Love Forevermore (13 page)

Chapter Eleven

Zuniga passed the sacred pipe to Nachi, who took four puffs and passed it on to Red Dog, the chief of the tribe. A small fire burned in a deep pit. Branches had been laid over the surface of the pit to disperse the smoke.

The men smoked in silence. Zuniga glanced from face to face. Did his own countenance reflect the same hopeless expression as those he saw? Six Bears raised the pipe toward heaven. He was the paper chief of the tribe, the one who had been appointed by the Agency. He had no power over the people, but he was respected because he had once been a great warrior in his own right. There were five other men gathered around the firepit. They were the men who policed the tribe, who settled disputes and listened to the problems, complaints, and concerns of the People.

Zuniga grinned into the darkness. He was the only man present under the age of fifty, and he was here because he refused to bend to the white man’s rule. The young men of the tribe looked up to him. He was their leader, their spokesman. The soldiers and the Indian Agent would have been surprised to discover that Zuniga knew as much about what went on within the bounds of the reservation as they did, and even more surprised to learn that what he said and thought was listened to with interest and respect.

This night the head men of the tribe were discussing Crow Dog’s youngest daughter. She had reached the age of puberty and desired to participate in the ancient puberty ceremony. It was a good thing, when a girl became a woman. The puberty ceremony, or Sunrise Ceremony, would be held in two days. It was decided to hold the ceremony at night, when there was little chance of interference by the whites.

The men discussed a few other tribal matters, then the fire was extinguished and the men disappeared into the darkness.

Zuniga and Nachi stayed where they were. Nachi brought out his old clay pipe and lighted it with a coal from the ashes. He took several deep puffs, then passed the pipe to his grandson.

“What has become of the white woman?” the old man asked after a lengthy silence.

“Nothing.”

“Why do you no longer meet with her at the schoolhouse?”

“I have learned to read and write. It is enough.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully. “Something is not right between you.”

Zuniga glanced at Nachi with affection. “Do you now read my mind, Grandfather, that I can have no secrets from you?”

Nachi laughed. “I have known you since the day you were born. I know when you are troubled.”

Zuniga nodded. He was troubled. Troubled and lonesome.

“Was it not good between you?”

“Grandfather?”

“Did she not please you when you made love to her?”

“She pleased me well enough.”

“But?”

“She was ashamed of what we had done. Ashamed because she had let an Indian defile her. I will not have a woman who feels shame when I touch her.”

“Perhaps she was only ashamed because the two of you were not married.”

“What?”

“An Apache woman feels shame when she lies with a warrior outside of marriage, even if she is deeply in love with the man. Perhaps the white woman felt the same.”

Zuniga stared at Nachi. It had never occurred to him that Loralee might feel that way. The Apache did not credit the whites with modesty or honor. It was well known that the whites had slept with their slaves before the Civil War, and that they had violated Indian women without a qualm. He had supposed that white women were of a similar nature. Was it possible that Loralee had valued her chastity? If so, he had wronged her terribly.

It was a thought that bothered him deeply.

“Come on,” Mike coaxed. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I feel like we’re trespassing on something sacred,” Loralee answered as she followed Mike onto the reservation.

“We’re not trespassing. I have every right to be here.”

Side by side, they stood in the shadows, watching as the tribe gathered around a particular lodge. Soon a young girl exited the wickiup and all the young people began to chase her. The girl ran northward for perhaps a hundred yards, then she turned and ran southeast, then east, and then north again, running the same distance in each direction.

When she returned to her own lodge, sacred pollen was sprinkled over her head. At the same time, a prayer was offered to the gods, asking for their ever-protecting care and guidance in the young girl’s life. A new blanket was spread on the ground and the girl danced on the blanket while the people sang to her.

Loralee watched, fascinated, as the dancing went on for over an hour. She knew that the ceremony had once lasted for four days, but would now only last the night.

After the girl finished her dance, the
Gans
began to dance. These dancers represented the mountain spirits. They wore grotesque costumes and masks and carried wooden swords.

Later, the girl sat on a blanket with her eyes closed. For this brief time, she represented White Painted Lady and was thought to possess special powers. The girl was dressed in a buckskin dress that had been made especially for this occasion. It was covered with yellow ocher and decorated with suns and moons and stars. A small eagle feather was attached to each shoulder to enable the girl to run as light as a feather. A single white eagle feather was tied in her hair in the hope that she would live until her hair turned the same color as the feather.

It was a lovely ceremony, Loralee mused as the girl rose from her blanket and her parents and relatives began serving food to the guests. The Western Apache believed there was a time when White Painted Lady, also known as Changing Woman, lived all alone. After many years, she desired to have children, so she slept with the Sun, and soon after that she gave birth to Slayer of Monsters. Four days later, Changing Woman became pregnant by Water and gave birth to Born of Water, or Child of the Water. As the half-brothers matured, Changing Woman instructed them in how they should live and then they left home and, following their mother’s advice, they cleansed the world of most of its evil.

Changing Woman never grew old. When she got to be a certain age, she walked toward the east, and after a time she saw herself in the distance walking toward her. When the two came together, only one remained, the younger one. Then she was like a young girl all over again. One of the blessings of the Sunrise Ceremony provided a young girl with longevity and the capability to remain forever young.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it, Mike?” Loralee asked, touched by the beauty of the ceremony, and by the poise and serenity of the young Apache woman.

“Yeah, I guess so, if you believe all that nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” Loralee argued. “I don’t think their beliefs are any more peculiar than some of ours, not when you understand them.”

