Harvest of Fury (21 page)

Marc's face tightened at the extreme friendliness, but he got down. The awkwardness in his right leg turned into a limp when he walked. Not much worse than Santiago's; certainly nothing to keep him from his old business. He grinned at Patrick, who had taken the reins, and glanced from him to Miguel with an astounded whistle as he shook their hands.

“A little over two years and you've grown like this! And Caterina! You're almost a young lady.” He bent for her eager hug and kiss and swept Sewa onto his shoulder. “I guess you're the only one I can still carry, Little Flower!” he said.

This was the way Shea should have come home. A pang twisted through Talitha's joy at seeing Marc, but abated in gratitude that at least this beloved man was safe, back from the war.

Supper was festive. Besides flavorsome tamales steaming in their cornhusks, there was wild turkey stewed with spices, beans, squash, panocha, and, as always, quantities of Carmencita's tender, thin tortillas. Though the vaqueros must have been amazed at Frost's cordiality to Marc, they were too courteous to show it. Marc remembered all of them and the women, had a word for each of the children, and remarked how wonderful it was to find the ranch unmolested.

“There's not a mile of the road between Tucson and Calabazas that doesn't have a grave or more,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm surprised there are any white people left in the territory.”

“Well, there are, with more coming,” said Frost. “Tucson's booming because the posts and forts have to be supplied, and miners are thick along the Colorado. It's hard times now; Marc, but those that stick it out will profit when the war's over and the country settles up.”

“It won't settle much till Apaches and bandits stop raiding.”

“They'll, stop. My good friend General Carleton is killing off New Mexican Indians that won't go to the reservation, and the same thing'll be done here when enough troops can be spared.”

Marc said slowly, “I suppose it must be. Free Apaches will raid and loot and kill. Yet to cage them is cruel, like caging hawks. It was shameful how Mangus was done to death.”

Frost's lip curled. “Tell that to any survivors of the hundreds of people he killed!”

Not replying to that, Marc asked where James was.

Talitha winced. “Last December he took some cattle to the Indians. He hasn't come back.”

“We can only hope he wasn't killed with much of Mangus's family right after the chief's murder,” Frost said, putting a comforting hand over Talitha's.

Tensing with a hatred turned more bitter and corrosive by her helplessness and his fakery, Talitha kept her eyes down so they wouldn't betray her to Marc. If he suspected how things were, he'd get himself killed, and that would help no one.

He was watching her, his steadiness as calming as the reliability of a massive, ageless rock. “I'm sorry, Talitha,” he said at last. “I will hunt your brother if you wish.”

“No! You'd be killed or lost. I—I've made up my mind that unless James comes home, I'll probably never see him again—”

“Never?” wailed Cat, putting down her spoon as if her panocha had turned to sawdust. “Oh, Tally, he has to come back! He has to!”

So, though she no longer mourned for him openly, the child still missed him desperately. Jarred, frightened at Cat's intensity, Talitha said, “I hope he will, too, Cat.”

“If he knew how much we love him—”

“He has other half brothers and sisters with the Apaches, honey. He lived with them half his life. They must love him, too. Anyway, James has to decide.”

Cat pushed away from the table and mumbled an excuse as she fled. Sewa slipped away from the younger children's table and padded after her.

“Poor Katie-Cat!” said Miguel. “It's too bad one of us twins wasn't James. I think she cares more about him than both of us together.”

Let her be happier than I have been
, Talitha besought the spirits of Socorro and Judith, her own mother. It might be pagan, but she appealed to them as guardians who might have influence with God or whatever powers moved the world. And yet often she had been happy, even before that last rapturous night when Shea finally accepted her love.

No, she'd never complain of loving Shea or think that love wasted. The cruel horror was her marriage to Judah Frost, made infinitely worse now that Marc had returned. She could see in his eyes that he still loved her, that he wouldn't have been too proud to accept what, after Shea, she could give a man, cherish it to fullness.

After supper, Frost, Marc, Belen, the twins, and Talitha took seats in the
sala
. Frost produced cigars and condescended to offer one to Belen, who politely refused, as did Marc, though they accepted glasses of Scotch and water.

