When Cait saw Henry step off the train, she grabbed Elizabeth’s arm.
“There he is, Ma, over there.”
Elizabeth saw a slim, handsome man dressed in a dark blue suit step down and shade his eyes from the glare of the sun.
“Over here, Henry,” Cait called and she hurried down the platform to hurl herself into his arms.
She wanted him to squeeze her tight, to kiss all the fear of the past week away, but he only laughed quietly and prying her loose, took her hands, saying, “Let me look at you first, Cait. I want to drink in the sight of you.”
She had worn her second-best dress from Philadelphia, but also one of her old bonnets to keep off the sun, which had fallen off and was hanging down her back. The sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t really see Henry’s face. But the feel of his hands on hers was wonderful. And he could hardly have given her the kisses she wanted in public, after all, she thought.
“Welcome to New Mexico, Mr. Beecham,” said Elizabeth who had walked up behind them. “I am Caitlin’s mother, Elizabeth Burke.”
Henry let go of Cait and bowed, saying, “I am so very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Burke.”
“Our wagon is over here. Jake will take your bag for you,” Elizabeth added. “It is a long way back, so we had best get started.”
“Of course,” replied Henry. He took Cait’s arm and they walked behind Elizabeth. He pressed it close to him and Cait felt that lovely feeling of being cherished and taken care of that she had felt in Philadelphia. Then his strong hands were around her waist, helping her into the wagon. They didn’t leave the same strange warmth that Gabriel Hart’s had done…but why on earth was she comparing the two? There was no comparison. Henry was everything that Gabe was not: well-educated, a brilliant law clerk, and a witty conversationalist, as well as a firm believer in the right of women to expand their horizons. Gabriel Hart was a good man with horses. While she had come to respect him for that, he was hardly a match for the man she loved.
“I am sorry that Mr. Burke was unable to be with us, Mr. Beecham,” said Elizabeth after Cait and Henry were settled in the back seat. “But we have had some difficulties with a not very neighborly neighbor and he felt it best he remain at the ranch.”
Henry looked at Cait inquiringly, but she only shook her head and said, “Later. Right now, you must give your full attention to New Mexico Territory.”
By the time they arrived at the ranch, Henry had learned the names of the pale green shrubbery that all looked the same to him, but was either sage or chamisa, and had had all the local landmarks pointed out to him. He had expected more of a town than Ramah, with its few buildings, but was polite enough not to say anything but, “It is indeed, uh, picturesque, Caitlin.”
When they finally reached the Burke ranch, the sun was going down and Henry was relieved to realize that the air was growing somewhat cooler. He had been sweltering in his suit and his face felt tight and hot. As they pulled up in front of the house, a tall man with pepper and salt hair walked over from the barn to greet them.
“Ye made it back safe and sound, Elizabeth,” he said in a soft brogue. “And ye must be Mr. Beecham. Welcome to our home,” he added, putting out his hand.
Of course Henry had known Caitlin was Irish on her father’s side, but Michael Burke was more…well, Irish than Henry had expected. He considered himself to be quite liberal, but was ashamed to realize that for one moment he had felt relief at the thought that his in-laws would hardly be visiting often.
“How do you do, Mr. Burke. I am grateful for your hospitality. Caitlin has told me so much about her home,” he added, turning and smiling at her.
“Well, she didn’t tell you to bring a broad-brimmed hat, did she, boyo?” said Michael with a clap on Henry’s shoulder. “Yer nose has gotten a little sun, I can see. We will have to find you a hat if ye’er going to do any ridin’.”
Henry touched his nose and winced and, taking off his bowler hat, looked at it ruefully. “I would appreciate that, Mr. Burke.”
Michael handed Elizabeth down and turning to Henry, said, “There’s a pump in back of the barn, if you want to wash the dust off. I’ll have Jake bring yer bag up. We’ll be eatin’ supper in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Did you heat the stew, Michael?”
“And mixed up some biscuits, Elizabeth,” Michael teased.
“Thank you, Michael,” Elizabeth answered, putting her arms around her husband’s waist. Turning to her daughter, she said: “Cait, why don’t you show Henry where the pump is, dear?”
“Yes, Ma.”
* * * *
Supper turned out to be a rather strained affair. Michael and Elizabeth were very conscious that the sophisticated young man would soon be a part of their family. But since they did not know him, they could hardly yet treat him as such. So they asked very politely about his education and plans for the future.
“I hear you attended Harvard College,” said Elizabeth. “I am originally from Boston myself,” she added.
“Yes, Caitlin told me. I enjoyed my time in Cambridge very much,” Henry replied. “It is not so vastly different from Philadelphia, you know. But I am happy to have found a position in my own hometown.”
“I spent a little time in the East meself,” said Michael, “working as a stable lad in New York. From what I’ve heard, New York would be a bit more lively than Boston or Philadelphia,” he added with a smile.
“Caitlin tells me you were in the army, Mr. Burke.”
