The next morning, they all said good-bye to Ruth. She and James drove off in his buggy, accompanied by a small contingent of armed riders that included his father and some of the men from the church. Geronimo and his followers were still at large, and although the army and the hastily cobbled-together posses were frantically crisscrossing the territory, he managed to elude them. Numerous sightings both real and imagined continued, and to have the newspapers tell it, he and his band were often seen in various places at once. People did their best to go about their normal lives but they kept their weapons close and remained vigilant.
After Ruth’s departure, Kent and Portia, accompanied by Rhine, Matt, and Cal, rode out to the Blanchard place to get a feel for where they might want to build the new house and how large or small it and the outbuildings would be.
“I think I’d like the house built a bit more to the west,” Kent said. “That way the horse paddock can be larger and give us better access to the pond.”
Portia agreed. It would also allow the house to be on higher ground and less likely to be affected by flash flooding from the rains. They were discussing the placement of the barn when Matt said quietly, “We got company.”
Everyone looked up and froze. Apaches. The five riders approached almost silently, moving like specters in the shimmering heat. As they neared, Portia saw the lined brown face of a short man who could only be Geronimo. She’d seen his likeness in the newspapers. Beside him rode a woman in men’s clothing. Lozen. The sister of the great Apache chief Victorio. She was one of her people’s fiercest warriors. Her feats and exploits were the stuff of legends and she was a shaman so powerful, she could supposedly sense the location of the enemy. Her gift of prophecy was said to be one of the reasons Geronimo managed to avoid capture. Her presence sent chills up Portia’s spine.
For a long moment, the two groups assessed each other silently. Finally, Lozen spoke. “Where’s the old man?”
Rhine nodded at Portia and she knew he wanted her to respond. Keeping her voice calm, she replied, “He died of old age, but his friends were murdered and his house was burned to the ground.”
The band murmured angrily and Lozen studied her closely. “Were the killers caught?”
“No, but the leader is dead.”
Beside her, Geronimo nodded as if the answer was a satisfying one.
“He was a friend,” Lozen stated.
“Mine too.”
“We came for beef. Our people are hungry. The old man was always generous.”
Portia thought about the women and children who’d escaped with them and wished she could help. “The murderers ran off the cattle and they haven’t been found. All we can offer is water for your horses.”
There was no doubt in Portia’s mind that the woman possessed an unearthly power because it emanated from her like charged air before a storm.
Lozen’s eyes touched the faces of Rhine, Kent, and Matt before focusing again on Portia. She gave Portia a terse nod. The Apache band reined their horses around and walked them to the pond. While the horses drank, Geronimo and the others did, too. They filled their canteens, remounted, and without a backward glance rode off slowly the way they’d come. Only after they were out of sight did Portia realize she’d been holding her breath.
Cal cracked, “I don’t know about anyone else but I think that’s more than enough excitement for one day.”
Still focused on the area where Lozen and her band had disappeared, Portia agreed.
Matt asked, “Do you think they’ll be back?”
“Probably not,” Portia told him. With Mr. Blanchard gone, she doubted they’d have a reason, and with the army searching for them they couldn’t afford to spend long periods of time anywhere for fear of capture. When she and Regan were young Mr. Blanchard often told them tales about his early days in the territory and how helpful the Apache had been in showing him the best places to hunt and fish. Portia supposed by secretly providing them with beef, he’d been returning the favor.
A few days before the wedding, a man from Flagstaff stopped in. His name was Frazier Nogales. “I’m here to see Mr. Fontaine,” he told Portia, who’d answered the bell. “David Neal said he’s looking for a good carpenter to build a house?”
“Yes. Come in, Mr. Nogales. Let me get him.”
So Rhine, Portia, and Kent met with the man in Rhine’s office and were impressed with his credentials and experience. “Been building houses all my life,” he said. “My brothers and I learned the trade from our father and uncles, who learned from our grandfather and great uncles in Sonora when this territory was still part of Mexico.”
When told that the house and land would be a wedding present to Portia and Kent, he nodded approvingly. “My daughter was married last year. I built her and her husband a home up near Oracle. I’ll be a grandfather in September,” he added proudly.
Portia liked him.
He brought out some plans for them to look at and they talked about the size, shape, and orientation. He asked to see the land and a trip was arranged. Kent said, “Whatever we decide, the house will need an office on the back with a separate entrance for my wife’s business.”
Portia went still.
Mr. Nogales eyed her. “What kind of business?”
“Bookkeeping.”
He studied her for a moment then asked about her experience. When she told him she’d attended Oberlin, handled the books for the hotel, and had apprenticed at a bank in San Francisco, he appeared impressed. “My wife keeps my books, but she doesn’t like it and never has. She’s been begging me to find someone to replace her, and now with the new baby on the way, she’s putting her foot down. She doesn’t want to be doing figures when she could be up in Oracle spoiling the grandchild. Are you looking for new customers?”
