The Captive Heart (21 page)

As they got closer the old man spotted Domingo and his leather face broke into a wide toothless grin.

Slowly, Domingo swung down from his horse and greeted the man with a hug. They talked for a few minutes like old friends, but in a harsh language, different from Spanish.

“I couldn't understand much of what he tried to tell me,” Jake said, still mounted on his horse. “My Spanish and his Spanish are like two different languages.”

Domingo laughed. “You're right. Señor Navarro and his wife are Nahua. They speak Spanish only a little better than you, and it is colored with Nahuatl. But he says his wife has a pot of beans cooking in the summer kitchen, and she will make dinner for us.”

Señora Navarro fed the fugitives tortillas and beans spiced with some kind of peppers that were almost too hot for Rachel and Jake. Then she tended Domingo's wounds and made him drink a strange yellow concoction that seemed to put life back into him. They spent an hour talking around the table in the Navarros' little thatch-roofed hovel, and then she made up pallets for them all.

It was the first time Rachel had felt safe since leaving home nearly a week ago. She lay down on the straw pallet and fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chapter 30

S
he awakened at the first crowing of a rooster in the dark predawn hours and found the old woman already cooking tortillas. Señora Navarro told her in broken Spanish that Jake was out fetching water and Domingo was in the corral saddling the horses, anxious to get under way.

They left the Navarro ranch in the pink and gray hour of dawn with a bellyful of tortillas and beans that, under the circumstances, seemed like a feast.

Two hours later, when the sun had climbed high into a bright blue sky, they had already cleared the next mountaintop and started down into another of the endless valleys when they heard the distant echo of gunfire. A lot of it.

Domingo stopped his horse and gazed back up the slope.

“That came from behind us,” he said. “The Navarros.”

Jake's horse pawed the ground impatiently. “El Pantera?”

“Sí. Who else could it be? They will know we spent the night at the farm, and we are not very far in front of them.”

Horrified, Rachel's eyes filled with tears. “Would the bandits really shoot those old people? Just for helping us?”

Domingo shook his head. “No. El Pantera knows the Navarros, and there are things even he will not do. He would not kill a couple of old campesinos, especially if they are Nahua, but he would slaughter their goats and chickens so that next time they will think twice about aiding his enemies. Those who help us will pay a high price. Remember this.”

He spurred his horse down through the forest, picking up the pace, his eyes focused on the trail ahead. Domingo had been more like himself this morning, leading Rachel to believe there must be something to the old woman's home remedies, only now he seemed more intense, more worried than ever. She caught up with him as they trotted around rocks and trees.

“Domingo, are they going to catch up with us?”

“I don't know. But their horses are used to these passes and ours are not. They can push those ponies very hard when they want to, and we are still a long way from home. We must hurry.”

Domingo kept up the pace all day, driving as hard as he dared, stopping only to let the horses water when they crossed a stream. Jake and Rachel ate while they rode, gnawing on strips of dried smoke-cured meat Señora Navarro had given them. Rachel was pretty sure it was goat jerky. Jake must have known what she was thinking because once, after wrenching a bite from the end of a tough strip, he glanced back at Rachel, raised his eyebrows and said, “Not baa-a-a-ad.”

At least he seemed to have recovered his sense of humor.

The mountainous terrain was even steeper and rougher than the trail the bandits had taken on their way to Diablo Canyon. Every time they broke into the open above the tree line Domingo would stop for a minute and look back over the valley they had just traversed. Twice during the day he spotted the bandits, still following. The second time, a look of outright alarm spread across his face. It was late in the afternoon, the sun dropping toward the western peaks.

“They are close,” Domingo said, shading his eyes. “There are six of them, and the Appaloosa is leading.”

Yanking his horse around and galloping up the slope, he shouted, “Hurry! We must get to El Ojo or we are all lost.”

He pushed his horse to a hard gallop for nearly a mile, until they broke into the open above the tree line where they saw a solid wall of limestone cliffs dominating the crest. All three horses were lathered and gasping when he finally slowed down at the base of the cliffs. Only then did Rachel see the offset in the cliffs that marked the entrance of a narrow pass, a crack in the limestone. The yellow walls of the crevice were jagged and pocked, carved in steep terraces like pictures Rachel had seen of the Grand Canyon, and the path through the bottom wound back and forth so she couldn't see very far ahead. There were places where it was so narrow that two horses could not run abreast of each other. Domingo rode on ahead while Jake and Rachel followed through the deep shadows of the pass for nearly a quarter mile, until they came out the other side to find a steep boulder-strewn mountainside dropping away in front of them.

When they came out into the light, Domingo had already swung down from his horse and pulled a rifle from the saddle scabbard.

“What are you doing?” they both asked at once.

Domingo reached into his saddlebag for a length of heavy twine and tied one end of it to his rifle barrel. His hands jerked the knot down with a feverish haste.

“There is not much time. You should go.” His eyes pointed to a trail sloping off to the left toward the tree line.

“But what are
you
going to do?” Jake asked.

“I will hold them here. You get her home, Jake. Stay on this trail, bear left at the fork, and you will come to the logging camp. You know your way from there.” He slashed the twine with his knife and tied the other end to the butt of his rifle to make a sling.