Mike laughed shortly. “How can you possibly begin to understand all that superstitious hocus-pocus? Mountain spirits, indeed! It’s all a lot of hogwash.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely,” Loralee said stubbornly.

“Okay, okay,” Mike said good-naturedly. “It’s lovely. Let’s go. I’ve got to be back at the post by ten.”

Zuniga stood in the shadows, watching the ceremony. He rarely participated in any of the reservation events, preferring to stay out of sight of the soldiers and the reservation police.

He was about to head for home when he saw Loralee walking with Mike Schofield. They were laughing softly, their heads close together, their hands entwined.

Zuniga felt his anger begin to grow as they went on their way, oblivious to his presence. He did not like the way Loralee smiled into the white man’s face, or the possessive way the white man put his arm around her shoulders.

Silent as a stalking puma, Zuniga followed the couple, his hand straying to the knife sheathed on his belt. It would be so easy tq drive the narrow blade into the white man’s back. So easy, but it would only cause trouble for his people if the man’s body should be found. And his people had trouble enough.

He paused, silent as the night, as Mike handed Loralee into the buggy and took a place beside her. Lifting the reins, Mike clucked to the horse and they drove away.

Zuniga stood in the darkness, undecided, and then he began to run, his moccasined feet making no sound as he ran after the buggy.

He came to a halt as Mike drew rein at Loralee’s house, and watched through narrowed eyes as the white man lifted Loralee to the ground and walked with her to the front door. They stood close together, then Mike bent his head and kissed Loralee. Jealousy, more painful than the cut of a knife, more deadly than the poison of a rattler, surged through Zuniga’s veins as Loralee’s arms went around the white man’s neck. They kissed for a long time before Mike let Loralee go.

“Good night, Mike,” Loralee murmured, her voice soft and dreamy. “Thanks for taking me to the ceremony. I enjoyed it.”

“Anytime, honey. See you tomorrow?”

Loralee nodded, lifting her face for one last kiss.

She was humming softly when she opened the door and stepped into the parlor. Lighting the lamp on the table beside the sofa, she dropped her shawl across the back of the couch. Her hand flew to her throat when she saw Zuniga standing in front of the fireplace.

“You!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Did you go to the reservation tonight to make light of our ways?” His voice was angry and accusing. He had intended to apologize to her for violating her virginity. He had thought he might offer to marry her. But that had been before he saw her in the white man’s arms, before he saw her kiss Mike Schofield with such fervor. “Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“I heard you laughing and making jokes.”

“We weren’t laughing at your people, Shad.”

“Weren’t you?”

“You know how much I like and respect your people,” Loralee argued quietly. “I would not make fun of their religion, and you know it.”

He did know it, but he could not admit it now, could not think clearly with Loralee standing so close. She was wearing a new dress. It was light blue in color with a pattern of tiny dark blue flowers and green leaves. The neck was square, the sleeves were short and puffy, edged with lace. The skirt flared over her hips. Her hair was pulled away from her face with a dark blue grosgrain ribbon. She looked very young, and very beautiful. He remembered the night they had shared at Shadow Lake and his heart began to pound. He had thought of her for weeks, missing her, wanting her, dreaming of her lying in his arms, her body pressed against his, her lips whispering his name as he possessed her.

And then he remembered the way Mike Schofield had held Loralee, the possessive look in the white man’s eyes as he kissed her, and anger exploded through Zuniga, crushing his tender feelings with a jealousy so intense, so violent, it was like a physical pain in his heart.

“You spend a lot of time with Schofield.” He hurled the words at her.

“Yes.” Loralee was suddenly confused. One minute he was accusing her of belittling the beliefs of his people, and the next he was questioning her relationship with Mike. What did he really want?

“Why?”

“Why?” She felt herself growing angry. What right did Shad Zuniga have to come to her house in the middle of the night and cross-examine her? He had not seen her in weeks, and now he came here as if he had every right to badger her with questions that were none of his business.

“I’ll tell you why I spend so much time with Mike,” Loralee said with sugary sweetness. “He’s a very nice man, a gentleman, if you will. I enjoy being with him, and I intend to marry him. Does that answer all your questions, Mr. Zuniga?” Loralee’s gaze lingered on Shad’s face as she waited for him to say something. For weeks she had professed to hate him, but she knew now that it wasn’t true, had never been true. She longed to tell him that she loved him, loved him and was pregnant with his child.

She might have swallowed her pride and said the words if Zuniga had not been looking at her as if he hated her. She felt the tears start and she closed her eyes, not wanting him to see her cry. If only he would take her in his arms. If only he would say he cared, she would pour out her heart and tell him everything.

But still he did not speak, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that she was alone in the house.

Zuniga ran through the quiet night, his powerful legs carrying him effortlessly over the miles. Like all Apache males, he had been trained from childhood to run mile after mile without food or water. In the old days, it was not uncommon for a warrior to outrun a horse.

He ran through the night with no destination in mind. It felt good, to have the wind in his face, to feel the earth beneath his feet, to fill his lungs with the cool desert air. He ran steadily, and his feet pounded out the words that echoed and re-echoed in his mind:
She’s going to marry the white man, she’s going to marry the white man, she’s going to marry…
The image of Loralee standing in Schofield’s arms was burned into his brain. She was going to marry the white man…

He ran until his legs felt like rubber and his lungs were on fire, but he could not outrun his anger, or his jealousy.