Kid Calhoun (39 page)

“Go ahead and get yourself killed, then!” she had ranted. “I don’t care. But be sure to tell your people what is to become of me when you are gone. I won’t be some other Apache buck’s woman! I couldn’t bear it!”

Wolf had taken her then and laid her under him and thrust himself inside her. “You are
my
woman,” he had said fiercely. “If another man touches you I will kill him!”

Claire was panting as she arched her body into his and fisted her hands in his long black hair. “Be careful, Wolf. I don’t want to lose you.” It was as close as she had come to telling him that she cared for him.

Wolf had filled her with his seed and held her tight against him throughout the night. He hadn’t made any promises about being careful, and he had dared her to say anything when he rode out the next morning on another raid. She had looked up into his eyes as he left her and let him see the love she felt for him. He had simply turned away from her and kicked his pony into a gallop.

Deep in thought, Claire wandered toward the pond. As she became aware of her surroundings, she heard the sounds of water splashing and children shrieking. Only she realized it wasn’t children—it was one child. And he was shrieking in terror.

Claire dropped the basket of mesquite beans and raced for the pond. What she saw when she arrived confirmed her worst fears. He Makes Trouble was thrashing in the water, clearly unable to keep himself afloat. The other boys were standing by watching.

She was tempted to jump in after him, but she had no idea how deep the water was, and she couldn’t swim. “Help him!” she cried.

The Apache boys looked back at her with disdain. They continued hurling jeers and insults at the struggling child.

Apparently this was some sort of test, only if He Makes Trouble flunked, it was going to mean his life. Claire couldn’t stand by and do nothing. She began searching for a branch to hold out for the boy to grab onto. But there was nothing long enough.

At last she turned to her son and cried, “Jeffrey, please. You can’t let him drown!”

White Eagle turned his back on her. But he said to
the other boys, “Perhaps He Makes Trouble is too young to learn this. We will let him grow a little, eh?”

The other boys looked at each other. None had been willing to admit they had made a mistake, but now that White Eagle had suggested it, they all seemed more than willing to consider rescuing He Makes Trouble. Only when they looked at the thrashing boy, the idea of jumping into the water with him seemed more dangerous than they had bargained for.

Claire was on the verge of leaping into the frigid water herself when Wolf suddenly appeared. He took stock of the situation, and a moment later He Makes Trouble was standing beside her choking and gasping as he tried to rid himself of the water he had swallowed. Wolf only had to give the other boys a look before they scattered without a word, leaving Claire and He Makes Trouble alone with him on the bank of the pond.

“They would have let him drown!” Claire said to Wolf. “They wouldn’t have lifted a finger to save him!”

“An Apache boy must learn to do many things,” Wolf said. “Swimming is but one of them.”

“But surely he doesn’t have to learn so young!”

Wolf shrugged. “A boy is usually older,” Wolf said. “But the lessons are the same.”

“Aha!” Claire said. “So there are
lessons
involved. What were those boys thinking to just throw him in there?”

“They were only playing,” Wolf said, his voice becoming harder as Claire continued her tirade. “And He Makes Trouble has learned a lesson.”

“What lesson?” Claire demanded.

Wolf looked down at the soaking-wet child. He put a finger under He Makes Trouble’s chin and lifted it until the boy was forced to meet his gaze. “What did you learn today, He Makes Trouble?”

The Apache child blinked the water from his eyelashes and said, “Not to stand too close to the water. To kick my feet to stay afloat. And not to trust anyone.”

Wolf turned to meet Claire’s stricken eyes. “See. He has learned many good lessons.”

“Not to trust—”

“It is a good lesson,” Wolf said in a harsh voice. “So also did I learn.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief. No wonder Wolf had never said anything about his feelings for her. He would never trust her enough to give her his heart. She felt a sinking feeling in her chest. “Come, He Makes Trouble, I will find something for you to do while you dry off.”

She walked away and left Wolf standing there.

Later, when she thought about it, Claire realized that something good had come from the afternoon’s events. White Eagle hadn’t acknowledged her existence, but he had made the effort to turn the other boys from their ridicule of He Makes Trouble. He had heard her. And he had responded to her.

Hope
. She had thought she had given up on her son. But now she realized she hadn’t. That she never would. Someday Jeffrey would come to her, and they would speak together of the past. And perhaps then she could put it behind her.

Wolf came to her that night without apology for what he had revealed to her about himself earlier in the day. He could not allow himself to trust her—or anyone. Trust would only bring pain.

It was better to take each day as it came. To bury himself deep inside her, to take pleasure from her body and give it in return. He had learned not to depend on someone else for his happiness. He did not think he could survive it if this woman offered happiness only to snatch it away later.

The long winter nights passed slowly. Two lonely people found surcease from pain in each other’s arms. But it was stolen pleasure, because at any moment, both of them expected it to melt away like the snows in spring.

It was a spring that came before either of them was ready for it. Even if they hadn’t been expecting the worst, neither of them could have foreseen the events that would finally tear them apart.

Spring came too soon for Wolf. He had hoped that Claire would be with child. She was not. Though he had kept her in his blanket through the long winter nights, his seed had not found fertile ground. He could not look at her without wanting her. He had learned to admire her good sense, her willingness to work, and her sharp tongue when she saw some wrong she hoped to right. He had been careful to say nothing of his feelings for her. They were so strong that they frightened him.

He thought perhaps she cared for him a little. One night over the winter she had become so aroused that during their lovemaking she had cried out the Apache words for “I love you!”