For a time, Frost, like an indulgent stepfather, let the boys ply Marc with questions, puffing reflectively on his fine cigar; but when he rose to pour second drinks, he said amiably, “That's enough, boys. Marc's tired. We must let him turn in before long, but I do have important business to discuss with him first.”

Patrick sighed, getting reluctantly to his feet. “Man! Those ‘pin' Cherokees can really fight! If the war lasts another year or two, we can go, Miguel.”

Miguel stared at him. “
Caray!
On which side do we fight, then? For the South and slavery? For the North, which put a brand on our father?”

Patrick's jaw dropped. With a wave of amused sadness, Talitha was sure that which side to take had never entered his head. Battles were going on, opportunities to prove courage and become a man.

“You look so far ahead you'll never do anything,” he grumbled.

“I won't blunder over a cliff, either.” Miguel grinned, unruffled. He followed Patrick's impulsive lead when he saw no obstacle. When he had an objection, however, he was immovable, and his twin, fuming, reluctant, would usually give way. “Father's dead, Patrick. We have to act like men and take the load off Tally.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Don't talk about me as if I were a worn-out mule!”

“No,
madama
.” Miguel bowed with a gallant, if teasing, flourish. “Nevertheless, be assured that I won't leave you to hold off brigands and Apaches by yourself.”

“Neither would I,” growled Patrick, punching his twin. They went out, scuffling. Belen, too, said his good nights, casting Talitha a questioning look.

She nodded. “Good night.”

“Fine lads.” Marc smiled. “A shame neither of their parents will see them grown up.”

Frost cleared his throat. “I know you're weary, Marc, but this won't take long. You're the best superintendent and geologist I've ever known. The Tecolote needs a strong hand to get it in good running order, and I'm sure I'll find more mines in that region. If you'll work for me, I'll give you ten percent of the profits and two hundred dollars a month.”

Marc didn't even consider it. “Thanks, but I have other plans.”

“Fifteen percent?”

Marc flushed. “Your offer's very generous. It's just that after two years in the army I want to be my own boss.”

“Doing what?” Frost persisted.

“I'm not sure.” Talitha, with a flash of insight, knew that he hadn't planned his future too much beyond coming to her. “I might go into ranching. Or try my luck prospecting.”

Expelling a ring of smoke, Frost studied his cigar. “There's no way to persuade you?”

“Sorry.” Marc grinned, looking younger. “Guess I have the American fever. I want to work for myself.”

“But you'd have worked for Talitha. Wouldn't you, Marc?” Frost tossed his cigar in the fireplace, and though his tone stayed soft, it was ugly. “If you'd found her manless, you'd have tried to fill that place. And we all know what your pay would have been.”

Marc went rigid. “It's no secret that I'd have married Talitha long ago if she'd have had me. I don't understand you, Judah.”

“Well, understand this, you sneaking foreigner! I'll bet you're not crippled in the place that counts, but I'll remedy that pronto if I catch you hanging around my wife!”

Talitha sprang up. “Judah! Are you crazy?”

His arm moved back. He would have struck her except for Marc's grasping his elbow, swinging the arm back till Frost snarled and reached inside his vest. Talitha kicked up, knocking from his fingers the little derringer with which he'd murdered Santiago. At the same moment Marc sent a doubled fist into Frost's jaw with all his weight behind it.

Frost slipped to the floor. Marc rubbed his knuckles and gave Talitha a bewildered glance. “I'm sorry, Tally. But I couldn't let him hit you.”

She longed to get her horse and ride off with him, far from this hated man. But there were the children, there was the ranch. And Marc, for his own safety, mustn't guess how it was with her and Frost. Coldly, she said, “I'm sure your intentions were good, but you really mustn't interfere between Judah and me. He was fearfully disappointed when you wouldn't take over the mine. At such times, he's not quite himself.”

“Tally!”

“I'm sorry to ask you to ride on, but anything else would be very awkward.”

“But you helped me!”

“Certainly. Do you think I wanted to see my husband kill an old friend?”

