Desert Hearts (5 page)

* * * *

When she heard the mule, Elizabeth turned around fearfully. The setting sun was in her eyes and at first she couldn’t see who was bearing down on her. If it was a hostile, there was nowhere to run, she thought, for she was in the middle of the valley. Then she could see the army blue and waved happily to the rider. She stopped smiling, however, when she saw who it was. Wasn’t it just her luck to encounter Sergeant Burke!

“Good afternoon, Miss Woolcott,” said Michael, pulling up his mule. “I see your mare has gone lame.” Michael lifted his cap. “Sergeant Michael Burke, ma’am.”

“It is
Mrs
. Woolcott, Sergeant,” Elizabeth replied coolly.

This lovely young woman was the lieutenant’s wife? Michael kept his face blank. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Woolcott. Let me take a look at your mare’s leg.”

Michael dismounted and ran his hand gently and expertly over the mare’s left foreleg, “ ‘Tis a bit hot and swollen, but I think she’ll recover easily, ma’am.”

“She stumbled in a gopher hole, but luckily it was only at a walk,” Elizabeth explained.

“Then you and she are lucky indeed. She could have broken her leg and you your neck. Now then, we are still more than a mile from the fort. I’ll have to take you up behind me. I am glad you wear a sensible skirt and use a trooper’s saddle, ma’am,” he said with a smile. “Sidesaddles always seem ridiculous to me out here in the wilderness.”

Elizabeth looked around as though some other solution might present itself. The four privates had caught up with them. She was certainly not going to ride behind one of them. And the extra mules were loaded with wood.

“I’m afraid it’s me mule or shank’s mare, Mrs. Woolcott,” said Michael with an exaggerated brogue.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Elizabeth.

Michael mounted in one graceful movement and then reached down for her hand. “Here, and use my stirrup to get up and over.”

Elizabeth settled herself behind his saddle.

“This won’t be the roost comfortable ride, ma’am,” he said, “but ‘tis better than walking.” He gathered up his reins and turned back to his men.

“You lads go ahead. Me mule will be slower, carrying two of us.” As the men filed in front of them, Michael turned to Elizabeth. “You’ll be needing to put your hands around me waist, Mrs. Woolcott, just to make sure you don’t go sliding off. Don’t be shy about it. I’ll never even notice.”

Elizabeth looked for someplace, anyplace else to put her hands. Michael kicked the mule and it gave a little buck and he reached behind him to hold her on. As she began to slide sideways, she automatically grabbed at his waist, and he said, “Now that’s a sensible girl,” and off they went.

At one point Michael looked down at her hands, which were pressed very pleasantly against his waist. Her left hand seemed to be stained with shades of red, but her right hand was clean. At first he was worried she was hurt, but then he realized the stains were paint, not blood.

“Are you an artist, then, Mrs. Woolcott,” he asked, patting her left hand with his right. “And is that why you were off so far on your own?”

“Not that far, Sergeant. And yes, I paint. Although I don’t know that I am good enough to call myself an artist.”

“This is certainly the place to become one then. With the light changin’ from minute to minute and the cliffs goin’ from crimson to coral to pink in no time atall. And the red earth and the green sage. ‘Tis a beautiful wild place.”

There was a rhythm and poetry in Michael’s softly accented speech, thought Elizabeth, surprised that a man from such an ignorant race like Mrs. Compton had said the Irish were would even notice the colors, much less be able to describe them so eloquently. She was suddenly very conscious of the muscles under the rough wool of his uniform. She lowered her eyes, which was a mistake, for then she was looking at that wonderfully shaped bottom, which was swaying with every step of the mule. Oh dear, what was wrong with her, that she was having such thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture her husband’s kind face and familiar, slightly overweight body.

“But do you think it is wise to be out here alone, ma’am?” Michael continued. It was none of his business, but if he hadn’t come upon her, anything might have happened.

Elizabeth stiffened. “I have been walking and riding out and painting for three years now, Sergeant Burke. I assure you, my husband is convinced of the safety of it or he would never let me go. Nor would the post commander.”

The implication was “Mind your own business, you low-class noncom,” and so Michael decided he would, rather than risk another “I am an officer’s wife” rebuke.

