Desert Hearts (3 page)

“It seemed so.”

“But Mama….” He could feel her whole body tremble as her voice died away.

“Don’t think about it, Miss Rush. Your mama is at peace now.”

“And Jonathan? Will you be able to find him?”

The lieutenant hesitated. “I only have a few men with me and I need them all to get you to Santa Fe. I can’t go after those bast…excuse me, those villains. But I will send someone out as soon as I report back to the fort.” Not that they’ll be likely to find him, he thought. He’ll be some Mexican family’s slave by then, and impossible to find.

“He is only seven. What would they want with him?”

Thomas Woolcott cleared his throat. “There’s raiding back and forth between Indians and New Mexicans for slaves, Miss Rush. Likely the Comancheros will sell him to some household where he’ll be set to hauling water and chopping wood and such. He’ll work hard, but he’ll stay alive.”

The girl was very still and when Woolcott looked down he knew she was crying again, this time noiselessly. “I…the last thing I said…I stuck my tongue out at him and we wrangled like we always do….” Her voice broke. “But he is only a little boy, Lieutenant.”

“I know, miss, I know.” He waited until her tears had stopped. “It is time to say good-bye, Miss Rush.”

Elizabeth Jane knelt down and said a short prayer. He could hear her whispering a good-bye to her mother and father and then one to her brother. He wanted to run his hand over her hair as she knelt there, but restrained himself. This was surely too hard a country to live in, he thought to himself, and not for the first time.

New Mexico Territory, 1863

Michael dismounted slowly and stiffly. After a month in the saddle even he, an experienced cavalryman, was happy to be almost at his destination.

“We are here, boyo, or almost,” he added as he loosened the girths on Trooper and Frost.

At first he had thought that the green meadows in the distance must be a new kind of mirage. Certainly he’d seen enough “water” not to be fooled again. But the meadow was at the mouth of a canyon and Fort Defiance had been built near Canon Bonito to take advantage of the water and grass. So it was real. No mirage.

When they smelled the water, the two horses picked up their heads and Trooper nudged Michael between the shoulders, as if to say, “Come on yerself, boyo, all that green grass is waiting.” And when they reached the first canyon spring, Michael was on his hands and knees, about to drink with his horses, when he saw them: the prayer sticks with feathers and the pieces of turquoise at the bottom of the clear pool.

Pulling himself away was almost as hard as getting his horses to move, but he cursed them in a friendly way and pulled them further downstream. The spring was obviously a shrine of some sort and he didn’t want to disturb it.

* * * *

“Will I see Indians, sor, if I join the cavalry?” he had asked the recruiting sergeant with open-eyed eagerness. The sergeant had laughed. “You’ll see Indians, son, I promise you that. And you’d better pray that you see them before they see you. Now put your ‘X’ right here, Paddy.”

“My name isn’t Paddy, sor, it is Michael Joseph Burke,” he had said slowly and with dignity. “And I can write me own name.”

“Oh, ‘tis an eddicated mick? Well, Mickey Joe, you are in the U.S. Army now,” said the sergeant, folding up the enlistment papers.

Michael winced at “Mickey Joe.” Only Cait had called him that. But he would not think of Cait or Da or any of them now. He was going West and he would see Indians.

He had seen them, of course. More at the end of his rifle than he’d wanted or expected to. He had been so young. Believed that joining the cavalry meant helping to protect the rights of both natives and settlers. Meant being a peacekeeper. Instead, more often than not, he’d been a war starter. But he’d seen and come to know many Indians since then: Sioux, Cheyenne, Crow. And now, here he was in the New Mexico Territory, about to meet Navajo. Or more than likely, he thought cynically, about to fight Navajo.

The descending trill of a canyon wren brought him back to the present. His horses had drunk their fill and were munching grass contentedly. He was dressed in his greasy buckskins and filthy shirt less than an hour from his new post. He stripped quickly and plunged into the stream, wading up canyon toward the next pool, where he was going to enjoy a long and thorough soak.

