The Yellow Rose (43 page)
“Maybe you’ll see her again.”
“No,” Moriah said quickly. “I’d have to go back to their camp for that, and that’s the last thing I want to do.”
The two women looked back at Clinton, who was riding his horse behind them and singing to himself loudly as usual. “Clinton’s plumb foolish about Ethan,” she said. “All of us are. I don’t want you to worry about him, daughter.”
“Ma, I’m scared to death to go into town. Everybody knows about me now and about my Indian husband.” She was silent for a moment, then said, “I never thought of him as a husband. I didn’t have any choice about that.”
“Of course you didn’t. Everybody understands that. And as for Ethan . . . he’s a fine boy. Aren’t you, Ethan?” Ethan was wearing cast-off clothes from Sam. They had been cut down and, more or less, tailored to fit him.
He had on a bright red knit cap that covered his ears, but he looked up and smiled.
“Yes,” he said, then he looked back and called, “Clinton!” He watched as Clinton waved his hat and then turned around and sat quietly.
“He’s a quiet boy, isn’t he?” Jerusalem said.
“Most Indian babies are very quiet. Of course, when they get to be as old as Clinton, they play and shout and carry on and fight just like we do.”
After a few more miles, the outline of Jordan City came to view, and Moriah grew quieter and quieter. Clinton rode up beside the wagon and said, “Let me give that boy a ride on a real horse.” He reached over and took Ethan as Moriah handed him up and put him in front of him on the saddle. “Hang on, Ethan. I’ll show you how a real Texas cowboy can ride.”
He spurred his horse, and the gelding shot ahead as if shot out of a gun.
Moriah watched them go, but her face was still cloudy.
When they reached town, Moriah pulled the wagon up in front of the general store. Clinton came galloping up, pulled the horse up short, and stepped out of the saddle. “Come on, Ethan. Me and you are goin’ in there and buy some store-bought candy.”
“Candy?” Ethan said. He had no chance to ask more, for Clinton snatched him up, tossed him up on his shoulder and swaggered over the boardwalk and disappeared into the store.
The two women walked toward the store and had not gone more than ten feet when suddenly a voice behind them called out, “Well, I swan, it’s Miss Moriah!”
Moriah turned, along with Jerusalem, to see Sheriff Bench headed for them, his face wreathed in a smile. He came forward and said, “You look good enough to hug.” He put out his hand instead, and when Moriah took it, he covered it with both of his. “I tell you, Moriah. It’s a sight for these old eyes to see you. I thank the good Lord for bringin’ you back.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Bench. It’s good to be back.”
“You’re gonna find how many friends you got. The whole town’s talkin’ about how Quaid and Brodie snatched you right out from the middle of them Comanches.”
“It was God’s doing,” Moriah said.
“Where’s that boy of yours? I want to see him.”
Nervously, Moriah said, “He went in the general store there with Clinton.”
“Well, I’ll just go along and make my howdys to him. Welcome home, girl!”
Bench was just the first of many who came to Moriah, all delighted to see her. She gradually began to relax, and after making some purchases in the store, Clinton came and said, “Come on, let’s all of us go and see if we can get somethin’ fit to eat down at the restaurant.”
There was no resisting Clinton when he made up his mind on something, and the four of them made their way down the boardwalk. They passed by the Silver Dollar Saloon, and the usual loafers were sitting there.
They had passed by them, and Moriah saw every man’s eyes were on her— and on Ethan.
They were ten feet away when the voice of one of them came clear enough to understand. “There’s the squaw and her papoose. I reckon she might be gettin’ cold this winter without her buck to keep her warm.
Maybe I can do somethin’ about that.”
Instantly, Clinton whirled and started back, but Moriah grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t go, Clinton.”
“Don’t go? You reckon I’m gonna let scum like that talk about my sister? I don’t reckon!”
“You can’t fight everybody, Clinton. Come along,” Moriah said.
Clinton struggled to control his anger and glared fiercely at the men who had fallen silent. He said loudly, “My womenfolk are with me now, but I got you fellers all in my mind’s eye. The next time I meet one of you, you’d better take off because I’m gonna skin ya. You hear me?” He glared at them but got no answer and turned and walked away.
Moriah held on to his arm and said quietly, “Thank you, Clinton, but don’t fight over me or over Ethan.”
“Why, I certainly will!” Clinton said with astonishment. “The Bible says that.”