The rest of the trip was made in silence and Michael was all proper formality when he lifted her down in front of the stables. Her husband had seen them coming in and hurried over.

“Elizabeth! Are you all right?”

“I am fine, Thomas,” she said reassuringly, patting his arm. “Eagle stumbled in a gopher hole and lamed herself.”

“You weren’t thrown?”

“No, and I was very lucky that Sergeant Burke and his detail were on their way back to the fort.”

Woolcott turned to Michael, who was busying himself with his saddle while husband and wife greeted each other.

“Sergeant Burke.”

“Yes, sir,” said Michael with a salute.

“At ease, man. I just wanted to say thank you for rescuing Mrs. Woolcott.”

“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant, Mrs. Woolcott.” Michael pulled his heels together and gave them a slight bow. “And now I must make sure my men are taking good care of the mules.” He turned and walked off into the darkness of the stables.

* * * *

Of course his men were taking good care of their mules. They knew damn well he would be on them like a tick on a dog if they didn’t. But for some reason he didn’t want to stay and watch the lieutenant and his wife. He felt disappointed, but there was no logical reason why. Firstly, had Elizabeth Woolcott been the lieutenant’s daughter or sister she wouldn’t have been available to him anyway, if he was attracted to her. Which he was not. He had had enough of eastern snobbery, thank you, to last him a lifetime and she had that ladylike air about her. Though she certainly
was
pretty, with her dark blond hair and hazel eyes. Now just when did ye notice the color of those eyes, Mickey Joe, he teased himself. Because secondly, she was a married woman. But thirdly, she was married to a man a good many years older. And why would she have done that? he wondered. Mr. Woolcott seemed nice enough, but what a waste….

Fisk, Spratt, and Mahoney were gone, having unsaddled and brushed their mules, but Elwell was still there, wiping his mule down as though it were a well-bred racehorse.

Michael did not yet have a friend at the fort, and there was something about Elwell that made him think he would make a good one. The difference in rank made it harder, of course, but that might be leveled out by the difference in age and experience.

As though Elwell knew what he was thinking he looked up and grinned.

“So you thought Mrs. Woolcott was his sister or daughter?”

Michael leaned against the stable door. “I did. ‘Tis not surprising, given the difference in their ages. Is there a story behind it?”

Elwell kept on smoothing the mule’s withers with his cloth. “I’ve heard something about him finding her after her parents were massacred. She is supposed to have lived with his sister till she came of age.”

“So she married him out of gratitude?”

Elwell shrugged. “They seem to have a real affection for one another.”

“Well, ‘tis an interesting story.” Michael paused. “And what is yours, Elwell? An obviously competent and experienced man like yerself and still a private?”

“A little matter of the wrong woman,” said Elwell, putting down his cloth and turning to face Michael.

Michael looked at him questioningly.

“I was a sergeant a few months ago, Burke. And I have been quite, uh, friendly with one of the laundresses, the Widow Casey.”

Michael grinned.

“Oh, she
is
a widow, one of the few real ones over there. Anyway we were friendly, like I said. And one night
I
came upon Mr. Cooper with her. Forcing her.” Elwell’s voice was hoarse with suppressed fury. “I knocked him down. Blacked one of his blue eyes and bruised his jaw. He didn’t appreciate it, the vain bastard that he is. So he demoted me. He could have court-martialed me, of course, but he knew Mrs. Casey would have testified in my defense. So here I am.”

“And Mrs. Casey?”

“We are still very friendly,” said Elwell with a grin. “And there are quite a few girls back there who would be friendly to you, Sergeant Burke.”

“Call me Michael when we’re off duty.”

“What about coming over for a cup of coffee tonight at the widow’s then, Michael.”

“I just might,” Michael replied with a twinkle in his eye.

He had never been one to be constantly chasing after the women, whether dance hall girls or laundresses. But neither was he an archangel, like his patron saint. He had a body. And his body had needs. And a woman would take his mind off the feeling of Elizabeth Woolcott’s arms around his waist.

