Dust Devil (8 page)

She
had never seen the old man but had heard often enough Stephen’s damnation of the nester and the Homestead Act which threatened Cambria’s land-grant rights. "Why were they on the auction block? Why didn’t he sell his holdings outright?”

"His credit was overextended. And no one seemed to want to buy his holdings
— so he was forced to auction.”

She
bit her lip. "I see.”

He
rose to leave but halted at her bedroom door as he remembered something else. "You be recalling that young chap you traveled with on the Mail Stage?”

Rosemary nodded. "Lieutenant Raffin?”

"Aye. He’s courting Caden’s daughter. Louis and I were thinking — it might do well to keep the young chap in mind for a place in the party.”

"You mean the Santa Fe Ring?” Stephen’s brows rose in surprise, and she said, "I’ve heard the Ring mentioned when you and the others discuss politics.”

Stephen crossed back to her bedside. His hand caught her chin gently and tilted it upward. "I dinna give you enough credit. You are unlike other women. When you are well again, Rosemary . . .”

Her eyes met his in acknowledgement. She owed him a son.

And as if he knew the exact day her flux had run its course, he came to her, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him. She had not been sleeping. The intense summer heat combined with her vague unrest prevented sleep. At the sound of the door opening and closing, her lids snapped open. Stephen leaned over her and pulled the yellow eyelet coverlet from her now-slim body. "Rosemary.” It was a whisper.

Obediently
she raised her arms to admit her husband into her bed. Inwardly she stifled the resistance which ate at her as his hands worked impatiently at the ties of her flannel gown. His hands cupped her rounded breasts, squeezing them while his mouth devoured hers. But mercifully the foreplay lasted only seconds. He maneuvered Rosemary’s legs into the most conducive position for conceiving, and she knew she need endure only minutes more before he would empty himself.

An invasion! her mind screamed. A wife’s duty, she reminded herself. How many more nights
— fourteen, fifteen — before she would know if she had conceived?

The following week Rita and Jiraldo visited, bringing with them their daughter, a beautiful infant, weighing already
thirteen pounds at two months. Once the two women were closeted in Rosemary’s office, Rosemary burst out, "Rita, do you — do you mind having to — ” she twisted her hands together and paced the floor before Rita who sat contentedly in the rocker nursing her daughter.

Without someone to share her intimate thoughts with, Rosemary often felt she would dry up and whither there on that limitless prairie like the uprooted sagebrush. But now these thoughts seemed outrageous. At last she whirled on her friend. "Does it bother you having relations with Jiraldo?”

"So that’s it, Rosita.” Rita’s broad smile turned to gentle laughter. "No, because my dear snores through most nights.  If I want pleasure, it is I who must arouse him!”

"Oh, Rita!” Rosemary’s laughter joined that of her friend’s. They talked like conspirators, laughing one moment, bemoaning the fate of womankind the next.

"Have you heard, Rosita — Clara Caden, she has left her husband?”

"I knew she wasn’t happy here, but
. . .” Her voice trailed off. She could not conceive of leaving Cambria.

"
Si
'” She went back to the United States. They say her family is of the blackblood.”

She
laughed. "Blueblood, you mean. Did Libby go with her mother? Stephen tells me Grant Raffin is courting her.”

"That is so. And,
ay di mi
, gossip whispers that he is a very handsome man!” Then, "Your husband, Rosita, he is not a bad-looking man. But you do not enjoy his . . . .”

Rosemary nodded, and Rita said, "At least not every night, eh?”

"Never,” Rosemary admitted miserably. It was not the first time she had thought she was perhaps abnormal. "Sometimes I wonder if I truly have the instincts of a female. I feel more like a — ” her hand slapped her desk — "as neuter as this block of wood, Rita!”

"
Mi amiga, mi hermana
, for you are more like a sister than a friend—what you need is to take yourself
un amado
. . . a lover.”

Her
eyes grew wide. "You have done this, Rita?”