“Why can't we just keep running? If we ride hard—”

“It's too late, Jake! We cannot outrun them—El Pantera is almost upon us. This is your only hope.” Domingo slung the rifle across his back and draped a bandolier over a shoulder.

“Then I'm staying, too,” Jake said flatly.

“And do what? This is not going to be a wrestling match. Men are going to
die
.”

“If you stay here,
you
will die,” Rachel said, her voice quavering.

Domingo's eyes were fierce and he spoke quickly. “It is a hard truth, Rachel, but sometimes men must fight to protect those they love. I don't know if I will be able to stop them, but I can hold them for a while. If they make it through the pass you will have to get to Hacienda El Prado or you will die.”

“But—”

“Take my horse,” he said, handing Jake the reins. “I won't be needing it anymore.” Then he turned to Rachel. “Please tell my mother and my sister that I am thinking of them, and ask your father to look after them.” He looked away for a second, hesitating. “Also, I want you to give Cualnezqui a message for me. Tell her . . . tell her maybe I was wrong. I don't know.” He reached up and gripped Rachel's wrist, his dark eyes full of regret, searching for words. “I do know this—
there is no greater love
. Now
go
!”

He turned his back on them and bolted toward the limestone cliffs, leaping from rock to rock in sandaled feet.

Stunned, Rachel sat motionless, watching him until he disappeared into the crevice. Disconsolate, yet too shocked for tears, she turned her horse about and began picking her way down the rocky trail along with Jake.

Minutes later, as they reached the tree line they heard the echo of rifle fire from the pass behind them, and the smaller pop of pistols. Jake spurred his tired horse and they trotted as quickly as they could down through the softer ground of the forested slope, even as the sounds of a furious battle rattled the mountaintops. By the time they reached the bottom of the valley the shooting had stopped, and an eerie silence fell.

All the way up the next slope Rachel kept looking back over her shoulder hoping to see Domingo emerge, and at the same time deathly afraid she would see that bicolored Appaloosa charging out of the shadows of the crack in the mountains.

Neither happened. There was only an ominous silence, and the moan of the wind through the rocks.

Perhaps it was because of Aaron, or because everyone looked up to Caleb Bender, or maybe they were all prompted by the same Spirit to seek company—devastated parents leaning on one another—but whatever the cause, all the Amish in Paradise Valley gravitated to the Bender home that afternoon. Word spread of the impromptu gathering, and they came by buggy and wagon and on foot, filling the house to overflowing, spilling out the doorways and up the stairs, all of them dressed in their Sunday best.

They brought food and broke bread together. They sang the old familiar songs from the Ausbund, then Caleb read portions of the Psalms, words of hope and strength and deliverance, and one by one the men prayed for Rachel and Jake. They prayed for the faith and strength to be grateful for what the Lord gives and not question what the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. One of them even prayed for El Pantera, that Gott would either change his heart or stay his hand. No task was too large for their Gott.

It was all a great comfort to Miriam, partly because of the words, the reminders of who they were, but mostly the songs, the voices, the supplications, the hearts strung together as one in common faith. They were a community, a family. They rejoiced and suffered, laughed and cried, lived and died as one. They all felt it. In such a moment, each and every one of them took comfort in knowing they were not alone.

They were loved.

Miriam and her sisters hovered close to their mother, and she seemed to take comfort in the gathering. While it lasted Mamm did seem a little better, a little quieter. The daughters of Caleb Bender closed ranks around her. Together they would endure whatever came. Together they were strong.

Miriam did notice a curious thing that evening, a glaring omission. Domingo's name was never mentioned—not even once. It was as if he didn't exist.

But there
were
prayers said for him. A series of long, fervent, heartfelt pleas went up on Domingo's behalf, though Miriam was the only one who knew it.

Nobody wanted to leave when darkness fell. Instead, they gravitated into little groups to stand around and talk. It was late by the time the last of them left. Leah and Barbara helped Miriam straighten up the kitchen and then they drifted upstairs to bed, leaving her alone with Micah.

Miriam picked up the lantern and walked him out the back door to where his courting buggy was tied.

A muffled wail came from upstairs and Miriam glanced over her shoulder.

“Is she going to be okay?” Micah asked.

Miriam shook her head. “I don't know. If Rachel doesn't come home soon I'm afraid Mamm will lose her mind. I pray to Gott Jake can bring her back. I would just die if anything happened to Rachel.”

Micah nodded. “So would Jake. That's what worries me. He's a stout boy, but what can he do against a dozen bandits with guns? I'm afraid he might just get himself killed.”

“There is hope yet,” Miriam said. “Domingo is with him.”

Micah gave a little snort and turned to stare at her. “That's what you think, Mir? A good strong Amish boy can do nothing, but that
Mexican
can?”

She stared back. “That's not what I said.”

“It's what you
meant
. You think Domingo can do
anything
. You think he's some kind of hero.”

“I didn't mean to make you angry,” she said quietly. “I only meant that it's good Jake has somebody with him who knows his way in the mountains, that's all. Even with two of them it seems impossible.”

Micah didn't say anything for a minute, but then he softened. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and said, “Jah, it's bad, Mir, but all things are possible with Gott. He is greater than any Mexican.”