Marc shook his head in agonized bafflement. “Tally, why are you acting Like this? How can I leave, knowing he'll punish you?”

“I can handle Judah,” she assured the man she loved. “He doesn't beat me, don't think that. It was just that tonight he was so angry—”

“You want to live with him?” Contempt edged Marc's voice. “I'll leave you in peace, then. Good-bye, Talitha.”

With tremendous effort she kept her arms at her sides, bit back the flood of words that wanted to flow from her. “Good-bye, Marc. God go with you.”

He stared at her across her husband's body. To kiss him once, rest in his arms—what wouldn't she give for even that much? But she watched him coldly. With a harsh laugh, Marc picked up his hat and limped out through the kitchen.

She heard Belen speak to him in the courtyard. Good. The vaquero would catch his mount, see that he was supplied. But her heart ached that, exhausted and thinking her bought by Frost's wealth and charm, he must journey off alone into the night. It was a wretched homecoming.

Frost stirred and groaned. She went for water, slipping the derringer into her bodice. If Frost tried to go after Marc, she'd shoot him and take the consequences.

He was on his feet when she came back with cloths and a basin of water. He knocked them out of her hands. “I can do without your solicitude, you treacherous bitch! You've only postponed things. I'll settle that crip in good time. Let him get a start, think he's getting somewhere, and then …” He laughed ferociously, set his hands at the neck of Talitha's dress, and ripped it to the hem.

The derringer fell to the floor. Talitha reached for it, too furious to care what happened to her if she could just be rid of him. He palmed the gun, then lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

Anything he'd done to her before was nothing to what she endured that night. And all the time, Marc was riding away, thinking she preferred this devil to him!

XII

Belen's explanation that Marc had been too restless to sleep and had decided to push on made the vaqueros' eyes go politely blank. Nor did anyone mention the bruised swelling on Frost's jaw. No one could see Talitha's bruises, the marks of his teeth and fingers on her body. She ached when she walked or sat or rode, constantly reminded of the savage uses he'd put her to.

This couldn't go on. She'd rather die than live like this. It would be a good bargain, if she could first kill Judah Frost. But if she were gone, what would happen to the children? Who'd hold the ranch together till the boys could take over?

A few more years, she concluded dully. Somehow, some way, she must manage that long.

That week, the culls went to market at Tubac. Lonnie, who was helping herd the cattle, asked if, after they were disposed of, he might take a week or so off.

“Saw some of Pete Kitchen's Opatas last week on the southwest range,” he said with a mysterious grin. “They tell some interestin' stories. Since the cow work'll be slack for a while, ma'am, I'd purely like to mosey over to those mountains south of Yuma and have a look.”

“Gold?” asked Frost with carelessness that was a little too elaborate.

Lonnie shrugged. “That's what the Opatas say.”

“Whereabouts?”

Lonnie looked uncomfortable. “Oh, somewheres along the Devil's Road.”

“That's a long road, son.” Frost's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Dangerous to travel alone.”

“Reckon I can take care of myself,” Lonnie replied. As if enthusiasm overwhelmed caution, he added, “There's an old mission in the dunes. Most of the time it's covered with sand.”

“The Mission of the Four Evangelists?” Frost asked.

“That's it.”

Regretfully, Frost shook his head. “I fear Kitchen's Opatas were just spinning you a tale, lad.”

“Sounded real to me,” maintained Lonnie. “You follow the wash from Tinajas Altas, west, to a cone-shaped mountain with a dry riverbed running past. Down the river and west, is the mission—when it's not blown over with sand.”

“No place to go alone,” Frost said positively. “If thirst doesn't get you, Areneños will. Listen, I have to go to Yuma Crossing and don't mind detouring a bit. If there
is
, as rumors go, a store of gold and silver, I'll detail some trusted men from my freight company to pack it out, and we'll split. Isn't that better than getting killed trying to get it out by yourself?”

Lonnie considered. “Reckon so,” he said finally. “The Opatas didn't want the gold themselves because they think the dead guard it, but I'm less scared of the dead than of them Areneños, which are supposed to be poison mean!”