* * * *

Elizabeth was going to try again. For two years she had been walking out from the fort to the mouth of the canyon, attempting to capture the color of the sandstone cliffs. But the color changed from day to day, moment to moment. It seemed that she could dip her brush in ochre and look up and see that the canyon walls were just a little bit lighter, or had a tinge of coral that she had missed. And so they pulled her back, again and again, frustrating and satisfying her at the same time.

She passed the shrine, curious as always about the sticks and stone piles around it. She walked slowly, loving the feel of the warm pink sand under her shoes and smiling when a lizard flickered across her path. She was not paying close attention to anything but the path when she heard a loud splash and, startled, jumped behind the nearest sagebrush and crouched down, her heart gone wild in her chest.

It had been quiet around the fort for months, so she didn’t think she was in any danger from hostiles. And anyway, no Navajo would make that much noise? She finally got the courage to stick her head out from behind the bush. A man was sitting there in the pool a little ways ahead of her, stark naked, splashing away as casually as though he were in his own bath, she thought. It didn’t look like anyone she knew from the fort, but then, she thought, she had never seen anyone from the fort but her husband in the bath. And this man looked nothing like her husband from behind; he had thick black hair and muscular shoulders and, oh my God, he was standing up, a very white behind. He looked like a piebald, with his brown neck, tan torso, and white legs covered with more black hair. She made herself close her eyes. What on earth was she doing, ogling a man’s body? She was a virtuous, married woman and had never desired anyone but her husband. No, she thought with familiar sadness, that wasn’t really true. She had never desired even her husband.

She didn’t desire this man either, that was the truth. But as an artist, she did appreciate natural beauty, and despite the odd distribution of suntan, she could see that this man had a body that someone like Michelangelo would have loved to sculpt or paint. It was unfortunate that she would have to sneak away…that she could not just sit down and sketch.

She backed away carefully, praying fervently that he wouldn’t turn and see her. She shivered with sudden fear. She had been so intent on the abstract, physical beauty of his body that she only now was worrying about what that body could do to her. At the fort, she was Mrs. Woolcott, wife to Lieutenant Thomas Woolcott and protected by her position. Here, alone, she was no one. With his dark hair, he might be a Comanchero…. She took a deep breath. Calm yourself, Elizabeth Jane Woolcott, she scolded. He has not seen you. He is no doubt passing through. And you are not in danger, not so close to the fort, or your husband wouldn’t allow you outside the gates.

It was usually a half-hour walk, but she made it in twenty minutes, flushed and dripping with perspiration. When the sentry asked if she was all right, she just nodded and said quickly that the sun had felt too hot today to stay any longer.

A half hour later, she looked up from the sketches she was making and crumpling, sketches of a strong back and solid curved buttocks. There was a stir outside and she stuffed the papers in the kitchen stove and went to her door to see what was going on.

A trooper was walking by, on his way to the enlisted men’s barracks. A tall man, his curly black hair slicked down. Mrs. Taggert moved from her front door over to Elizabeth’s. “That’s the new master sergeant, Mrs. Woolcott. Come all the way from Utah. Sergeant Burke.”

As though he had heard his name, the new man looked up and flashed a smile at the ladies. His eyes, a startling blue in his tan face, seemed to be saying, “Aren’t I the handsome charming devil that all the ladies love.”

“Oh, another Irishman,” said Elizabeth dismissively and loud enough for Michael to hear. “Full of himself, no doubt, and full of whiskey on payday.”

Michael flushed with embarrassment and anger as he continued walking. He hadn’t heard those tones in a long time: the fine eastern lady, the damned English prejudice no matter how American they considered themselves. He couldn’t help smiling at women. It was so good to see one out here. Especially a pretty one like her. But she was one pretty one he would be happy to avoid. And since she was clearly an officer’s daughter or sister, it would be easy enough.

* * * *

“Did you find some time for your sketching today, Elizabeth?”

“I did, Thomas,” said Elizabeth as she poured him a second cup of coffee.

“And did the cliffs stay the same color for you?” he asked with a smile, as he did almost every night.

“No, Thomas, they are most amazing that way.”