“Says what?” Jerusalem demanded.
“It says to stomp any scum who talk bad about your sister.”
Moriah could not help but smile a little, although her heart was grieved. “It doesn’t say that. It says pray for those that despitefully use you. Now, you behave, Clinton.”
“Why, I always do,” he said. Then he reached down and picked up Ethan and said, “Tell you what. Maybe they got some candy. You like candy?”
“He doesn’t know what candy is, Clinton.”
“Well, he’s in for a treat. I’m gonna teach him.”
Neither Moriah nor Jerusalem mentioned the incident of the roughs in front of the saloon, but, of course, Clinton did. He told the story to Quaid, saying, “I got their faces all in my mind’s eye, Quaid. I plan to accidentally run into ’em, and then I’m gonna stomp a mud hole in ’em!”
“You don’t even know which one it was.”
“Don’t make no never mind. I’ll whup every last one of ’em. That way I’ll be shore to get the right one.”
“But the others didn’t do anything!”
“They deserve a whuppin’ for hanging out with a skunk like that!”
Quaid shook his head but said little about it. After Clinton left, he went to find Moriah, who was in the kitchen by herself.
She greeted him with a smile and saw that he was disturbed. “What’s wrong, Quaid?”
“Clinton told me about what happened in town. I wish I had been there,” he said grimly.
Moriah turned and faced him squarely. “Would you have shot him, Quaid?” He did not answer, and she said, “Would you have beaten him up?” Still no answer, and she shook her head. “You and the rest of my family can’t shoot every man who makes a remark about me and Ethan.”
“It’s not right,” Quaid said, his jaw clenched tight. The scar on the left side of his face was healing, but it would always be there—a reminder of his knife fight with Lion.
Moriah had intended to say nothing, but she turned then, and her voice was a mere whisper. “It’s worse than being taken.”
“Don’t say that, Moriah,” Quaid said. He came over to stand behind her and tried to see her face, but she kept it averted. “You can leave this place.”
“And go where? I can’t leave Texas. It’s my home. It’d be the same anyplace Ethan and I go.” Quaid reached out and touched her arm, and when she turned to face him, he saw the tears in her eyes. “And Bear Killer will come for Ethan. You know he will, Quaid. He’ll kill anyone who tries to stop him.”
“We won’t let him do that.”
“You won’t be here. You’ll be in Santa Fe.”
“I been thinkin’ about it. Haven’t made up my mind.”
Moriah saw that he was troubled about her and the remark.
There’s nothing he can do about it,
she thought.
There’s nothing anybody can do about it.
By the time a week had gone by, Quaid was feeling well enough to go outside and even to ride for short periods. He volunteered to go to work, but Clay had said, “There ain’t much work to do in the wintertime. Them cows ain’t goin’ nowhere, or if they do, we can catch ’em up again. Now, come spring, we’ll have a roundup and take another bunch to New Orleans. And you forget about goin’ to Santa Fe. There ain’t nothin’ there for you, and there is something here.”
It was a few days later during the afternoon when Quaid had gone out to ride for the exercise. He had been shocked at how the ranch had grown and how Clay now had to keep half-a-dozen Mexican riders at all times to keep up with the cattle. It was a big job and was going to get bigger because Clay had thrown all his strength into enlarging the ranch. Across the river Kern Herendeen was doing the same thing, and once Clay had said to Quaid, “We’re gonna have trouble with Herendeen sooner or later.
He wants all the land that joins his. He thinks he’s some kind of a little god in tin pants, and somebody’s gonna have to cut him down to size someday. I’ll need help when that time comes, Quaid.”
Quaid had thought about Clay’s offer for him to stay and work for him, and now as he turned back toward the house, he saw Moriah come out and walk along the tree line. She was looking down at the ground, and when he approached, she looked up and smiled.
“Quaid, where have you been?”
“Just riding.” He stepped off his horse and said, “Mind if I join ya?”
“No, of course not.”
The two walked along, and Quaid said, “I can’t hardly believe how much the ranch has grown.”
“I know it. It’s amazing. My folks don’t have much money, but they’ve got a lot of land now. The ranch is twice as big as it was when I was taken.”
“It’s going to be bigger yet, according to Clay.”
“It’s strange. He never wanted anything much, and then he married Ma and had the twins. Now he’s determined to have the biggest ranch in Texas.”
