Desert hawks, p.26
Desert Hawks, page 26
They came to the back door of the Silver Palace, and she realized that he might be killed by Apaches in the days ahead. “Please be careful.”
“Nothing can keep me from you, muchacha.”
Their lips touched, he felt her sumptuous formation again, but then, in the depths of Christian love, the door flew open and an irate father stood before them, wearing his sombrero and a stained white apron and waving his butcher knife threateningly. “What's this?” he asked, his eyes bulging out of his head. “Young lady, you may go inside. I'll speak with you later.”
“Father,” she replied, “I was saying good night to Lieutenant Barrington, who is leaving in the morning on a campaign against the Indians.”
“That is the way you say good-bye? Please do as I say.”
She decided not to fight her father in front of Nathanial, so she gave Nathanial a long look that said I love you, then entered the back of the saloon.
Diego stood before Nathanial, the knife tight in his hand. “I should challenge you to a duel, but you would kill me. I should forbid you to speak with my daughter, but unfortunately I cannot control her. Therefore, I must ask you to please respect her, because she is a good girl and deserves a decent chance in life, which she will not have once it becomes known that she is the cast-off former concubine of an American soldier. Young men have no conscience, and I know because, believe it or not, I was young once myself.” Then he threw up his hands in despair. “Oh, it is no use!”
Diego entered the back room of the saloon, where his daughter stood beside the still. “I am ashamed of you,” he told her. “If your mother were alive right now, she would slap your face.”
Maria Dolores ignored him as she examined mash bubbling in kettles and transparent liquid dripping into the copper vat. Not only was she making her own whiskey, thus saving the cost of buying, but it wasn't much different from preparing soup or stew.
Her father left for the chop counter as she sat at her desk. Her head was spinning with Lieutenant Barrington, her father's insult, and the saloon business. She'd led a fairly tranquil life until a gun had been stuck in her face, and since then events had been moving too quickly for her to assimilate.
She reached into her pocket and took out the roll of money. It amounted to nearly two hundred dollars, a small fortune. And he just gave it to me, she pondered, but that's how it would be if he were the one foretold.
The door opened, and her father appeared, carrying a steak platter. “I am sorry,” he said as he placed the steak before her. “I have made a fool of myself yet again, but soldiers have the worst reputations in the world, as I am sure you know.”
“No one will ever take advantage of me,” she replied.
“But American officers do not marry Mexican girls, especially the kind who work in saloons.”
“We shall see about that,” replied Maria Dolores as she sliced into her steak.
Rebecca Harding paced back and forth in her parlor, becoming more distressed with every turn. Where is he? she wondered. Her mother crocheted a sweater at the end of the sofa, while her father had gone back to his office.
“You're distracting me,” said her mother. “Why don't you sit down?”
“I can't.” Rebecca rubbed her arms and scowled, because she'd been looking forward to seeing Nathanial, and perhaps she could receive more of those wonderful kisses. But he'd yet to show his face, and it was after supper.
“I'm sure he's busy,” said her mother. “He'll be gone for a long time.”
“It only takes a few minutes to say good-bye.”
She heard boots scraping the mat outside the door, and her heart leapt. The door opened, but it was only her father returning from the office. “I'm exhausted,” he said. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going directly to bed.”
“Have you seen Lieutenant Barrington?” asked Rebecca.
“No, but I imagine he's with his men.”
The major entered the master bedroom, leaving Rebecca stewing in jealousy and resentment. How could he touch me that way, and then forget me? she wondered. Is he the seducer that everyone says, or am I taking counsel of my fears?
“Perhaps you should have a glass of warm milk before you go to bed,” said her mother.
“I hate warm milk.”
“It'll help you sleep.”
“I don't want to sleep.”
Rebecca resumed pacing the floor. Why am I so upset? she asked herself. I'm not in love with him, am I? Why, we barely know each other, and I may never see him again. How poignant it would be if the Apaches burned him at the stake.
There was a knock on the door, and she jumped two inches into the air. “I'll get it,” said her mother.