“The U.S. Calvary for many years. ‘Twas the army brought me west and I’ve never wanted to leave.”
“Had you considered making a career of it?”
“A career? I suppose I might have made lieutenant or maybe even captain eventually. But I was not interested in gaining my promotions by turning people off their land.”
“Ah, yes,” said Henry seriously. “The Indian question.”
“I don’t know that there was any question about it, boyo. It was one fight after another to push them west. Or south, or wherever the government wanted them.”
Henry nodded. “I agree that our policy was not always wise. But we are at least making an effort to educate them, and bring them into the mainstream of our society. I am happy to say that my parents were active in establishing schooling for the natives of this country.”
Elizabeth could feel Michael’s reaction to this statement and put her hand on her husband’s knee. “It is always good to hear of the concern good people back east have for the welfare of Indians and freedmen,” she said. “I remember my father and mother attending abolitionist lectures in Boston when I was a girl.”
* * * *
“Educating them to join society!” exclaimed Michael later when he and Elizabeth were getting ready for bed. “Cutting off a boy’s hair and forbidding any of them, boy or girl, to speak their native language!”
“I just didn’t think our first night together was the time to discuss it, Michael,” said his wife with a wry smile.
“And you were right, a ghra,” he admitted. “It is just that we have seen some of the results when we’ve visited Antonio and Serena. Remember her nephew who went back east to school? He came home in a suit and tie and could hardly speak Navajo. He didn’t feel at home with his own people and all those well-meaning people back east? Well, they were not interested in hiring him or introducing him to their daughters.”
“I know and I am very glad that Serena refused to send their daughter away.” Elizabeth sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done it, either.”
“ ‘Tis hardly the same.”
“Oh, I know that, Michael. But clearly Cait does not see this as home anymore. Once she goes back east, she won’t be our daughter in the same way.”
“Well, what did ye think of the lad, Elizabeth?”
“He seems very intelligent. He is certainly handsome. And he obviously respects Caitlin as well as loves her. That is very important to me, Michael. That whomever she marries not hold her back out of some old-fashioned idea of what women should do.” Elizabeth hesitated. “But….”
“But what, a ghra?” asked Michael, putting his arm around his wife as she sat up against the pillows.
“It is hard to know much after just one day, Michael. I think he loves Cait. He showed affection to her at the station. It is just that she is such a passionate person and I sense that he isn’t.” Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “He is obviously a fine young man, but I want Cait to have what we have, Michael.”
“And what is that, Elizabeth?” Michael whispered.
“A love that combines respect and affection with passion, Michael.”
“Ye can’t always judge by the outside of a man.”
“I know. He may very well be Heathcliff underneath his fine blue suit and spotless linen,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
They both looked at each other and laughed.
“Somehow I don’t see Henry Beecham as a lad who’d enjoy wandering over the moors in the rain and the wind, me darlin’. And don’t ye think Cait has grown up a bit?”
“Of course, but I think she is still our Cait, passionate about horses and books and ideas. She will need to have that passionate self welcomed in her marriage.”
“ ‘Tis too early to tell anything, Elizabeth. And we must assume that she knows what she wants.”
Elizabeth slid down and reaching under Michael’s nightshirt, ran her fingers down his chest. “I know what I want, Michael,” she whispered.
Michael sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. Then he helped his wife off with her nightgown.
“You are as beautiful to me as you were the first time I saw you, muirneach,” he said softly, and pulled her down on top of him.
* * * *
The next morning Cait smiled as she watched her parents. Her father came in and put his arms around her mother’s waist as she stood stirring the oatmeal. He leaned forward and murmured his good-morning against her neck. As Elizabeth served Michael his breakfast, she leaned against him naturally and unconsciously. They had what Cait called ‘the look’ in their eyes. She had always rested secure in the way they expressed their affection for each other openly. But as she got older, she began to sense a special tenderness on some days. It must be that they have made love, she had decided one day when she was around fourteen. Not that she knew much about making love then.
Or now, for that matter, she thought, though she could certainly imagine it better, now that she knew the physical details. What would it be like with Henry? she wondered, looking over at him. They had had a few more kisses than that first one before she left Philadelphia. But he had always broken them off too early for her liking. She wanted his tongue exploring her mouth, She loved the feelings his kisses aroused. But he seemed to think her soft moan of pleasure was a signal to stop rather than go on. He would tell her that they mustn’t get carried away. And he was right, of course. But oh, she wanted to be carried away.
Henry must have felt her gaze for he looked up and smiled over at her as he buttered his bread. “I was hoping you would show me the horses today, Cait. And perhaps some of the countryside?”
“That’s exactly what I’d planned, Henry,” she replied with a grin.
After a leisurely breakfast, Henry went up to change into his riding clothes. Michael was already gone by that time, and as Cait helped her mother with the dishes, she asked: “Well, what do you and Da think of him, Ma?” She made her voice sound calm, but she was actually very nervous.
“We think him a fine, intelligent young man, Cait. One who obviously respects you and your ambitions and that is very important,” replied Elizabeth without hesitation.
