Journey of the Heart (4 page)

“So yours are the only ones left?”

“Oh, no, there’s a few here and there, runnin’ wild or kept secret. I’m just glad that by chance I’m part of saving them.”

“Who buys them from you?”

“Why, who else but the U.S. Army! They’re so eager to have them now and they don’t see the irony atall.”

* * * *

Gabe settled in very easily. He shared the small bunkhouse with Jake, an older man with not much to say for himself. Jake was a kind of jack-of-all-trades, his duties ranging from mending harness to chopping wood to going for the mail, an eleven-mile ride each way. Had the Burkes been running cattle, they would have required more men, but raising sheep and horses took fewer full-time hands, except at shearing and lambing time.

Michael moved Finn and his herd down from the foothills to the lower pasture and set Gabe to work with the yearlings. They were beautiful horses, the Appaloosas, with their unusual markings. The stallion had bred true except for one filly who was probably a throwback to her great-grandsire. She was coal black with no sprinkling of white anywhere. Most were gray or dark brown with a variety of patterns. But the one who stood out was the black two-year-old.

Gabriel saw him the first morning he went out to work the yearlings. The black stood in the far corner of the pasture, his nose up, sniffing the wind. When Gabriel entered with a pail of oats, the black trotted toward him and then shaking his head as if to say, “You’re not who I expected,” turned and cantered away.

“These aren’t for you anyway, Sky,” said Gabe with a smile. The black was beautiful and well named, for he had a pattern of small white spots all over his shiny black coat, as though someone had thrown a handful of stars over him.

One of the yearlings approached Gabe curiously and he shook the bucket of oats. “Come on then, sweetheart, and get yourself a treat.”

Gabe loved the game: approach, retreat, approach, while the sun shined on him and the glistening hide of a healthy young horse. Finally the little horse came close enough to dip his head in the bucket. When he lifted his muzzle, Gabe quickly and easily slipped the halter on. The yearling backed up and tried to shake the unfamiliar thing off his head. But Gabe held tight to the rope, dipping his hand into the bucket and offering the yearling more oats from his cupped palm, at the same time gently tugging on the rope.

The halter only tightened for a minute, loosening as soon as the horse went for the oats, which was just what Gabe intended. The trick was to time it so the horse thought that
he
was in charge, going for whatever he wanted.

In a short time he had the horse following him and the bucket of oats around the pasture. He ran the same routine with the other yearlings and only ran into problems with one, a small dark brown horse. It looked like this one had been born later than the others. If he had been a dog, Gabe would have called him the runt of the litter.

“So you’re not going to play, are you, Shorty?” he said as the horse pulled back as soon as the halter was on. No amount of soothing or coaxing worked. “We’ll try again tomorrow, then,” Gabe said, slipping the halter off and watching the little horse gallop away on his matchstick legs.

His shirt was soaked with sweat from hours of steady work and he took off his hat to catch the slight breeze that had come up. Night Sky had disappeared to the far corner of the field while Gabe was working, but now he saw the two-year-old come over a slight rise to get a drink from the watering trough in the middle of the pasture.

Gabe only had a handful of oats left in the bucket. He walked slowly toward the black. The horse turned and looked at him and Gabe stooped and dropped down to his knees, rattling the bucket just a little to gain his attention. Gabe could now see the jagged scar that ran down his neck to his shoulder, but as far as he could tell, a saddle wouldn’t rub against it. The horse had moved easily, so no permanent damage seemed to have been done. Gabe didn’t think it would hurt him to be ridden—just likely spook him to death.

Sky dropped his muzzle back into the trough, all the while keeping an eye on Gabe, who began talking to him in a sort of crooning whisper. “You were real lucky, fella. That cat must have been old or sick or you moved just in time before she landed. Hurt like hell, I bet. And scared you even more. But you are a beautiful horse, aside from that scar.” And he was, his black coat shining a deep midnight in contrast to the white spots.

“You look like a smart fella to me, too smart to let yourself be destroyed, Sky. We’re going to get to know each other real well, and when the time comes, well, I bet you let me ride you.”

