Emmy's Equal (23 page)

Bertha made a face. “I’d just as soon the wind had carried him off for good, at least until John gets back.”

Magda set her mouth grimly. “Not me. I hope he blows back just long enough for me to claw his eyes out.”

Bertha patted her hand. “I’ll hold him for you, honey.”

Diego stared in wonder at the number of riders clustered on the road in front of the house. Word had spread throughout the county, thanks to Rosita and Little Pete. Friends and neighbors had gathered for the last hour, eager to do anything to help the kind and generous Mr. Rawson. Even Joe and Les Campbell showed up to offer their time.

Diego tightened the horsehair girth and tied his leather quirt to the saddle. Luckily, these were tasks he could easily perform in his sleep, since his willful eyes were busy tracking Emmy’s every move.

The soft clingy dresses and skin-revealing necklines were gone, along with the strappy suede shoes with little square heels. She wore men’s clothing, complete with Cuddy’s shirt, baggy slacks, and cowhide chaps buttoned behind her legs. Someone had even furnished her with a wide-brimmed straw hat. Only her boots were made for a woman, most likely lent by Greta.

Cuddy hovered like a bee on honey, helping Emmy with her rigging and double-checking her gear. Afterward, he mounted up and rode alongside her toward the entrance to the ranch.

Remembering the feckless boy’s declaration that he’d kiss her if she’d let him, Diego slapped shut the flap on his saddlebag with more force than called for. Whirling, he nearly ran over his mother.

She gazed up at him with knowing eyes. “It’s not like you to pout, son.”

He brushed past her to gather his reins. “You’re mistaken, Mother. I don’t have time to pout.”

She caught his arm before he swung onto the horse. “There’s nothing between them, Isi.”

Astonished, he met her probing eyes. “Your talent for reading minds has spread to Emmy and Cuddy now?”

She shrugged. “Emmy’s too much woman. She won’t wait for Cuddy to mature.”

He gave her a piercing look. “You champion her now? Exactly what did that girl say to you?”

“Matters between women are best left to women.”

He blew air from between his teeth and swung into the saddle. “On that point you won’t get an argument from me. Still ... Emmy managed to change your heart in one visit?”

His mother tilted her face, using one hand to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun. “She’s a very persuasive girl.”

He held up his finger. “Ah, there, you see? Careful, Mother. I’m not sure her powers of persuasion are from God.” He reined the horse away from her.

“That remains to be seen,” she called out behind him, “and this is Emmy’s chance to prove it.”

Laying to rest the idea that his mother could no longer surprise him, he stored away the confusing conversation for later. The time had come to turn his thoughts to the pressing matter at hand.

Anxious riders surrounded him outside the gate, all trying to speak at the same time. He held up his hand and whistled, and they stilled. “One at a time, please.” He pointed to Little Pete.

“Sí, Diego.” Pete sat taller in the saddle. “Where do we search? Around Catarina?”

“Well, Pete,” Diego said, dreading the faithful hand’s reaction, “you won’t be searching anywhere. I need a man I can rely on to stay behind with the women.”

Pete’s countenance fell. “Sí, if you think it’s best.”

Diego’s gaze took in the crowd. “As for the rest of you, I thought we’d split up. They were seen heading southwest, but the truth is, they could be anywhere. One group of riders will sweep in a wide circle around Catarina to the right, another to the left. The largest group will spread out in a line straight up the middle. We should all wind up near the road to San Antonio.”

“And if we don’t find them?” one of the men called out.

“We’ll widen the circle.”

He whistled again to quiet the murmuring reaction. “Let me make one thing clear, I’m not coming back without Mr. Rawson and his guests. Any of you who can’t say the same, please stay home. I can’t have you pulling out later, leaving your group short of men.”

Another round of discussion followed, this time interspersed with nodding heads and vows of commitment.

Since Señor Boteo knew the area, Diego appointed him to head the Rio Grande search. He put Lester and Joe in charge of the opposite half of the circle. Diego and the rest would form the middle line.

Displaying the order and quickness of those accustomed to making fast decisions, the men and horses divided to Diego’s specifications with the grace of a Spanish dance. Not waiting to be assigned, Emmy trotted her horse next to Diego’s, her jaw set and her gaze fixed straight ahead.

