American Blood (28 page)

He led the other two men out.

"They want to use you," Falconer told Delgado after the door had closed on the trio. "Vigil's a turncoat of sorts, or so some will say. And Blair isn't too popular in certain circles because of his behavior at the trials. They're scared, right down to the ground, and they wanted to use your popularity as a shield."

Delgado nodded. "I suppose that was their thinking. But I can't believe I have such influence."

"Better get used to it. You're going to be an important man in these parts. As Blair said, whether you like it or not."

Chapter Eleven

"The idea is to make peace."

1

D
elgado gave what Hugh Falconer had told him about the drastically altered circumstances of his life a great deal of thought during the first portion of their long and arduous journey back to St. Louis. He decided he didn't like being an important man. Not at all. It was an albatross around his neck, inherited from his father, who had carved a niche and made a name for himself. Delgado preferred obscurity, anonymity. Of course, what he wanted didn't matter.

What he really wanted was to live, happily ever after, with his beloved Sarah, doing what he had to do to keep the business Angus McKinn had built turning a profit, so that he could provide not only for Sarah's every need, but her heart's every desire as well. What Falconer had been trying to tell him was that, try as he might, he would not be able to divorce himself from the politics of the situation. His pedigree—half Anglo and half Hispanic—made him a valuable asset to both sides in this new and in some ways uneasy relationship between New Mexico and the United States of America.

The journey was not without its hazards. Game was scarce, and by the end of the trail Delgado was convinced that he and Jeremy would have
starved to death were it not for Hugh Falconer. The mountain man sometimes had to go to great lengths to provide them with fresh meat every other day or so. Often his catch was a solitary rabbit, or a couple of fish harvested from a half-frozen creek with a makeshift spear, or a scrawny sage hen or prairie dog flushed out of nest or hole. They subsisted the rest of the time on hard biscuits and strips of dried venison. For emergency rations they had the one pack horse, but the situation never got that serious.

Falconer seemed virtually oblivious to the hardships they were forced to endure. It was manifest that his first concern was the survival of his two younger companions. "I have to admit," he told them, "that after everything we've been through, I kind of think of you two as my own sons."

This was a startling revelation from a man like Falconer, who seldom aired his innermost feelings, and it brought Delgado up hard against the realization that he admired, respected, and depended on Falconer to the degree that one might expect of a son.

Nine weeks after departing Taos, they arrived, haggard and hungry, at Falconer's cabin a few miles west of St. Louis.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Lillian urged Jeremy and Delgado to stay the night before going the rest of the way. The fire in the hearth was alluring, but neither of them was inclined to tarry for even an hour, now that their destination was so near at hand.

"I must get home," explained Jeremy. "That last I heard, my father was very ill. Do you have word of him, ma'am?"

"I have been to see him on several occasions,
the last time three days ago," replied Lillian. "He is bedridden, and while I cannot truthfully say he is doing better, he is no worse, at least."

"What does the doctor say is wrong with him?"

Lillian glanced at Falconer, surprised, and then back at Jeremy. "You do not know?"

"My sister gave no specifics in her letter."

"I'm truly sorry, Jeremy, to be the one to tell you this. But your father is stricken with consumption."

All color bled from Jeremy's face. He rocked back on his heels, and Delgado put a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. There was no cure for consumption. Jacob Bledsoe would never recover.

"I must go," said Jeremy, striving to keep himself together.

"We will leave immediately," said Delgado.

"I think you should wait here, Del, at least until tomorrow."

"For what reason?"

"Let me test the water, so to speak, where my father's feelings about you are concerned."

"There's more to it than that."

Jeremy forced a smile. "I should know better than to try to pull the wool over your eyes."

"You're worried about Brent Horan, aren't you?"

"I doubt that he has forgotten, or forgiven."

"A thousand Brent Horans could not keep me away from Sarah one more hour."

"You don't know him as I do," persisted Jeremy. "You're a brave man, Del. I've seen you in action, and there are none braver. But you're still no match for Horan."