T
he velvet brown eyes gleamed mischievously. "It will do wonders for your — what do you call it—female instincts.”

"I could not do it.”

Rita’s eyes narrowed, and Rosemary hurried on. "’Tis not that I be judging you, ’tis just the manner in which I was raised, Rita. ’Tis beyond my wildest— ”

“
Mierda
!” the older woman cursed. "Don’t tell me the idea has never crossed your mind, Rosemary Rhodes. Not with that Navajo
caporal
around you!”

CHAPTER 10

Captain Grant Raffin raised his wineglass in a toast. Its ruby contents glistened in the prism lights of the chandeliers. "To the heir of Cambria,” he said, inclining his head in Rosemary’s direction at the table’s far end. "And to the Union’s glorious victory over the Confederacy.”

"I concur with both,” Stephen replied with a grand gesture of his own wineglass. "And to the New Year of 1862.”

Only Rosemary could tell that Stephen had imbibed more than his usual. But then, she thought, he had a right to do so. Hopefully, within a week or so, his longed-for son would be born. Her hand slipped to her greatly extended stomach. This time the months of waiting had slipped by with few problems, only the discomfort which accompanied her size
. . . waddling like a duck, no riding allowed, no sleeping on her stomach.

But confined as she was, she had been able to accomplish much more. Her ledgers were up to date, the store, with Miguel’s help, doing a booming business in trading, and a small school-house, already under construction. Best though
— through a letter from her uncle — she was able to persuade Stephen to breed out the churro sheep and introduce the Rambouillet, a breed of the Spanish Merino which her uncle claimed could thrive where there was little food.

Everything
she did at that time seemed to work for the best, like Midas’s touch. She almost wished she could stay pregnant forever. Not only did her cheeks glow with the bloom of pregnancy and her eyes and hair shine, but, to her great relief, she was once more reprieved from Stephen’s nightly visits.

"The var vill never touch uz,” Louis Goldman declared, and Rosemary returned her attention to the dinner.
  Louis swallowed another spoonful of the cherry compote, saying, "Ve got too many forts — Stanton, Marcy, Union, Craig — and now thiz Fort Sumner. The yellow Confederates vould not dare invade the Territory!”

"You had best hope not, Senor Goldman,” Jiraldo said.
  "If your Union troops are forced to retreat, your Trading Post will lose its contract with the government, will it not?”

She
could see the trouble brewing between the Mexican and the German. "But if it comes to that, gentlemen,” she interposed smoothly, "surely we will all suffer. Our sheep, our cattle, even our homes may be requisitioned —”

"And your Mexican land grants
vill be vorthless,” Louis charged. "Vorthless as the yellowed paper they are printed on!”

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Stephen interrupted and, when he had their attention, went on evenly, "Your bickering is spoiling our dinner party.” His gaze moved to rest on Governor Caden’s
pasty face. "Besides, I’m sure that when the governor becomes our representative in Washington, he will be seeing to it that the deeds to our land grants be properly filed and recognized. We want every possibility covered, aye, Caden?”

Cornered, t
he elderly man tugged at his white goatee. "I shall do all I can, Stephen, to see that your interests are protected.”

He would be only too happy to comply,
she thought tartly. In going over the old, musty accounts she had come across the governor’s I.O.U. to Stephen in the amount of five thousand dollars. No wonder Stephen wanted the man in Washington instead of the Governor’s Palace. How much more could be accomplished through the direct channels to the White House!

She
had never been able to like Caden. He had the gray, oily look of soft cheese, she thought, and his daughter’s baby-doll face was irritatingly stupid. Her glance slid down the length of the table to watch as Libby fluttered golden lashes at Grant, who seemed to be listening intently to what the young woman was saying.