Diego couldn’t contain a stab of satisfaction when the seasoned ranchers and vaqueros stared at Emmy with disbelieving eyes. Forcing himself to contain his anger when their eyes lingered a bit too long, he thrust his arm out in front. “All right! Let’s ride!”

Melatha watched the cloud of dust on the road until it dwindled to a faint puff on the horizon. Her thoughts turned to prayer for the men.
“How excellent is thy lovingkindness, O God! Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.”

A sense of foreboding had settled on her the minute Isi rode out of sight. She told herself the sinister slide of cold hands up her back had to do with her fear for John Rawson and grief for his dear wife. Yet watching Isi lead the solemn band of men toward the road to Catarina was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

An urge to cut and run welled inside her, though from what, Melatha did not know. She whispered a prayer for her son instead. “Keep him safe, Chihowa Palami. As the apple of Your eye, hide Isi beneath the shadow of Your wings.”

She pulled her gaze from the empty road and hurried toward the house. The kitchen would be in chaos, so Rosita and the girls would need her. When the searchers returned, whether celebrating around a wagon heralding the prodigals’ return, or—she shuddered—mourning behind a wagon in service as a funeral bier, they would be hot, tired, and hungry. There was no way of knowing if they had hours or days to prepare.

Melatha pictured Kate Rawson’s drawn mouth and tortured eyes. She prayed for her sake the wait would end soon.

Emmy followed Diego and Cuddy off the road into an area thick with briars, brambles, and mesquite trees, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. At the beginning of the last few torturous hours, she had tried to search apart from them, to prove herself to Diego, until an encounter between a rattlesnake and a startled horse left an experienced horseman hugging a cactus.

The boots Emmy wore were so big her toes slid forward with each step of the horse, causing pain so intense she feared finding her feet covered in blisters. The heat was atrocious, even with the sun dipping closer to the earth. Her hair hung in dripping strands beneath the hat, but taking it off meant having her head baked.

Now the same sun that seemed determined to bake her alive looked ready to bail out on her. Her heart crowded into her throat as the last bright orange sliver dropped into a deep pocket on the far horizon, and the vivid watercolor landscape became a child’s charcoal sketch on gray paper. Even a cluster of yellow green fireflies bobbing and dancing in the brush failed to cheer her.

No matter how awful things were, she knew the nighttime would be worse. She also knew no matter how frightening the darkness, she’d never be sorry she came. To be stuck on the ranch harboring dreadful thoughts of her parents’ predicament would be hard to bear alone, and Emmy had never felt so alone in her life.

Letting her guard down briefly, she explored the murky cauldron of fear that seethed inside—a mistake considering Mama’s smiling face swam into view, blinding her.

“You all right over there?”

Diego’s voice startled her but soothed her, too. More grateful for his presence than she’d ever let on, she hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m fine.” Even to her ears, she didn’t sound fine. Her stuffy, nasal tone gave away her tears.

Diego’s horse cut in closer. “We’ll find them, Emmy.”

She shuddered, startling herself. “I ... I know we will. But no matter how I arrange the facts, it doesn’t make sense.” She sought the comfort of his brown eyes. “If you have a theory to share that ends with a positive outcome, I’d be grateful to hear.”

He glanced away quickly then back. “I’d love to say something to comfort you, but I’m afraid I’m struggling with the same questions. The explanation I cling to is Cuddy’s—that Mr. Rawson is somewhere ‘playing the highfalutin ranchero’ for your parents, having too much fun to spare a thought for home.”

She let his words sink in before she spoke. “Then where are they? They were headed to the Campbells’. Why didn’t they make it?”

Staring into the distance, he blew out his breath. “If we had those answers, we’d be home in our beds tonight.”

His words brought another involuntary shudder.

Diego shot her an anxious look. “That’s the second time you’ve done that. Are you feeling all right? You can’t be cold.”

“I’m the furthest thing from cold.” She gave him a tight smile. “To be honest, I haven’t looked forward to nightfall.” Her smile turned sheepish. “It’s a lot easier to be brave in the light.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes. To his credit, he squelched it. “Don’t fear the darkness, Emmy. My mother taught me to see the lessons God intended when He created night and day.”