Gabe held his hand out and let some oats fall through his fingers. Sky’s ears pricked up and he stepped away from the water.

“That’s right, you know what these are and you want some, don’t you?”

Gabe held his breath as the horse came closer, finally lipping the oats from his hand and then, with a start, jumping back. Gabe gave a low chuckle and stood up. Sky tossed his head and trotted off. “That’s all for today, Sky. But I’ll be back.”

Caitlin Burke looked up from her copy of
Jane Eyre
and over at the calendar that stood on her desk. Only three weeks and she would be home in New Mexico. She looked out the window at the rolling green lawn of the Fayreweather Academy, which was shaded by oak and elm trees. She closed her eyes and tried to summon a picture of the landscape she’d grown up in. Sagebrush, not grass, covered their land. Stunted junipers twisted by the wind. Pinon pines. The only oak trees were gambel oaks and they looked more like bushes. And everything growing out of red dust, not rich black earth.

She had hated leaving it all a year and a half ago. She had thought she’d die of homesickness, not just for her parents but for the land itself. It was six months before she had stopped crying herself to sleep each night. But gradually she had gotten used to it, even come to love the differences. She had made friends. She had discovered literature and writing. And she had met Henry. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to go home.

No, that wasn’t true, she thought, as she marked her place and closed the book. Of course she was dying to see Ma and Da and to share with them all that had happened to her in the last six months. She had to admit she was also dying for a good ride, not sitting primly and properly on a sidesaddle, but astride on one of their horses. And there was Heathcliff waiting for her.

She smiled as she remembered her first sight of the little black colt. He’d been born in the early hours of the morning and her da had promised she could see the new baby right after breakfast. Ma and Da exchanged looks over their coffee, but she was so excited that she’d hardly noticed it.

They all went together, but as they stood there, the colt came to her on his wobbly legs and gazed into her eyes as though he already knew her. She’d fallen in love at that moment. “It’s like he knows me already, Da,” she had whispered.

“ ‘Tis a good thing he does, since he’ll be yours, Cait. Happy birthday, though ‘tis two months since ye turned sixteen.”

“Oh, Da, do you mean it?”

“It’s why you only got a book, Cait,” said Elizabeth.

“Wuthering Heights
was a
wonderful
present, Ma.” She was quiet for a minute and then said, “I think I’ll call him Heathcliff.” It seemed right, for she had fallen in love with the colt instantly, just as Cathy had. And her name was close enough to Cathy, too.

“Heathcliff, is it? I was thinking that he’s going to be one of those rare colts with white sprinkled all over him, like the night sky. But he’s your horse, Cait,” Michael added, his voice strained.

Elizabeth jabbed her husband in the ribs. “Well, sure, ‘tis a romantic name,” he continued lamely.

Caitlin had to smile herself, two years later. She had been such a romantic sixteen-year-old, identifying with the wild Cathy, imagining the desert landscape to be the moors of Yorkshire as she rode it. Well, the wind was certainly as wild, if a lot hotter and drier. She was much more sophisticated now, not that ‘green girl from the Wild West’ or ‘Calico Cait’ as her classmates used to call her. She didn’t even like Cathy much anymore. She had been foolish and faithless and stupid to marry Lynton. Jane Eyre had more integrity and certainly as much passion, though she kept it banked, like a good fire.

And Jane had had a favorite teacher, just like she had. Even in the worst of her homesickness, Caitlin had responded to Mrs. Weld. She was the youngest of the teachers, although a widow, and she was able to understand and empathize with the romantic longings of an adolescent girl. It was she who had pointed out the lack of a real heroine in
Wuthering Heights
when they began studying the English novel. Caitlin hadn’t thought much about heroines before. They had a very small collection of books at home, which had grown very slowly over the years, for books were a luxury in New Mexico. Not like in Philadelphia, where families had whole rooms set aside for them.

From that first discussion, Caitlin felt her mind wake up. Now, instead of losing herself completely in a book, she began to think about the characters and what the author might have been trying to do. Mrs. Weld became her model; she wanted to be just like her: a teacher who was able to stimulate her pupils’ minds and inspire them to want to do great things.

