knelt to Blanche and began to kiss her, working her way up the insides of her thighs. Blanche seemed agitated.
“What’s wrong?” Teresa murmured, still kissing the prone woman.
“I . . . I’m concerned. It’s been a long time since I’ve bathed.”
Teresa silenced her by burying her face in the coarse black hair of her crotch. She drank in the odor of Blanche, intoxicated by her tangy and sweaty smells. It nearly drove her mad with longing and even as she licked Blanche, her own hips swayed unconsciously with each tongue stroke.
She groaned when she heard Blanche gasp loudly and then quickly mounted her, driving her hips against her until Blanche’s back arched rigidly and she gasped again.
Blanche clung to Teresa, sweat pouring down the sides of her face, into her hair and ears. She spoke incoherent words of love and promise. Words that made Teresa pull at the bigger woman.
They readjusted their bodies so that they were lying full length on the bed. Blanche’s feet hung off the end as she maneuvered her hips between Teresa’s legs and a hand between her thighs.
Teresa wrapped an arm around Blanche’s neck and grabbed her hand, helping to guide an exploring finger as she bent her knees and then raised her legs to wrap them around Blanche’s waist. She strained her hips forward trying to get closer to Blanche. She felt watery inside, as if she were swimming in a great warm lake that caressed her entirely.
Blanche bent her head to take a tiny nipple into her mouth, sucking on the hardened bulb, chewing on the dark flesh.
Through Teresa’s mind flashed the memory of the awesome strength of the lightning storm, and for a moment it was as if she had been struck by one of the bolts as she was hit with a powerful orgasm. As she strained for further release from pent-up desires so long denied on the trail, she was struck again, grinding against Blanche, fighting with her and against her, coming in repeated spasms until she thought her body would be split in two from where Blanche’s hand clasped her to the top of her own skull. Then she lay still.
Slowly, she let her legs fall. Blanche still lay on top of her, her breathing heavy, labored. “Get up on your knees, darling,” Teresa said. She would again love this woman who still desired her.
Without question Blanche raised herself to her hands and knees. Teresa slid beneath her and began to suck on one of the heavy breasts. With both hands she reached down and spread Blanche’s lips apart. She heard a soft gasp and sucked harder on the willing nipple and then switched to the other. Her hands roamed up and down the insides of Blanche’s moistness, sliding over every nuance of swollen flesh, moving in and out of Blanche, causing the raised woman’s body to rock forward and backward rhythmically.
Teresa ran her hands through the hair on Blanche’s mound and up her belly and then returned to the heat of her lover who dripped on her, wetting her hands.
“Now,” Blanche said in a tight voice, and Teresa slid three fingers inside of Blanche with one hand and stroked her with the other. The smaller woman sucked wildly on Blanche’s nipples, first one, then the other. She felt spasm after spasm strike her woman as Blanche rocked back and forth, back and forth, saying, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” until her body slowed and then stopped.
Carefully, Blanche lowered herself on top of Teresa. “It’s been too long.”
Teresa buried her face in Blanche’s neck as they whispered loving words to one another until their bodies cooled, until their minds were coherent.
They rested for a half-hour before they dressed, better prepared now to get on with their responsibilities, responsibilities made easier to face knowing that in a short time they would be back in the room again, and back in each other’s arms.
A kiss of promise at the locked door made leaving the room an almost easy thing to do. They walked downstairs, Blanche dressed again in her men’s attire, Teresa by her side. Together, they went to locate the train station.
After they had failed to see anything even remotely resembling a track, they consulted a thin seedy-looking clerk at the Wells Fargo Office. “Ain’t no train, lady,” he said to Teresa. “You take the stage direct to St. Louis, Missouri or go over to Jackson, Mississippi, and then take a steamboat to St. Louis. From there you catch a train to Chicago.”
“Two tickets, direct to St. Louis, please,” Teresa said. It would take them forever to reach Chicago. It was difficult for her to hide her disappointment.
“You’ll be there in twelve days, ma’am.”
Later that night as Teresa lay in Blanche’s arms, after they had again torn each other apart with love, after their bodies had finally said, enough, more of life’s realities set in. Teresa said, “We’re running out of money. But we’ll make it — barely.”
“I know, it’s bad,” Blanche answered softly, and sighing, put a hand behind her head.
“We may have to stay in Chicago and work before going on.”
“I know that, too,” Blanche concurred.
Teresa reached up and ran a hand across Blanche’s brow, brushing away the short hair from her forehead. “You can teach.” Pensively, almost sadly she added, “I don’t know what I could do.”
“We’ll figure things out, Teresa. Don’t worry. Right now let’s just love one another.” Again, the women turned toward each other. Their bodies had been wrong.
Teresa awoke hours later to a rustling in the room. Blanche stood by the window in the early morning light. Only half-awake she asked sleepily, “What are you doing, darling?”
“Reading my father’s letter,” Blanche answered quietly. “We leave Texas today. I wanted to read it while I was still in the same state he’s in.”