The words sometimes varied, but their general conversation did not. She would inquire about his day; he would report briefly and then ask about hers. Even after six years of marriage, Elizabeth found the predictability of their routine comforting. Thomas was the same competent, protective man he had been when he had found her nine years ago. His hair had grown gray, of course, and his face more wrinkled from both age and sun. His belly hung over his belt a little and he tired earlier at night. But he was never too tired to ask about her day and her drawing.

“I hear the new sergeant arrived while I was out on patrol,” said Thomas, leaning back in his chair and loosening his belt.

Elizabeth could feel her cheeks flush. “Yes, Milly and I saw him walk by.”

“I hear he is an experienced Indian fighter and good scout. We need someone like that.”

“Do you think it will come to fighting, Thomas?” Elizabeth asked, happy to change the subject and banish from her mind Sergeant Michael Burke and his blue eyes.

“I hope not, but I fear it will.”

Elizabeth hated the thought of her husband in danger. They had been at Fort Defiance for three years and during that time the intervals of peace had become shorter and the campaigns against the Navajo longer. When he was away, she felt as though the bedrock upon which her sense of security rested became quicksand.

“I hate the thought of it,” she said passionately.

“I know, my dear. But I’m an old cavalryman who’s survived many a skirmish and will survive many more. I’ll always come back to you, Elizabeth,” he said reassuringly.

Elizabeth put her arms around his shoulders from behind and pulled his head close to her.

* * * *

Later that evening, Thomas sat on the edge of their bed, pulling his boots off.

“I wonder how this new man will get along with Lieutenant Cooper. Now this is between you and me, Elizabeth, but Cooper is a prideful ignoramus and like all officers just out of West Point, thinks he knows it all because he’s studied war in a classroom.”

He also thinks he knows all about women, thought Elizabeth. She had noticed that the lieutenant kept his eyes on her when he thought she wasn’t looking and was his most charming to her when the officers and their wives got together for dinner.

“He’s only been here a few months, Thomas. He’ll learn.”

“He’d better and damn quick,” said her husband, turning down the lamp next to their bed and crawling in beside her. “Are you…um…tired from your walk today?”

“Not really. Are you recovered from your patrol?”

“Oh, I think I could stay awake a little longer,” said Thomas, pulling her closer and turning her face to his for a kiss.

She liked his kisses. She always had, and that part of their lovemaking always felt right to her. But Thomas wasn’t a man given to kissing for longer than a few minutes. He got right down to business and that was the part when Elizabeth just left. Oh, her body stayed and she made sure her body felt welcoming and she made noises that she imagined conveyed pleasure, but she herself watched from the corner of the ceiling.

Thomas never seemed to know this, for which she was profoundly grateful, for she did love him even though she didn’t desire him. She owed him everything: her life, her time with Nellie, and her marriage. She would never have married, she knew that now, if he hadn’t asked her. Only Thomas could she allow to touch her in this intimate way. She had had a few offers in Santa Fe. Not many, because most considered her stuck-up and standoffish. But those few offers she had graciously turned down, having resigned herself to spinsterhood. When Thomas finally spoke, so nervously and apologetically because of their age difference, she had accepted him with great affection, and she had admitted to herself, great relief. She would have a place in the world as a married woman and at the same time she did not have to let go of the familiar. Over the years, Thomas had become like family and now she would never have to lose family again.

* * * *

“Master Sergeant Michael Joseph Burke reporting, sir.” Michael snapped off a crisp salute and stood at attention.

“Michael Joseph Burke, is it now,” said the lieutenant in a stage Irish brogue.

Día
, not one of those, thought Michael.

“Well, we have a few of your countrymen here at Fort Defiance,” said Cooper, turning and looking out the window, leaving Michael standing at attention.

Lieutenant Cooper was tall and slim, with bright yellow hair dulled a little by the brilliantine he had slicked it down with. His uniform looked as if it had been poured on his body, it was so free of wrinkles. Michael was thankful that he had followed his instincts and kept his uniform carefully wrapped in his saddlebags, although he should have been traveling in it. He glanced down quickly: his boots were old, but they had been spit-shined. He was no disgrace to the army, thank God.

“You came from Camp Supply in Utah?”

“Yes, sir.”