Well, maybe not
great
things, thought Cait, for women rarely had the chance to perform heroic deeds. But good things.

She was excited about her plans for the future. And frightened about returning home only to tell her parents that she had been offered a job at the Fayreweather Academy as an assistant teacher and that she was unofficially engaged to Henry Beecham.

She’d mentioned Henry in her letters from time to time, so it shouldn’t be a complete surprise to them. He was the older brother of her best friend and they had gotten to know each other well the summer she had spent at the Beechams’ home. He had graduated from Harvard College and had obtained a clerk’s position in a judge’s office in Philadelphia. He had visited the school frequently this year, ostensibly to see his sister Susan, but it soon became clear to everyone that he was interested in her roommate, Caitlin Burke.

Henry had asked her to marry him only two weeks ago and she had said yes. It had surprised her that she loved someone like Henry. He was good-looking, certainly, and a brilliant conversationalist, and very passionate about his chosen profession. With his family connections, he would surely be a judge someday himself. But he wasn’t the romantic hero she had responded to in novels: dark, brooding, and sensual. Though she had to admit their first few kisses had been very satisfying.

She had said yes immediately and then they had lost themselves in one of their most enjoyable kisses to date. But Caitlin had insisted on an unofficial engagement until she could tell her parents in person and until they had met Henry. So it was agreed that she would go home and prepare the ground, so to speak, and he would arrive later in the summer to get their approval.

Caitlin sighed as she looked out the window. It was all very wonderful, her plans for the future. But would her parents be able to see it the same way?

* * * *

“Do you think Cait will have changed much, Elizabeth?” Michael asked one night as they were getting ready for bed.

“She has been away for two years, Michael. She is a young lady of eighteen now, not that sixteen-year-old girl who alternated between hoyden and romantic heroine,” said Elizabeth with a smile that held a trace of sadness.

“She was a caution, our Cait,” admitted Michael. “One day racin’ the wildest horse we own, the next moonin’ around here like she belonged in a tragic story, exclaiming, ‘I cannot live without my life; I cannot live without my soul.’ Sure and do ye remember when I caught her givin’ a solo performance in the barn?”

“I do, Michael, and you acted with great discretion on that occasion,” said Elizabeth, her eyes twinkling. “You backed out like a gentleman and didn’t start laughing till you got to the house.”

“Sure and the neighbors must have heard me howling.”

“Well, I certainly did.”

Michael climbed into bed next to his wife and pulled her close. “Ah, Elizabeth, it shouldn’t have surprised us, raisin’ such a romantic child. I might have laughed at her and that foolish man she named her colt after…
but
‘tis the way I feel about you,
mo muirneach.
I couldn’t live without
my
life, I couldn’t live without
my
soul.” He punctuated his words with soft kisses and with a throaty moan, Elizabeth gave him a passionate response.

Their lovemaking was perhaps less frequent these days than during their first years together, but it never failed to amaze them how deeply they satisfied each other’s desires. Just when Elizabeth thought she could not feel any closer to Michael, a night like this would come along and surprise her.

They lay awake in each other’s arms for a while afterward. Michael had just begun to fall asleep when Elizabeth shifted, and sitting up against the pillows, said: “What do you think is going to happen with Nelson Mackie, Michael?”

“Ah, Elizabeth,” Michael groaned, pulling himself up beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders, “why are ye thinkin’ of that
amadan
now?”

“I can’t help it. He’s bought off two small cattle ranchers and intimidated the Vigils right off their land. He’s talked to you twice now, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. The first time butter couldn’t melt in his mouth. The second, well, he was a bit more ‘persuasive,’ ” said Michael with a touch of sarcasm.

“Eduardo has seen some of his men up in the hills, hasn’t he?”

“Just ridin’ through, Elizabeth, I’m sure. But he can’t intimidate me the way he did the Vigils, and he knows it.”

“We have worked so hard these past nineteen years, Michael. But with all that, the valley has been a good place to be and we have good neighbors, whether they are sheepherder or cattle ranchers. Then that snake arrived, bringing his hired guns with him. The only problem we ever had before Mackie was the little bit of rustling people did back and forth, and that’s almost over.”