Cait was relieved. The understanding and respect Henry had for her was one of the reasons she wanted to marry him. Of course there was more to it than that, but she could hardly expect her mother to address Henry’s other feelings for her.
“I had hoped you would like him.”
“Well, we do. But the most important thing, of course,” said Elizabeth with a smile, “is that you do.”
“Oh, I do, Ma.”
“Then that is all that is needed,” said her mother.
* * * *
Jake had described Henry as a ‘fine-looking young man, tho’ he was a tenderfoot,’ but Gabe was not quite prepared for what he saw when Caitlin introduced him to Mr. Henry Beecham, a friend of hers from Philadelphia. The little hesitation before ‘friend’ told him the whole story, of course.
Mr. Henry Beecham stood there dressed for riding. Well, Gabe supposed it was for riding. He had on winged taupe breeches and a black wool jacket. His cravat was pinned with a gold bar. His black boots had been shined to a high gloss, although just walking across the yard had given them a good coating of dust, Gabe had to turn away for a minute at the sight of the hat on his head. It was an old one of Mr. Burke’s, and Gabe had never seen anything funnier than a Stetson topping the Eastern riding clothes.
“Jake is busy, Mr. Hart. I was wondering if you could saddle Snowflake and one of the other horses for us. I want to show Henry the ranch.”
Gabe looked at her for a minute and then giving a curt nod, went into the stable. Miss Caitlin Burke had seemed to pride herself on the fact that she groomed and saddled her own horse, but all of a sudden her Eastern ‘friend’ appeared and Gabe became a groom.
Cait had been riding Snowflake, a sweet little mare. There were two other horses available, Red Hawk, an older and rather plodding gelding, and Patch, a three-year-old with lots of fire and a tendency to warm up by bucking the kinks out if you didn’t know how to ride him. He could bore Beecham to death with Hawk or watch him be dumped into the dust, thought Gabe with a smile. It was an easy choice, he thought, as he saddled Patch.
Cait had not seen anyone riding Patch but Gabe and since the gelding knew better than to play his tricks on the wrangler, she only knew him as an energetic and pretty goer. She was pleased Gabe hadn’t brought out Red Hawk. He had obviously seen that Henry was an experienced rider.
“So this is an Appaloosa,” said Henry, when the horses were led out. He approached confidently and Cait began to point out the distinctive markings.
“There are quite a few painted horses in the West, Henry,” she explained, “but the Appaloosa is a separate breed, developed by the Nez Perce Indians in Idaho. You can tell them by the white around their eyes and the freckled look of their muzzles…and their scraggly tails,” she said, pulling Snowflake’s ears down as though to keep them from hearing the ‘insult.’ ”And, of course, the patterns of white on their rumps.”
Henry moved around the two animals confidently, getting Cait to tell him more of their history, and Gabe wondered if he’d handle Patch just fine.
They were in the corral, and Cait suggested that they mount there and ride around a little so Henry could get used to the different saddle. She mounted Snowflake and started her off at a walk, looking back over her shoulder at Henry.
“I’d be a mite careful with Patch. He’s a little fresh first thing in the morning,” Gabe warned as Henry was putting his foot in the stirrup.
“I am sure I’ll be fine, man,” said Henry, grabbing the saddle horn and swinging his leg over. He had barely gotten his right foot in the stirrup when Patch gave a series of crow hops and then bucked Henry neatly off. Keeping his face straight, Gabe went after the horse, watching Cait dismount and rush over to where Beecham was lying in the dirt.
“Are you all right, Henry?”
“I am fine, Cait,” he said, pulling himself up.
“Mr. Hart, I think you have some explaining to do,” she demanded as Gabe brought the horse over.
“Now, Cait, Mr. Hart told me the horse might be a bit fresh first thing,” said Henry.
“Wal, it was either Red Hawk or Patch, Miss Burke,” drawled Gabe. “And Mr. Beecham looked like he could handle a lively horse,” said Gabe innocently. “Do you want me to saddle Red Hawk?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Caitlin.
“Don’t be silly, Cait,” said Henry. “Now that I know his little tricks, Patch and I will do fine.”
As indeed they did, Gabe had to admit. Beecham was an experienced rider and he conveyed that to the horse this time up. Patch crow-hopped a little, but Henry was ready and controlled him with his legs and hands.
“You can open the corral gate, Hart,” Henry called out after a few minutes. “I think we’ve gotten the kinks out, haven’t we, Patch?” he said, patting the horse’s neck.
Gabe watched them trot away. Beecham was obviously as good a sport as he was a rider. If he had suspected Gabe of anything, he had not let on.
Gabe was a little ashamed of himself. He had encountered tenderfeet before and like all cowboys, loved playing jokes on them. But Beecham might have been hurt and Gabe hadn’t even worried about that. It was that silly outfit that had set him off, he supposed. Or maybe it was that Henry Beecham was obviously someone special to Caitlin Burke.