Rebecca hovered in the corner as her mother opened the door. Lieutenant Barrington stood in the darkness, hat in hand. “I realize it's late, ma'am, but I was wondering if Miss Rebecca was still awake.”
“She was just about to make a cup of hot milk, prior to going to bed. Won't you come in?”
He stepped into the parlor as Rebecca appeared out of the shadows. “I'd like to go for a walk, Nathanial.”
He could hear annoyance in her voice, her lips pinched with anger, and Nathanial had passed sufficient time with women to know when they were ready to explode. He helped her with her coat, then followed her out the door as a cool breeze blew in from the sage, carrying the spice of decayed leaves and lost dreams. They walked along Officers’ Row as she fastened her top button. Here it comes, he thought.
“Where have you been?” she asked crossly.
“With the men,” he lied. “We're going on a scout tomorrow.”
“Seems as though you could've stopped by sooner, just to set my mind at ease.”
“I thought you'd understand, since you're in the army yourself.”
“Nathanial, it's only a short walk across the parade ground.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you're the rat that everyone says you are.”
“I'm not the most considerate person in the world, I admit.”
“I hope I'm not wasting your precious time,” she said.
“I've set aside this evening for you, Rebecca.” He didn't want to offend her, and she looked exceptionally adorable in the starlight. He recalled their passion the previous night, and then remembered the plush configuration of Maria Dolores Carbajal. Nathanial felt confused and oppressed by his own urges on the night of the big campaign.
“You seem different,” she said, “as if you don't care about me anymore.”
He maneuvered her into the shadows of the provost marshal's office. “I've got lots to be concerned about, because tomorrow at this time I may be up to my eyeballs in Apaches.”
“Perhaps I'm selfish,” she sighed, “but those things I've done with you—do you think they happened with others? We were talking about getting married, after all. You haven't changed you mind, have you?”
“Not at all,” he replied as he lied himself deeper into the hole.
“Perhaps when you come back from the scout, we can announce our engagement?”
“Perhaps.”
“You don't sound very enthusiastic.”
“I might not come back at all. Let's not forget the example of Captain Grimes.”
“If you think you won't come back, then you surely won't. Much of our fate is in our own hands.”
“I fail to see how Captain Grimes's fate was in his hands when that arrow came out of nowhere.”
He sought to bury the bloody memory in the fragrant golden hair before him. There wasn't so much of her, and he felt bones here and there, but that didn't mean she wasn't soft, warm, and oh-so-inviting. Their tongues engaged in soft combat as he leaned her against the wall and brought the full weight of his body against her.
“Oh, Nathanial,” she whispered as she rubbed against him.
The seducer of women glanced around, but no one was in the vicinity. You might be dead within the next few days, and perhaps you should take this pleasure while you have the chance, whispered the devil into his ear. Nathanial touched his forefinger to her nipple.
“Oh . . . Nathanial . . .” she whispered as she placed her hand on a portion of his anatomy which no decent unmarried woman was permitted to touch.
Nathanial figured they could do it against the wall, for he'd engaged in vile acts on a variety of surfaces in the past. But if they got caught, there'd be hell to pay. She was panting in his ear, squirming against him, and he'd want to possess her from the moment he'd first set eyes on her. He was ready to pull down her underpants, but something said she was the major's virgin daughter, and there came a time when a man had to be responsible, no matter how desirable irresponsibility might be.
“Somebody's coming,” he muttered into her lips.
She snapped erect and began examining her clothing, while he was amazed at how quickly her mood had changed. He peered onto the walkway, but no one was there. “Guess I'm hearing things,” he said. Perhaps, he conjectured, she wasn't as out of control as she'd seemed, and she knew exactly what she was doing.
Rebecca blushed as she struggled to make sense of what had happened. Was that me? she asked herself. “I'd better get back home.”
He walked beside her down Officers’ Row. They were still recovering from their fleeting moments of young lust, and the flagpole rope slapped in the wind, as the first note of taps could be heard across the parade ground. Finally they came to a halt in front of Major Harding's adobe hacienda. They turned toward each other in the darkness as the first drops of rain began to fall.
