Harvest of Fury (23 page)

Some would leave, probably, but others would make up for that by marrying new people. Cat wondered again whom she herself would marry.

Lt. Claybourne Frazier was certainly handsome and gallant. Assigned to Camp Crittenden, founded in 1867 close to where old Fort Buchanan had been, the young cavalry officer stopped at the ranch more often than could possibly be necessary. Several times, off duty, he'd gone riding with Cat, her brothers, and Miguel's wife, Juriana.

Now there was a proper romance! The French had invaded Mexico beginning in the winter of 1861–62, took Mexico City in June 1863, forced President Benito Juárez to flee, and installed Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, as emperor in 1864. Fierce fighting continued, however, and when the French landed troops at Guaymas in 1865 and began overrunning Sonora, Governor Pesqueira refuged at Calabazas, where he was shown every courtesy by the commander of Fort Mason, the new post above Pete Kitchen's ranch that had replaced the makeshift one at Tubac.

After listening to stories of French atrocities in what had, after all, been his mother's homeland, seventeen-year-old Patrick, who was spoiling for a fight anyway, declared that he was going south to help the loyal Sonorans battle the invaders and conservatives who'd joined with the Imperialists. Miguel thought he was quite mad but, when all arguments failed, fatalistically went with his twin. Belen had asked them, if they were near Alamos, to ask at the nearby Tres Lobos mine for his brother, Juan Leyva.

The twins, with a few of Pesqueira's more militant followers, got to Alamos, their mother's old home, in time to fight in Gen. Antonio Rosales's desperate attempt to retake the old city against tremendous odds. The general and a third of his men were killed.

The survivors retreated, but they were back in a few months with Gen. Angel Martinez. His cavalry and machete-wielding soldiers took the city and pressed on. By mid-September of 1866, the French garrison at Guaymas had sailed off, leaving the Mexican Imperialists to die or make peace. Though it would be February of 1867 before, under extreme U.S. pressure, all French troops left the country, and June when poor, proud, foolish Maximilian died before a firing squad, fighting ended in Sonora that bloody September of 1866.

Even Patrick had had more than his fill of fighting. The twins started home but stopped at the Tres Lobos mine to inquire for Belen's brother.

Juan Leyva had died in a mine accident several years before, but his daughter Juriana was constantly harassed by the mineowner's son, who thought any pretty Yaqui girl should be honored by his attentions.

Miguel, usually so calm, had come upon the young dandy trying to force the girl. Without even knowing who she was, Miguel had, with furious, quiet efficiency, beaten her attacker senseless. They knew there would be trouble when he crawled home, so the twins decided to leave at once, asking Juriana to give Juan Leyva a message. That was when they learned that he was dead and that they'd saved his daughter.

Then Miguel, usually so cautious and controlled, had asked her to come with them and marry him as soon as they were past the vengeance of the mineowner. Juriana looked at the stranger, took a long, deep breath, and put her life and happiness in his hands. She stopped only long enough to say good-bye to her dead mother's
comadre
, with whom she lived, and tell her where she was going. They'd been married in Hermosillo. Juriana would have to stop riding before, much longer. She was expecting their first child.

It was probably a good thing they'd married in Mexico, for Arizona law forbade marriage with an Indian, Negro, or Oriental. Marc, a delegate to the first territorial legislature, thought it a bad law and had opposed it then as well as trying to get it repealed last time he served, the year before.

The kindest view of most of his fellow legislators was that a foreigner didn't understand the dangers of miscegenation. When Marc pointed out that alliances took place anyway and the children were entitled to protection, he was hooted down and asked if he had his eye on some squaw. He trounced the questioner after adjournment, but the law remained.

Miguel and Juriana would probably stay at the ranch, where they occupied Shea's old room, but Patrick was getting restless. Marc had taught him a lot about geology and mining, and he was talking of prospecting that fall in the mountains east of the San Patricio mine, shrugging at reminders that the Apaches in those parts were as predatory as ever.

“If Tom Jeffords could make friends with Cochise, maybe I can, too,” he grinned irrepressibly.