She had not said them again. He was afraid to let himself believe it, lest it be not true. She had the power to destroy him, if she only knew it. He was loathe to offer her a part of himself for fear it would not be enough. He had vowed as a young man to always walk his path alone. Now he did not know how to go any other way.

He kept thinking Little One would suddenly come to her senses and see what others had seen all his life.
That he was not worthy of the love and attention that
she had bestowed upon him
. So he pretended he had not heard her say the words of caring. He had kept his soul apart from her. He had remained safe. And though he had not been alone, he had felt a desolation of the spirit that made him want to howl like the lone wolf he was named for.

The camp was still mostly asleep when Wolf left his wickiup to escape the heartstrings that bound him to the woman and small boy asleep inside. It was getting harder to say even to himself that he did not care. It was time to admit, at last, that he loved them both.

He had not gone very far from the wickiup when he noticed how quiet it was. He searched the terrain for signs of an enemy, but saw none. Neither did he see the Apache lookout who should have been on the far ridge. Wolf froze where he was and turned his face to the wind.

And smelled death.

“Soldiers.” He could smell the stink of their unwashed bodies, the sweat dried on their horses’ flanks, and the fear in their hearts.

He walked quickly, but without running, from one wickiup to another. In this case the distance between each dwelling was a severe disadvantage. As he awoke each warrior, they also went to wake others. Soon the whole village was aroused, and yet the attack had not come. Once everyone was alerted, Wolf returned to his wickiup to wake Little One and He Makes Trouble.

Claire immediately sensed the tension in Wolf when he roughly shook her awake. As he began collecting his weapons—his war club, his bow and arrows, and his knife, she knew something was very wrong.

“Are we being attacked?”

“Soldiers. Take He Makes Trouble and go up into the hills and hide. You will be safe there.”

“Surely they wouldn’t harm me,” she protested.

He gave her a piercing look. “They would take you away from here. Is that what you want?”

There it was. The moment of truth and no time to think what was right or wrong.

“Go!” Wolf said, allowing her no time to answer. “I will find you when the battle is over.”

“Be careful!” she whispered as she helped him slip his quiver over his shoulder.

Wolf stopped long enough to kiss her hard. “You are precious to me,” he said. “Run fast, Little One. Take care of yourself and He Makes Trouble.”

When he released her they both realized at the same moment that He Makes Trouble was no longer in the wickiup.

“Ahagake!”

Claire had never heard Wolf use that Apache expression, but she knew what it meant well enough. Wolf had taken as much as he could stand. The boy was incorrigible.

“Don’t worry about He Makes Trouble,” Claire said. “I’ll find him, and we’ll go hide in the hills. Go now. Go!”

Wolf seemed torn, but at last he turned away from her. A moment later he had disappeared into the rocky terrain.

Claire heard a pepper of shots, the screams of wounded men, and the bloodcurdling yells of attacking Indians. Then, suddenly, everything was bedlam. Blue-coated soldiers were riding pell mell through the village, shooting at anything that moved—women and children included.

“Stop shooting!” Claire shouted at them in English. “You’re killing women and children!”

The soldiers ignored her. Whether from fear or bloodlust, they ransacked the village, setting fire to the wickiups and skewering or shooting any Indians they could find.

Frantic, Claire searched the melee for He Makes Trouble—and found him standing beside Wolf, his tiny bow drawn with a wooden arrow nocked in it. Then, before her horrified eyes, a blossom of red appeared at Wolf’s temple. A second later she saw He Makes Trouble clubbed to the ground with the butt of a rifle.

“Nooooo!” She staggered in the direction of their fallen bodies, but she hadn’t gone four steps when two small hands grabbed her buckskin skirt and dragged her to a standstill.

“Come with me!”

It was Jeff. He had spoken to her in English. He let go of her skirt and grabbed her arm, pulling her in the direction of the hills and safety.

“The horses are not far from here. Come with me.”

“But Wolf … and He Makes Trouble.”

White Eagle looked over to where the two lay motionless on the ground. “You cannot help them now. We must escape or be killed. Come!”

“But, Jeff—”

“My name is White Eagle,” he said fiercely. “My father is fighting the white soldiers. My mother has fled to the hills to hide until it is safe to come back here. I have come only to help you leave this place unharmed.”

Jeff had come to save her, even though he still denied being her son. Dazed, Claire followed where Jeff led, ran until her side ached, until her legs protested and threatened to buckle. At last they reached the isolated canyon where the horses were hidden. He quickly bridled two ponies, helped her up onto the back of one and easily mounted the other.

“Where are we going?” Claire asked.

“I will take you back to your people,” White Eagle said. “I will take you back where you belong.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“I journeyed there once with Broken Foot. He showed me where I came from.”

“You can find your way back—could have found your way back at any time?” Claire asked incredulously.

“I have known the way for many moons,” he answered ruthlessly.

Claire was numb through most of the long ride back to Window Rock. Her son had known how to come home, and yet he had stayed among the Apache.

“Why?” she asked finally. “Why didn’t you come home when you could? Why did you deny me when I came to the village?”

“My other life is behind me,” he said quietly. “I am of The People now. I was afraid you would try to take me away from my mother and father. I would not be happy living among the white man now. I would rather be Apache.”

It was a tragic ending to all her hopes. Her son had made his choice. Claire could perhaps force him to stay with her, but she didn’t have the heart to do it. She wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. In truth, she didn’t think so. This was a tragedy that had started long before Claire had come to New Mexico. A tragedy that had begun when the white man settled on lands that had once belonged to the Indian.