* * * *

The rest of the week passed very slowly for Elizabeth. She walked a short ways into the valley on Wednesday and did some sketches of rabbit brush and needle grass. Usually such detailed work relaxed her, but that day she found herself pulling apart stem after stem of needle grass in order to collect the distinctive seed heads. She had drawn them before, the sharp “needles” that blew away on the more fragile “threads” and spiraled themselves into the ground. This time she just sat there with a bunch of them in her skirt. She picked one up and winced as it pricked her finger. She couldn’t imagine why she was feeling so restless. Finally, she shook out her skirt, gathered her things together, and walked slowly back to the fort. Part of her was listening for the sound of hoofbeats. But it was too early for the wood detail to be returning and why would she be interested in them anyway!

* * * *

That Sunday, the fort took on a festive air. Things had been very peaceful for the last few months, and every few weeks the Navajo would drift in to trade blankets and to join the horse racing.

“Do you think Sergeant Burke is going to race that odd-colored horse of his?” her husband wondered aloud as they walked home from the morning service. “I hear he won the horse way up in Nebraska. If he does, I may just wager on him. Although Manuelito’s nephew has come in first a few times.”

“The race depends not just on the horse but on the rider,” replied Elizabeth. “I wouldn’t put my money on Sergeant Burke until I saw him on something other than a mule, Thomas.”

“And then there’s Cooper,” continued Thomas. “He’s won almost every time he’s gone out.”

Elizabeth could see that the horse race fever that took over the fort in good weather had gotten to her husband. Well, if the truth be told, she was excited too. Entertainments were few and far between at Fort Defiance. She enjoyed the race days almost as much as her husband, particularly when the Indians participated. Usually the women came along and she loved looking at the patterns on their blanket dresses as well as the weavings they brought to trade.

* * * *

“Are you racing today, Sergeant?” Privates Spratt and Fisk asked Michael after they had finished their daily drill.

“I’ll be watchin’ the horses along with you, me boys,” he answered in the exaggerated brogue he used when he was teasing. “Sure, and me and me old mule need to get a look at the competition first.”

“We thought you might be entering your painted mare,” said Sprat.

“Ye did, did ya? And ye were planning to drop a few coins on me, were ye?”

“In support of our sergeant, we just might,” said Fisk.

“I see. ‘Tis loyal ye are, me boys. And ye wouldn’t mind atall if I lost them?”

“We wouldn’t mind seeing Mr. Cooper lose,” said Mahoney, who had been standing behind the other two, tinkering with his rifle as though he were completely indifferent to Michael’s intentions.

“Mr. Cooper is our commanding officer, Mahoney,” replied Michael, “and I can brook no disrespect for him, Private.”

“Yes,
sir
, Sergeant,” said Mahoney, his face flushed.

Michael didn’t blame the man for his opinion of Cooper. After all, he shared it. But you couldn’t allow even a hint of insubordination from your men, especially one like Mahoney, who was teetering on a thin edge. He could become a very good soldier, could Mahoney. Or get himself court-martialed. Michael was always straggling to handle him just right, but sometimes the boy drove him crazy, like now, as he stomped off with that sullen look on his face.

While Fisk and Spratt went ahead to breakfast, Elwell walked along with Michael.

“So you’ll just watch this time?”

“Maybe. I’ll watch the shorter races, that’s sure, since Frost’s strength is her endurance. And I’m curious to see how these Navajo ride.”

The hogan door faced east, as was the custom, and when Serena pushed the blanket aside, she had to lift her hand to shade her eyes as she went from the cool, dark interior to the bright light of the sun.

For the first time in three years she was greeting the morning with feelings of joy and expectation. Her happiness was not pure. It was mixed with a deep and lingering sorrow, for never again would she hear her daughter’s voice or see her slim body racing one of the sheepdogs.

Serena sometimes thought it would have been easier if her child had died. Then they would have left the hogan and all memories of her behind. But to know that she was alive somewhere, maybe in Cubero or Abiquiu, working in some Mexican household, crying for her mother, eventually forgetting her mother, never to have her
kinaalda
… Serena took a deep breath. She had promised not to torment herself. Three years was enough, both for her and her husband.

She could see Antonio at the corral, getting the horses ready, and she went back into the hogan to pack their food and the blankets she was bringing to the fort. It was only in the last year she had started weaving anything but what they needed for every day. She had several small pieces that she was proud of and she wondered if any of the
bilagaana
would even notice the subtle differences she had begun to introduce into the usual patterns.