Jeffords was superintendent of the stage line that carried military mail between Fort Bowie and Tucson. After repeated attacks on his men and himself, he'd decided to seek Cochise out and ask if he'd let the mail service operate in peace. Cochise must have been astounded at the bravery of Jeffords in coming alone. After deliberating a day, he'd told Jeffords his men would be allowed to pass unharmed; and, almost incredibly, his word had been kept.

“Besides, wasn't I carried in Mangus's cradleboard?” Patrick demanded, eyes dancing.

“So was I,” retorted Miguel. “But it didn't turn me loco!”

“You're just jealous because Juri won't let you come,” Patrick taunted. “Never mind. I'll take Cinco and we'll find our fortune while you're cutting calves and fighting screwworms.”

Cinco, fourteen now, had worked at the spring branding and was due again that fall. Since their return from Sonora, he'd become good friends with both his half brothers, often went hunting with them, and silently worshiped Cat in a way she found disconcerting.

He
was
her brother, as much as James was Talitha's, but she'd only seen him a few times before that spring. The shy little boy she remembered who'd given her his blue bird and whistle seemed entirely different from the tall boy who had Tjúni's coloring but his father's cast of feature and slim, muscular build.

I've changed, too
, thought Cat, peering into the mirror as she brushed her hair. Tally said her hair was as black and soft as Socorro's, her eyes as blue-gray as Shea's. The hair dipped in a widow's peak which, with her delicately pointed chin, gave her a heart-shaped face. A rather short nose and prominent cheekbones made her, she thought, somewhat resemble a cat. Maybe it wasn't a pretty face, but she comforted herself that it was at least unusual and she had nice teeth and skin.

She smiled slowly, trying to guess what the effect would be on Lieutenant Frazier. That made her wonder what Jordan, Talitha's young uncle, would think if he could see her primping, and
that
made her stick out her tongue, then whirl from the mirror at Sewa's giggle.

“So you're awake!” Swooping down on the nine-year-old, Cat hugged and shook her. “Are you going up the hill with me?”

Sewa nodded, slipping her narrow feet out of bed, taking off her nightgown, and wriggling into a cotten dress. Her father, Santiago, lay beside Cat's parents, and for several years now the younger girl had made the early-morning journey with Cat. Poor Lonnie, beneath the fourth cross, had no children, but perhaps he knew that Talitha had planted wild roses on his grave.

And Santiago. From things Talitha had said, Cat was positive that he'd loved Socorro. Did he know that his daughter, with eyes as golden as his own, knelt at his resting place and prayed for his peace?

Cat sat between her mother's grave and her father's cross. Silently, she remembered all she knew about them, things she would pass on to her children and their children of this man and woman who had loved each other so much that the tall, red-haired Irishman's heart had gone into the grave with his wife.

You're together now
, Cat thought.
Please help me to be kind and brave and loving as you both were
. Then she didn't think anymore but was simply with them as the early sun warmed the hill.

Sixteen was grown up and she hadn't expected big presents, or many of them, but when breakfast passed and dinner with only smiled “Happy birthdays,” Cat began to feel a bit subdued. It wasn't that a present had to be expensive, imported from San Francisco or the East. But not to get anything …

Chiding her disappointment, she spent the afternoon gathering hackberries and squawberries with Sewa, Talitha, and Paulita. She was washing the stickiness of squawberries off her hands when Sewa called. “Come out to the corral, Cati! Jordan has something to show you.”

Jordan? This younger half brother of Talitha's father was twenty-five but he seemed much older. Coming out from Iowa three years ago, he'd first worked on his brother's ranch on the Verde River in central Arizona, had decided he'd like to see more of the territory before he settled, and had come to work at the Socorro a little over a year ago.

Beyond the fact that he wasn't a Mormon like Jared Scott, Cat knew little about him. He spoke even less than Miguel, though he took in everything that was said. More than once Cat had broken off in confusion when, in the midst of some rash or joking declaration, she'd found his contemplative hazel eyes watching her, his mouth curved in faint amusement.