Delgado bit his tongue, stifling a retort born of
wounded pride. In spite of the anguish he suffered over the condition of his father, Jeremy could still think of Delgado's best interests. He was, thought Delgado, a true friend. A strong bond had been forged between the two of them since that summer day when they'd departed St. Louis together, bound for adventure at the other end of the Santa Fe Trail.

"I can't stay," said Delgado. "I just can't, Jeremy. Sarah has occupied my dreams, my thoughts, my every waking moment for nearly six months. Six long months! I must see her. I can't come this close and stop."

Jeremy drew a long breath. "To care so much for someone can be a dangerous thing. Love can make fools out of wise men."

"Perhaps you have never loved anyone as I love your sister. If you had, you'd understand why I must go on."

Jeremy turned away, but not before Delgado saw the pain twist his features. "Don't be too sure of that. Well, if you must, come on. Let's get going."

Delgado clasped Falconer's hand in his own. "I'll be back to visit in a day or two."

"You're welcome under our roof anytime, Del."

They reached St. Louis as the sun dipped below the horizon, and twilight gave the snow on the streets a blue translucence. After many weeks in the barren, wintry wastes of the high plains, where the only sounds were the howling of wolves above the moaning wind, the noises of civilization were to Delgado very welcome indeed. The barking of dogs, the sound of laughter from one of the houses they passed by, the rattle and clatter of a carriage, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the faint, merry tinkle of piano keys, the
distant clamor of ship's bells and steam whistles along the waterfront—it was all music to his ears.

When, finally, they arrived at the stately manor at the corner of Laurel and the Rue St. Eglise, Delgado's heart was beating like a trip-hammer in his chest. Sudden, bloodcurdling fear seized him. For six months he had dreamt of this moment—and now that it was here he could scarcely refrain from turning tail. Jeremy saw the look on his face and had to laugh.

"What's come over you, Del? Got cold feet all of a sudden?"

"No. No, of course not."

Still, he couldn't help but worry. What if something had happened to change Sarah's mind about him? He couldn't imagine what that something might be, and yet . . . The problem was that he did not think he could face life without Sarah Bledsoe. He needed her as he needed breath itself and, try as he might, he knew he would not feel secure until she was his bride. Only then would he know for certain that life would be worth living.

Steeling himself, he dismounted and followed Jeremy to the front door.

When they entered the house, Clarisse was just turning the corner into the hall, leaving the gallery, having come down the stairs carrying a tray—Delgado surmised that this had been Jacob Bledsoe's evening meal, and it didn't look like it had been touched. The Creole Negress stopped dead in her tracks and stared, and for the first time Delgado realized in horror that he must look a sight. He hadn't bathed or shaved in weeks. In his rush to see Sarah again he hadn't given his appearance a thought. What a fool he was! He
should have at least lingered long enough at Falconer's cabin to make himself presentable.

"Clarisse!" Jeremy stepped forward, smiling.

She put the tray down on a taboret and went to him, giving him a maternal peck on the cheek as they embraced.

"How is Father doing?"

"He is in his room. Go on up, Jeremy. It will do him good to see you again."

"Clarisse? Is someone here?"

Delgado's heart skipped a beat, for this was Sarah's voice, coming from the gallery staircase.

"Your brother is home at last, child," called Clarisse. Then she smiled at Delgado. "And there is someone else you will want to see, I think."

He heard her racing down the stairs. Jeremy met her at the end of the hall, and she gasped at the sight of him and flowed into his arms.

"Jeremy!" she cried out in delight. "Jeremy, I'm so glad—!"

She saw Delgado then, and Jeremy, grinning, let her go and stepped away and said. "Wasn't easy, Sis, but thanks to Hugh Falconer we've managed to bring your man back safe and sound."

Sarah stood there a moment, gazing at Delgado. She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman in the whole world, with her big hazel eyes and ruby lips in a heart-shaped face framed by chestnut brown curls, her slender figure complemented by a pale yellow muslin dress.

"Del?"

"Sarah." His voice was a hoarse travesty of its usual self.