Portia held on to her excitement. “I am.”
“Then let’s get your build under way and we’ll talk about your replacing my Luisa and how much it will cost me. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” She decided then and there that because Kent Randolph always seemed to have her best interests at heart, she’d just become the happiest woman on earth. As they went back to discussing the house plans, she reached over and gave his hand a grateful squeeze and he shot her a wink.
Later that evening they were sitting outside enjoy the evening breeze and the beautiful sunset.
“Thank you,” Portia said to him.
“For what?”
“For requesting an office be built into the plans. Because you did, I may have my very first client.”
He eased her closer into his side and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “You’re welcome, but you would’ve thought of the office eventually and found your first client.”
“But now, I don’t have to wait for eventually.”
“Have you picked out a name for your business?”
“Yes. Carmichael Bookkeeping,” she replied proudly.
“Simple and to the point.”
“Sort of like me.”
“Nothing simple about you, Duchess. You’re smart, tough, focused, kind.”
She drew back to look into his face. “When have I been kind?”
“You introduced Ruth to James.”
She settled back against him. “I suppose you’re right, but it was also to point him at another woman, so maybe not so kind.” She heard his chuckle rumble in his chest.
“And you’re honest, I like that, too.”
“They say love is blind.”
“Love is also patient,” he added quietly. “Love is kind. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things. Love never ends.”
Portia was so moved by his words, her voice came out as a whisper. “Did you make that up yourself? That’s beautiful Kent.”
“No. It’s from the Bible. First Corinthians. Chapter thirteen verses four to eight.”
“The Bible?”
“Yes. It was the only thing we were allowed to read when I was in prison. It didn’t make me a preacher but after three years I knew it pretty well.”
“I’m marrying a Bible-quoting cowboy. What else is hidden inside you, Kenton Randolph?”
He kissed her. “You’ll have the rest of our lives to find out.”
The next day, true to his word, Mr. Nogales returned and to Portia’s surprise he brought his wife. She was a petite woman with long dark hair and a ready smile. While he and Kent went out to tour the ranch property, Portia and Luisa sat in Portia’s office to talk over the transfer of their ledgers. “How long has your husband had the business?” Portia asked taking notes.
“Ten successful years and I’ve been doing the ledgers. It’s now time for someone to take them off my hands.”
“Your husband told us about the baby your daughter is expecting. Congratulations.”
Her face lit up. “Yes. I’m going to be an abuela.”
“Is this your first?”
“Yes.”
Then they got down to business. For the next hour Portia asked questions about payroll, suppliers, the operating structure, and how they handled their banking. Luisa answered each question succinctly and expanded the explanations when it was warranted. By the time the men returned, Portia had a good handle on all she needed to know. With Mr. Nogales in the room, they then discussed rates. Portia envisioned having to negotiate what she felt would be fair compensation but she was surprised when they offered a figure that exceeded her expectations.
Mrs. Nogales explained why. “Because of bigotry it’s sometimes difficult for us to find someone we trust to provide us the service you’re offering. The reason I’ve handled our ledgers all these years is because those we hired in the past either treated us with contempt or thought we were too ignorant to know they were bent on cheating us.”
Her husband added, “If you do as good a job as I think you will, Miss Carmichael, you’ll be worth every dollar we pay you and we will spread the word, not only to the people we know but to the Chinese businessmen and women facing the same prejudices. Don’t be surprised when they come courting, too.”
Touched by that, Portia said, “I’ll do my best to honor the faith you’re putting in me. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” Luisa said. “And congratulations on your wedding.”
“Thank you for that, too.”
The couple stood. In parting, Mr. Nogales said, “I’m looking forward to building the house for you and your husband. I’ll see you soon.”
After their departure Portia sat at her desk and thought about the conversation. Would she be embraced because of she was a person of color? Truth be told, she’d never envisioned filling such a niche, but thinking about it, she supposed it made sense considering the times and mood of the country. It meant her business could be all she imagined, and maybe more.
Kent and Portia had a late afternoon appointment in Tucson with Reverend Cordell to receive wedding counseling, a service he offered to all couples as a condition of his conducting the ceremony. In the buggy on the way there, Kent looked over from his seat behind the reins and noted Portia’s quietness “Penny for your thoughts, Duchess.”
“The reverend is not the most progressive thinker so I’m trying to prepare myself.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious, Kent. I can only imagine what kind of advice a man like him will give us. He’s given sermons denouncing female suffrage as a tool of the devil, for heaven’s sake. If Eddy didn’t have her heart so set on having a wedding with all the pomp and circumstance, I would’ve been content having Sheriff O’Hara marry us in his office.”
“There you go being kind again.”