At such times she felt younger than Sewa and smarted at what she took for patronizing indulgence. He wasn't
that
much older! Now, surrounded by the vaqueros, their families, the twins, and Marc and Talitha, Jordan held the reins of a glorious blood-bay gelding, smoothing his neck, talking to him gently. It was a marvel to the ranch folk that an Iowa farm boy was so skillful with horses. He must have bartered with someone, perhaps one of the officers at the camp, for Cat had never seen this horse, or one of his exact coloring, a rich brown-red so dark it was almost black, on the ranch.

“What a beauty!” She spoke softly to the gelding. Only when he seemed to accept her did she smooth his muzzle, pat his strong-muscled neck. “Where'd you get him, Jordan?”

“Bought him from a Kentuckian who needed a stake for prospecting. How do you like him?”

“He's marvelous!” She flushed, then glanced quickly from beneath her lashes to see if Jordan had that odious smile. He didn't; he was truly laughing and for once looked as young as he was, sun turning his brown hair almost red. “What are you going to call him?”

“Sangre might be good. It means fire and spirit as well as blood.”

Her eyes widened as she noticed the saddle. The horn was inlaid with silver, and so were the rigging buttons and rings. The bullnose tapaderos fastened to the stirrups were tooled in a rose design to match the work on the skirts. The headstall of the bridle was silver-mounted, and silver conchos flashed as Jordan put the reins in Cat's hands.

“He's from all of us. The saddle and bridle are from Marc, Talitha, and your brothers. Happy sixteenth birthday, Caterina.”

“Happy birthday!” the others chorused.

Cat's chest tightened. And she'd thought they'd overlooked her birthday! “He's too beautiful!” Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “And the saddle! It's too much!”

“I thought so.” Patrick grinned, tweaking a lock of her hair. “But then Miguel pointed out that you've never had a new saddle and your present hand-me-down's close to falling apart.”

Miguel nodded. “It's time you turned Mancha out to grass. She's as old as you are!”

Cat ignored their teasing. “Sangre!” she whispered, caressing him. “Beautiful blood-bay
caballo!
”

“Get your guitar, Chuey!” called Patrick. “She's going to make up a song to him!”

“I've worked him with a blanket,” Jordan said. “He won't shy at your skirts. And he handles light, seems to read your mind. Of course, he's used to English words. Cluck and he starts. Whoa and he stops.”

Cat glanced at Talitha and Anita. “May I? Just a short ride?”

Anita chuckled. “Didn't I know you'd have to have your gallop? Supper will wait—but not too long.”

Besides her beloved Mancha, Cat had ridden dozens of horses, but she was awed by Sangre. “Please love me,” she murmured in his ear. “You deserve the best rider in the world,
un vaquero muy grande
, but I'll be very good to you!”

Kilting her skirts, she mounted as decorously as possible. He turned at the shift of her weight and the pressure of her legs, appearing not to need even a touch of the rein on his neck, and paced springingly along the trail down to the creek, one ear and eye watching ahead, the others directed toward her to pick up her intentions. Because of the way a horse's eyes set, he can see in all directions and each eye works independently. Belen said it was nature's way of protecting him from enemies coming up from behind.

When they were a little used to each other, she rose slightly, leaning a bit forward. He skimmed into a smooth lope that ate the distance. Oh, to ride like this, on such a horse, wind stinging his mane against her face! There was no finer, better way to be sixteen.

“Ah,
mi caballo!
” she called to him, laughing joyously. “We'll travel many miles together, many years!” She thought to herself that she must have been crazy that morning to wonder whom she was going to marry. Who wanted to trade such freedom for keeping house for a man?

Reluctantly turning home, Cat insisted on rubbing Sangre down herself and giving him grain in a nosebag. Sighing happily, she watched him lie down in the dust and roll vigorously before he rose and trotted off.

Jordan and Belen, who'd apparently waited for her, smiled at her praises for Sangre and walked with her to the house, where they all washed at the bench outside before entering the big kitchen.

“I'm glad you like the horse,” Jordan said, handing her a clean corner of the coarse towel. “He's been well trained but has all his spirit.”

Cat nodded somewhat ruefully. “He's much too wonderful for me.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan frowned.

She had to think a moment. “I won't need all the things he can do—won't use him till he really has to try, the way a vaquero would.”