“Good luck, Nathanial,” she said. “I hope you won't forget me, because I surely won't forget you.”
“I'm sorry if I was disrespectful, but I'm not myself tonight.”
“I love you, Nathanial.”
“And I love you,” he felt compelled to say, although he wasn't sure who he loved at that point, certainly not himself. He tossed her an affectionate salute, then turned and walked away as swiftly as his legs would take him, and he didn't look back.
He needed somebody to talk with, but could trust no one, not even Beau. So he visited the quartermaster, to check his supplies, and then the stable, to look at the condition of the horses his men would ride. Finally he made his way back to the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters. I'm in love with two women, he acknowledged, and if another pretty one happened by, I'll probably chase her too. I'm no better than a yard dog, and I'll be in serious trouble if I don't settle down.
The bugle would blow reveille in a few hours, and tomorrow he'd sleep beneath the stars. Bewildered passion combined with fatigue, while the prospect of sudden death provided a philosophical turn of mind. He wondered about his Apache foe coming down from the mountains to kill, maim, and take slaves. He'd heard many stories about Mexican and white women captured by the Apaches, and the strangest part was, given the choice, the captured women often had elected to remain among the Apaches!
Maybe those bucks are fabulous lovers, Nathanial considered with a wry grin as he opened the door of his hut. To his surprise, lying on his pillow was a rosary and an envelope. On it was written in a feminine scrawl: It was made by nuns, and we shall pray for you.
It wasn't signed, but he knew who'd sent it. Has Maria Dolores been here? he wondered as he sniffed for traces of her perfume. He held the wooden beads on a string, with a crude crucifix carved out of wood. Some beads were large, others small, and they were spaced in a particular pattern. He had no idea how it was used, but decided to wear it on the scout for good luck.
He hung it on the bedpost, then unstrapped his holster, yanked out the Colt, and lined the sights on himself in the mirror, but didn't thumb back the hammer. He imagined an arrow piercing his skull and erupting out the other side as blood squirted from his ears. A bolt of fear shot through him, but he stuffed it down. I won't let those son-of-a-bitch savage bastards scare me, he swore. I'll kill as many as I can, before I'd let them get near me.
There was a knock on the door, and he aimed his gun at whoever was there. “Come in.”
It was Otis, eyes widened at the gun. “I heered yer goin’ to war tomorrow, and I was wonderin’ if you needed me fer somethin’.”
Nathanial looked at the man whom he owned lock, stock, and barrel and again felt like a snake in Otis's presence. It wasn't because Nathanial was a raving abolitionist, but he couldn't manage the transaction anymore. “Have a seat, Otis. I want to talk with you.”
“Has I done somethin’ wrong, boss?” asked Otis, a worried expression on his face.
“I'm going on a scout tomorrow, and I've decided to set you free.” Otis looked astonished, but Nathanial kept talking. “I'm going to give you some money and the address of my mother in New York. I want you to go to her, and she'll take care of you.”
Otis stared at him as if struck by an earthquake. “Free?” he asked, as if unsure of whether he'd heard correctly. “If I goes to New York, I'll git picked up fer a runaway afore I gits ten miles.”
“I'll give you an affidavit signed by me and another officer. If there are difficulties, get in touch with me, or if I don't come back, my mother.”
Otis appeared speechless as Nathanial sat at his desk and laid a blank sheet of paper before him. Then he wrote:
I hereby certify that this slave, Otis Jackson, belongs to me, and I have sent him to New York City to take care of my mother. He is a good slave and please do not delay him.
He signed at the bottom, then said, “Stay here.”
Nathanial walked down Officers’ Row and knocked on Beau's door. Beau opened up, and Nathanial was surprised to see him completely sober, his equipment laid out on his bed, as he packed saddlebags. Nathanial held out the paper. “Do me a favor and sign this.”