“I suppose.”
He tried to reassure her. “It’ll be fine. We’ll grit our teeth, smile, and head home. It won’t be that painful.”
He was wrong. This being Kent’s first dealing with the corpulent Reverend Bertram Cordell, he now understood why James rarely had much to say. His father spoke nonstop. For over an hour he detailed Portia’s duties to her husband from a list that included everything from always being obedient and cleaning house to nightly foot rubs. Kent covered his snort of laughter with a cough. His duchess was not pleased. Dressed in a black suit and vest with a gold pocket watch chained to it, he looked for all the world like a politician. He certainly pontificated like one. When he told Portia to always defer to her husband no matter how much she disagreed because the male mind was far superior to the female mind, Kent saw her jaws lock so tightly he thought her teeth might shatter.
Three-quarters of the way through yet another long-winded soliloquy, this time on a woman’s duties to her children, Portia asked him, “So, Reverend, what are Kent’s duties?”
So far he hadn’t mentioned anything specific.
“Why to be the head and mind of the household, Portia. Haven’t you been listening?” He turned to Kent and said, “See? This is why females need our guidance. I don’t think they hear a word we say sometimes.”
Finally, after ninety long minutes of rambling sentences, cock-eyed opinions, and questionable Bible verses, they were allowed to leave.
Outside, Portia climbed into the buggy and folded her arms in a huff.
Kent got in on his side and said, “Obviously I was wrong.”
“Thank you for loving me, Kent, because if I was married to him, I would have killed him so many years ago, I’d be paroled by now.”
Howling with laughter, he slapped down the reins and drove them home.
After dinner, the women left for the guest suite Rhine had dubbed Wedding Headquarters to handle whatever details still needed their attention and Rhine retired to his office to do business. That left Oliver and Kent alone, so he asked, “Would you like to ride over and see the property where Portia and I are having our house built?”
“Sure.”
Kent brought the buggy around and the shadow crossed his heart again as he watched his father slowly make his way onto the seat. Oliver winced a few times in response to what must have been sharp flares of pain but he didn’t ask for help and Kent didn’t offer so as to allow him his dignity.
On the drive over Kent kept the horses to a slow but steady pace so as to not jostle his passenger too much and they talked about the beauty of the surroundings. “Pretty country here,” Oliver noted. “I expected there’d be more desert like Virginia City. All these trees are surprising.”
“The trees took me by surprise, too, but there is desert not that far away.”
They shared a silence for a short while before Oliver said, “So tell me what you been doing since the last time we were together. What’s it been, three—four years?”
“About that.” Kent filled him in on the jobs he’d worked, their locations, and how long he’d stayed at each.
“You always were restless.”
Kent smiled.
“Even as a child you had trouble sitting still. I think that’s something a mother teaches. I didn’t have time. Too busy seeing to folks’ ills so I could keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.”
“And I appreciated it, even if I didn’t act as if I did.”
“We’re too much alike. Proud. Stubborn.”
“What was she like?”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“The softness I needed to balance my hardness. A much better woman than I deserved, frankly, which could be why God took her from me when he did. Even after marrying her I was still pining for Sylvie.”
His father had been in love with Sylvia for decades before they finally became man and wife fifteen years ago. Only when Kent was older did he learn the two had engaged in an affair while Sylvia was married to her first husband. “Be faithful to Portia, Kent.”
“I plan to.”
They’d never had a discussion like this before and Kent wondered if Oliver wanted to get all this off his chest because he knew he was dying.
When they reached the property. Kent set the brake and started to step out, but Oliver said, “I’m not going to get out, son. I’m in too much pain to walk around. I just want to look. Point and show me where the house will be built.”
Swallowing his guilt for subjecting his father to the ride, Kent complied, then answered his father’s questions about how soon the construction would begin and when the house would be ready to move into. They spent a few more minutes talking about the horse wrangling business he wanted to start and the office that would be built on the back of the house for Portia’s business.
“Those are grand plans, Kenton. Good plans.”
Kent enjoyed the praise.
“We should probably get going, and don’t feel guilty for bringing me out here. I needed to see it because I might not be around when it’s time for you to move in.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
Driving back, Kent was glad they’d spent the time together, even if it had been brief. A question that had been plaguing him for some time came to mind. He turned to ask Oliver if he knew whether his mother had any family, but he was asleep.
When they reached the hotel, rather than awaken him, Kent gently picked him up and carried him inside. The country doctor who’d been so hale and hearty now weighed no more than a child. The realization brought such strong emotions, tears stung his eyes.
Sylvia was waiting for them inside as if knowing she’d be needed. Kent followed her to their room and laid him softly on the bed.
“Thanks, Kent,” she whispered.
Kent left her and, because cowboys weren’t supposed to cry, he went to his room and closed himself in so no one would know.