The two walked until they reached a small creek that bordered the tree line. Quaid reached down, picked up a stone, tossed it in, and watched the ripples it caused. “You’re much better. You couldn’t have done that a few days ago,” Moriah said.
“I’m too mean to kill, I guess.” He said. “Are you all right, Moriah?”
Moriah looked at him quickly but knew what he meant. “It was almost as much of a shock coming home as it was being carried off to live with the Comanches, but it’s all coming back now. Of course, everything has changed.”
“What do you mean?”
Moriah looked at him directly. “I’ll never marry now. No man will ever have me.”
“Well, that ain’t so. Lots of men would be glad to have a woman like you.”
She turned then, but she said, “There’s Ethan. How many men would want an Indian son?”
“He’s a fine boy. His father was a strong man, and you are a good woman.”
Moriah had shared some of her thoughts with her mother, but not everything, but she felt she could say things to this man who had given his life to find her. “I can’t tell you how ashamed I am, Quaid.”
“Why, that’s plumb foolish! You didn’t ask to be taken. You were a captive.”
Moriah stared at him expressionless for a time, and then she said, “Have you made up your mind what to do?”
“I think I’ll stick around.” Quaid was surprised, for he had made that decision on a moment. He had thought of going away, but Clay was right.
There was nothing for him in Santa Fe. He had no family, and now he smiled. “Maybe me and Ethan could get to be partners. And I’d like to have a word or two with Bear Killer when he comes pokin’ around.”
“I hope you will. Ethan needs a man to look up to.”
“Well, he’s got some good men, Clay and the Hardin men.” He hesitated, then said, “I want you to do something, Moriah.”
“Do what?”
“I’d like to take you and Ethan to church next Sunday.” He saw the fear in her face and said, “Don’t be afraid. You faced the Comanches and won. I want you to keep your head high. You’re a good woman. You’ve got a good boy, and you need to say so by lettin’ people see you together.”
Moriah could not answer for a moment. She had fared well enough with the townspeople, but she knew that some of the members of Rice’s church were prejudiced to the bone. But she felt Quaid’s eyes on her and said, “All right, Quaid. I’ll do it if you go with me.”
“Why, the whole bunch of Taliferros and Hardins will go!” He grinned and said, “The whole Comanche nation couldn’t face us if we get our backs up!”
M
oriah stood at the window of her room looking out as the morning unveiled itself. The sun stretched long fingers of light through the trees over to the west, touching the earth with gentleness. As she watched them, it seemed that the trees stood in disorganized ranks like a regiment at ease, laying their shadows on the ground in long lines. Farther over in the corral, a young colt ran around friskily, gleaming like light on water in the early morning sunrise.
For a moment she stood there thinking about how her life had changed. It had taken a different shape and already had begun to grow new branches, and the old branches were withering away. After all she had been through in these last few years, she had hoped and prayed for such a thing, for she knew that the constant of nature was discard and then growth. Old things had passed away, and new things had to come. Suddenly below she saw Ethan bundled up in an old coat that had belonged to Sam. He was running headlong across the frozen ground. Sam and Rachel chased after him, and the sound of their laughter was like music on the air to her.
Her glance shifted, and she saw that the men had already gathered, bringing the buggy and a wagon out for the trip to church. Clinton’s voice was loud as he supervised the arrangement of boxes and threw together seats in the back of the wagon. The horses’ breath made puffs of heavy white mist, as if they were breathing smoke. One of the mules hitched to the wagon suddenly kicked, his feet striking the wood, making a hollow sound on the cold, dead air. Steps sounded outside her door, and when a knock came, she turned and moved across the room to open it. Her mother stood there in her best dress with a heavy coat on, smiling and saying, “Come along, Moriah. We’ll be late for church. Everybody’s waiting on you.”
“All right, Ma.” Taking her heavy coat from the bed where she had laid it, Moriah slipped it on and then put on a hat made of black felt. She pulled it down, fastened it with a pin, and saw that her mother was watching her carefully. She made herself smile and said, “I’m ready.”
“You look just fine, daughter.”
“So do you, Ma.” The two women went downstairs, and when they stepped out on the porch, the cold air brushed itself like a hand against Moriah’s face. When Ethan saw her, he came running across the yard. She stepped off the porch, leaned over, and hugged him, pulling him off the ground and swinging his feet back and forth.