Teresa sat up and lit the lantern on the bedside table. She lit a cheroot and blew a thin line of smoke toward the ceiling. She hadn’t yet been able to give them up, although she’d tried several different times since leaving Starcross.
“He sent my dowry,” Blanche told her. “He’d told me he was going to give it to Steven on our wedding day but, he sent it along with Matthew instead.”
“What else does he say?”
“Don’t you want to know how much the dowry is?” Blanche asked.
“I don’t think it’s any of my business.” Teresa killed the cheroot in an ashtray and walked over to Blanche’s side.
“Of course it is, Teresa. Don’t be silly.” Blanche handed her a check.
“Good heavens, Blanche,” Teresa exclaimed. “Five thousand dollars!”
Blanche said exultantly, “Our money worries are over - except I can’t cash it until we reach Chicago. My father’s made some kind of an arrangement with a man he deals with at a bank there. I’m sure he was worried I’d be robbed before I got there if he gave me cash.”
“Yes, it certainly could have happened, couldn’t it?” Teresa concurred.
“If I’d known what we were going to be facing, I probably wouldn’t have come,” Blanche admitted. “Big coward.”
Teresa shook her head. “You’re hardly a coward, Blanche,” she scoffed. “I don’t know of anything that you once were before we left Starcross. You’re a very strong and courageous woman now. You used to sweat and break out in hives and swallow at every little thing. You don’t anymore. And don’t think I hadn’t noticed how you powdered your thighs and bleached you upper lip. You’ve stopped doing that, too.” She wouldn’t mention Blanche’s raging temper.
“My legs quit chafing a couple of weeks ago,” Blanche said. “And what am I going to do about my mustache, shave it? No thanks. Anyway, I’m out of bleach.”
“I like it.” Gently, Teresa ran a finger across Blanche’s upper lip, caressing the downy hair. She pulled her lover’s face to her own and kissed her. “You absolutely take my breath away, do you know that?”
Blanche smiled softly at her. “And you mine.”
“Tell me what else your father says, “Teresa said breaking their spell. “Is he angry with you?” She looked deep into Blanche’s eyes, fearing the answer.
Wordlessly, Blanche handed her the letter and went over to sit on the bed. Teresa drew closer to the light filtering through the dirt-encrusted window. She read:
June 23, 1869
My dearest daughter,
I’m sure Matthew has caught up with you somewhere in Samson’s Town. I trust that you and Teresa are fine and I anxiously await your brother’s return to reassure me. I want first to tell you that even though your leaving was a tremendous shock to your mother and Mable and Matthew, they all still love you as do I.
I, myself, knew you would be leaving Starcross eventually. I think I first realized it that morning you took your first ride with Teresa. I knew that’s where you had gone. There was a different look in your eyes when you returned — and from that day forth. I’ve seen that look before, Blanche. It was long ago when I was a young man still living with my family in New York City. You’ve heard me speak, off and on, of your Aunt Irene. You are much like her in ideals and temperament and I think if you go to her she can explain to you things I only half understand. She has lived for years and years with a lovely woman named Marie Atwater. I’ve enclosed Irene’s address if you should decide to visit her.
The dowry which was for your wedding is still yours to use as you wish. You’ll see that the check can only be cashed by James Hathaway, a trusted friend of mine. Enclosed, too, is his bank’s address. I took this precautionary measure knowing you had enough cash with you (your gift to Teresa), and also knowing what Teresa had in her own account — an advantage of being a banker.
I’d better hasten, as Matthew awaits angry and impatient in the outer bank while I hide in my office.
Write to us, Blanche. Let us know how you are and where you decide to settle. But never forget where you came from. My best to both you and Teresa. Please be careful. I love you very much.
The letter was simply signed, Father. Tears glistened on Teresa’s cheeks as she dropped the letter and gazed out the window through dingy curtains.
It was impossible for her to believe a father could be so understanding. But there it was on paper. He knew before they themselves knew that this was how she and Blanche would end up — she in love with his daughter and his daughter with her — as his letter suggested. He must have been keeping track of them for weeks. Strange that Blanche had never mentioned it. She probably hadn’t realized. What if Blanche had read this letter the night it had been delivered? Blanche probably wouldn’t have understood what he was talking about. And neither would she. But it would have put her mind to work, given her some idea of why she wanted to see Blanche all the time, to be with her more than any other person. It would have explained the intense longing to be held by her again, after that first memorable day they had held each other beneath the mesquite trees. She smiled, remembering.
Teresa looked at Blanche who had lain back down and was gazing up at the ceiling, hands propped behind her head. She walked over and sat beside her, leaning against her side. “Do you want to visit your aunt?”
“I’d like to,” Blanche responded, still looking at the ceiling. “I’d like to meet someone else like me in temperament.”
Teresa said, “I had no idea. I hope to goodness we’re not the only ones on earth.”
“If what Father’s letter is suggesting is true. . . .”
“Do you definitely want to leave this morning?” Teresa asked. “Or do you want to wait until the next stage?”
“I’m tired,” Blanche answered honestly. “But I’d like to go.”
They dressed leisurely and packed their few belongings. Blanche was once again in her only remaining dress.