Emmy raised her brows. “Lessons?”

He nodded. “Nighttime represents the fall of man and how God mourned when sin separated Him from His children. Daytime points to His forgiveness and our restoration.”

She stared, amazed by the simple truth. “I’ve never heard that before.”

He smiled. “There’s more. The Choctaw believe that man can read the salvation story in the earth’s four seasons.”

Mesmerized, she studied his face. “The seasons?”

He held up one finger, citing Melatha. “Summer represents the time when Jesus walked the earth with man. Fall signals the death of summer and the death of Christ. Leaves begin to die and hang from their branches, drenched in gold and crimson. Fall represents the beauty of a blood-drenched King on a cross.”

The breath caught in her throat. “Diego, that’s incredible.”

“Winter is the tomb,” he said, his eyes closed. “A time when hope seems lost. Sap stops flowing. Plants and leaves decay. Animals stumble into hibernation as dens become graves. Creation is in mourning and mimics His death.” He opened his eyes. “Spring is a portrait of hope. Green buds, rainbow flowers, daisy yellow chicks, and lily white lambs tumble off God’s palette in a celebration of new life. The least subtle season, spring flaunts our risen Savior and begs us to see.” He smiled. “And there you have it.”

“That was the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever heard,” she breathed.

“It’s a fair translation. Better in the original Choctaw.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard it so many times, it loses its charm ... until I see it again through the eyes of someone else.” He smiled sweetly and nodded at her. “Like now. You’re glowing.”

It felt good to laugh. “A reflection of my heart, Diego. Thank you for sharing that with me. It brought me great comfort and took my mind off things for a while.”

He grinned. “My pleasure.”

Cuddy had slipped up beside Emmy. “What are we sharing, and where’s my part?” he demanded with his usual charm.

Leaning past Emmy to see him, Diego snorted. “Nothing I haven’t offered you a dozen times before.”

“He was reciting his mother’s lessons for me,” Emmy said. “About the seasons.”

Cuddy rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. Winter is death and all of that drivel. Aren’t you two depressed enough?”

Diego shared a glance with Emmy. “We were feeling better until you came along.”

Cuddy flashed a grin. “Nonsense. I bring light and joy wherever I go.”

Diego groaned and waved his hat at an approaching rider. The man trotted the rest of the way and pulled up alongside them. “We’d better decide where we want to rest and water the horses. About another hour is all I’d want to push them.”

Diego glanced at Emmy. By the skeptical look on his face, he was thinking an hour was all she could take, too. He turned to the man. “We’re almost to Buck Campbell’s place. Spread the word that we’ll pull in there.”

Exhausted, Magda dozed, waking up each time her head lolled to the side. She awoke for good to find the surrounding brush alive with the sounds of approaching nightfall. Filled with dread, she willed with all her might for John to ride out of the shadows on Faron, a doctor close on his heels.

Straining to see Willem’s features in the last faint traces of light, she scooted around to lay her head on his chest. His torso rose and fell too fast and his heart beat in time with the crickets. She’d been trickling water into his mouth in small amounts so he wouldn’t choke, and she thought he might have swallowed some.

Lifting her head, she peered into the crowding darkness. Benito and Juan lurked nearby speaking Spanish in hushed voices. Her eyes on them seemed to make up their minds, and they sprang into action, scurrying to set up camp for the night. Carl hopped from one to the other, trying to keep up with the orders they barked.

Beside her, Bertha swatted a swarm of mosquitoes from her face. “We need to pull our beds closer to the fire tonight. Might help to keep these infernal pests away.”

Frustration threatened to smother Magda. “Stop it, all of you!”

Bertha stilled. The men paused mid-stride and gaped at her.

“Stop making camp. We won’t be spending the night here.” Tears stung her eyes. “John Rawson will ride up any minute with that doctor. Then we’ll be taking my husband home.”

Benito bowed. “Sí, Señora Dane.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugged at Juan and sat down in front of the fire.

Bertha nodded at the men. “We’ll wait just a while longer, if you fellers don’t mind.” Patting Magda’s leg to soften her determined words, she added, “If he’s not here soon, we’ll have no choice but to go to bed. I suspect there’s a long day ahead for all of us.”