In a way, Rosemary thought, Grant was much like Stephen. An opportunist. Already Grant seemed to have inveigled his way into the Santa Fe Ring, or the
Casa
, as Rita discreetly called it. She had heard that Grant had arrested the cowboy who had killed the Mexican probate judge . . . but somehow the cowboy had conveniently escaped from the fort’s jail some months later. Now Grant had the appointment as captain at Fort Sumner, which was under construction on the southern edge of Cambria territory.

Grant caught her gaze on him, and his lips formed a smile that excluded everyone but her. However, his words were for the guests in general. "There will be no need to worry about
confiscation of your property,” he promised in a firm voice. "You have my word that not one Rebel foot shall cross into our Territory.”

"Bravo!” Rita said, and her eyes flashed flirtatiously across the rim of her wineglass.
Rosemary knew her friend knew nothing and cared nothing for politics and the foolish war going on in the United States. But the captain, now . . . obviously, Rita found him a very handsome man.

"We shall certainly rest easier, Captain Raffin,” Libby said, dabbing at her small, bowlike mouth with the fine linen napkin to cover her flush.

Grant flashed each lady a reassuring smile, charming them; yet Rosemary was curious as to what Stephen thought about Grant, if he had underestimated Grant as she first had. But apparently not, or he would not have asked her to issue the officer an invitation to the New Year’s dinner.

Next year, when she was no longer large with child, Stephen had promised her there would be more parties, more people, not just the intimate dinner with friends. The night before he had surprised her, coming to her bedroom just to talk with her. They had discussed small things
— the feasibility of a windmill, the possibility of telegraph wires — and lightly debated the idea of improving on their cattle herds, which Stephen was against; Rosemary hoped to persuade him that cattle and sheep could feed together on the same ranges, that the sheep could eat the finer grass the cattle missed. "Mark my words, Stephen Rhodes, cattle will one day be more important in the Territory than sheep!”

Stephen, who by nature
she had learned, was reserved and undemonstrative, had pulled her into his arms and laid his hand on her greatly rounded belly. "You are beautiful as you are now . . . carrying our son.”

Rosemary had blushed in pleasure, and she blushed now with the memory of the intimate moment as her gaze sought Stephen’s. He nodded discreetly. She understood. It was time for the women to withdraw.

The talk would now be centered entirely on the War Between the States. And with all tempers near the breaking point due to the uncertainty of the people’s allegiance in the Territory, the table would be no place for the women.

"Rita,”
she said, "do you think Inez is awake yet? The women would like to see the baby.”

She
knew the last thing Hilda wanted to see was the Mexican baby, and she felt a small measure of guilt at the perverse satisfaction she received in baiting Louis’s wife.

Although Hilda’s lips folded together, Rita took the cue. "
Si
, Rosita, it is time for her feeding.”

As if a silent signal had been issued,
the latest servant girl, the Apache child Magdalena, appeared with a tray of brandy glasses and a decanter, and the men began to draw out their cigars. The women made their way toward the double doors of the drawing room. But Rosemary heard Jiraldo demand, "And what of
los indios
, Captain Raffin? Not three weeks ago a band of Navajos raided
mi campo del sur
. Thirty head of sheep they stole! What will you do about them?”

"I have special plans for the Navajo and Apache, gentlemen,” Grant replied with a calm assurance. "Even now in Washington, negotiations
— ”

But
the pig-tailed Magdalena closed the drawing-room doors, and she did not hear the rest, part of which would have the greatest of effects on her future.

Rita stayed with
her until her child was born, five days later. It was an easy birth, and Stephen was jubilant. The child was a son, James Gallagher Rhodes.

"Your husband, Rosita, he is very good to you, is he not?” Rita asked as she watched
her suckle the infant at her breast.

True, a jubilant Stephen had presented her that morning with earrings of pure gold nuggets taken from the mines at Rincon. And while the baby was given the name of Stephen’s father, Stephen did suggest bestowing the middle name of Gallagher on their son; but
she suspected that was an astute gesture made in tribute to his partnership with her uncle rather than out of deference to herself.