"Oh, Del!" She ran to him, and he wrapped her in his arms, and she kissed him with all the love and passion in her soul. Tasting the salt of her
tears of happiness, Delgado knew at that moment that all was well. His doubts fled. The world was a wonderful place, and life would be worth living after all.

"It seems as though you've been gone forever," she said, breathlessly happy. "I missed you every minute you were away."

"And I missed you, Sarah. More than I can say. I'll never leave you again."

"You'd better not!" She turned to her brother while clinging possessively to Delgado's arm. "Promise you won't tell Father how I greeted my future husband, Jeremy. He'd think I was a shameless hussy."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of telling him." Jeremy went up the stairs, eager to see his father.

"Del, you're so thin!" exclaimed Sarah. "Can we fatten him up, Clarisse? Not too much, of course."

"I think we can manage that, child." Clarisse headed for the kitchen.

As soon as Jeremy and Clarisse had gone and they were alone, Delgado took Sarah by the shoulders and held her at arm's length and looked her in the eyes and said, "Sarah, you called me your future husband. I guess that means you'll marry me?"

"Don't be silly. Of course I'm going to marry you. I knew we would be man and wife the moment we first met."

"You did? I think I did, too. As for setting a date, I suppose we'll have to suffer through a proper—that is to say, long—engagement."

"It had better not be too long, Mr. McKinn," she said and, curling her arms around his neck, gave him another heart-stopping kiss. When it was over, she slid him a look that Salome might
have envied. "We're going to have lots and lots of children, Del, so we had better get started soon."

"Sarah!"

"Oh, did you think you were marrying a prim and proper young lady, sir?"

He laughed. "No—and thank God I'm not!"

"Come along. I'll heat some water for your bath. You smell like . . . like the Santa Fe Trail in all its pungent glory. And I'll get you a nice sharp razor. You must look your best when you go in to ask my father for his little girl's hand in marriage."

2

Having his son safely home again put some life into Jacob Bledsoe. He insisted on being moved downstairs, complaining that the walls of his bedroom, where he had been incarcerated for weeks, were beginning to close in on him. Sarah didn't think it was a good idea; the doctor had recommended that his patient remain in bed, warning that activity would only aggravate his condition. Jacob waved her protests away. "Just humor a dying man's few simple requests."

"Don't say such things, Father."

"Why shouldn't I? I'm reconciled to my own mortality, and you should be, too, my dear."

Delgado and Jeremy carried him downstairs and placed him in his favorite chair in the front parlor, over near the fireplace, where a warm, cheerful blaze popped and crackled. Delgado was astonished by Bledsoe's appearance; the man had been hearty and robust six months ago, and now he was pale, haggard, and much thinner. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings around them.
Sarah had told Delgado that her father suffered from fever, weakness, loss of appetite, and a persistent cough that grew progressively worse. She knew there would be no improvement. All they could do was make him as comfortable as possible and wait for the end. Delgado felt sorry for his beloved Sarah. How difficult it had to be, to watch someone you love die by inches before your very eyes, and all the while your job was to present a sunny disposition in hopes of keeping the patient's spirits up. Delgado was glad, both for his mother's sake and for his father's that Angus McKinn had died suddenly. Better that, by far, than this.

"I relish a bit of brandy," said Bledsoe.

"Father, you know the doctor said you could not indulge in strong spirits," said Sarah.

"To blazes with what the doctor said!" Bledsoe wheezed and hacked sputum into a handkerchief.

"Allow me, sir," said Delgado. With an apologetic glance at Sarah, he moved to the sideboard and poured Bledsoe a dollop of brandy. Sarah didn't approve, but she kept silent.

"Thank you, my boy. Thank you." Bledsoe accepted the glass gratefully, sipped, and closed his eyes in ecstasy. "The sad news of your personal tragedy has preceded you, Del. Angus was more than a business associate to me. He was my true friend, and I mourn his passing."

"Thank you, sir."

"I understand the leader of those murderous rebels was caught and hanged. A man by the name of . . . of . . . oh, what was that blasted man's name?"

"Archuleta. Diego Archuleta."

"Yes, yes. Archuleta. That's the one. I'll warrant you were glad to see him pay for his crimes."