Beau held it to the candlelight. “He'll probably run away, and you'll never see him again. But it's your money, not mine.” He signed and handed the affidavit back. “Well, Nathanial old boy, it looks like we're going to war again. The odds are that you and I won't see any Apaches, but if I never see you again, it's been good to know you.”
They shook hands, then Nathanial returned to his room, where Otis waited on the chair, an expression of distress on his face. Nathanial handed him the affidavit, then a handful of money. “You might as well leave first thing in the morning.”
Otis arose, unbuttoned his shirt, and folded the paper against his skin. “I don't know if yer plumb loco, but thank you, suh.”
“Say hello to my mother for me.”
Now Nathanial no longer felt rotten before Otis. Mumbling thanks, the big black man shuffled uncertainly from the room. After he departed, Nathanial stuffed the Colt beneath his pillow, then undressed in the darkness, crawled beneath the blankets, and tried to fall asleep, but his mind boiled with images of screaming Apaches, seductive Rebecca, Otis running from bloodhounds, magnificent Maria Dolores, his warring parents, unhappy little brother, the women he'd known in the biblical sense, the ones he hadn't, and so on into the night, as rain fell lightly upon the sage and tiny creatures scurried for shelter.
I wonder if I'll kill somebody during this scout? mused Nathanial. Or maybe I'll be the one who won't come back, but at least I won't have to worry about women anymore.
SEVENTEEN
No bands, parades, or stirring speeches attended Nathanial and his detachment when they departed Camp Marcy next morning. A drizzle fell, but mere water couldn't stop the First Dragoons.
Only a few scattered ponchoed wives and kids were on hand, and Nathanial expected Rebecca among them as he led his men toward the gate. His hat was low over his eyes, and drops of water pelted his face as he rocked back and forth in his saddle. He heard muffled hoofbeats behind him, turned around in the saddle, and saw the dragoons hunched in their ponchos, utterly miserable, sorry they had ever joined the army. He faced front, as women and children drew near. Rebecca didn't rush forward to clasp his hand in one last thrilling gesture, and he wondered what had happened to her, although he wore another woman's rosary beads around his neck.
He reached beneath his poncho and touched the crucifix as he passed through the gate. His detachment followed onto the open sage, no mountains were visible, and the gray day encompassed them like a cloak, mercifully concealing them from the watchful eyes of the Apaches. Rain hissed as it fell on foliage as a pungent vegetative fragrance filled Nathanial's nostrils. If we run into the savages, I'll give them a fight they'll never forget, he swore, and if they don't kill me, maybe I'll marry Maria Dolores Carbajal.
Sergeant Major Ferguson approached Major Harding's desk cautiously, looked both ways, and said, “A man should mind his own business, but somethin's happened that I think you should know about. I hope you won't think I'm oversteppin’ my bounds.”
“Out with it, Sergeant.”
“I've noticed Lieutenant Barrington a-payin’ court to Rebecca as of late, but I thought you might want to know that he was seen in town last night with a Mexican whore.”
Major Harding was deeply shaken. “Are you sure?”
“I heard the men a-talkin’ in the stable. A few of ‘em seem ‘im and the whore last evening. The lieutenant kissed her in full view of everybody!”
Did he visit my daughter after leaving a prostitute? The question stung Major Harding. “Thank you for the information, Sergeant Major. If you learn any other interesting facts about Lieutenant Barrington, I'd be grateful if you'd let me know.”
The Silver Palace Saloon opened for business with no great fanfare or line of dancing girls on the bar. Instead, Maria Dolores merely placed a sign that said OPEN in the one front window and unlatched the door. Outside, the street was a rainy swamp, not a soul in sight. It wasn't a very propitious beginning.
She returned to the saloon, where the walls had been whitewashed, and her new helper, a hunchbacked dwarf named Miguelito, had hung a painting of Zachary Taylor, conqueror of her nation, above the bar. Maria Dolores had hired Miguelito with the money that Nathanial gave her, for a woman had to be flexible in her politics if she wanted to survive in the United States of America.
