Beverly Byrne (36 page)

"No!"
she hissed. "Here I am somebody. I never go back with you."

Just
then the Indian whom Tommy had knocked out groaned; softly at first, then
louder. He staggered to his feet, but collapsed again instantly. Rosa gasped
and tried to go to him. Tommy yanked her back. She struggled to free herself,
but it was no use. Each movement was a silent pantomime in the hushed street.
None of the onlookers moved or spoke.

Finally
the
cacique
thrust his body between Tommy and the woman. Tommy could
smell the old man's sweat and sense his surprising strength. He did not want to
hit a man over sixty. He turned and shoved him instead. Then, without warning
and in the split second before Pedro responded to the force of the push, Tommy
felt a hot stab of pain in his back below his shoulder blades.

The
knife Rosa plunged into him remained buried to its hilt. For a few seconds
Tommy's gray eyes opened wide in surprise. Then they closed, and he staggered a
moment before he fell.

The
road leading to San Felipe was a rough dirt track that cut a jagged path to the
Rio Grande and the pueblo. That's why Tommy had come on horseback. Now the Indians
hauled him away on a cart pulled by two burros. Pedro and two other men, both
elders of the village ,accompanied his prostrate form.The women had staunched
the flow of blood and administered herbal medicine, but they did not go on the
journey to Santo Domingo.

The
trip did not begin until the cacique and his council met and discussed the best
way to deal with this emergency. Someone suggested keeping the gringo in the
pueblo until he either died or recovered. In the latter case he would be
grateful to them for saving his life; if he died, they could bury him and hope
he'd never be found. Wiser heads prevailed. The gringo was a prominent man, and
his alliance with Rosa was well known. If he disappeared, the authorities were
bound to search for him in San Felipe. No, they must take him home, where his
own kind could try and save his life. Then they must simply wait and see what
consequences followed this evil day.

The
cart reached the ranch in late morning of the day that Amy intended to leave
her husband and join the man she loved. Her suitcase and the children's were
packed and discreetly hidden in her bedroom. She waited only for Rick's
arrival. Her heart was singing, and she felt neither guilt nor shame. She had
paid whatever debt she owed Tommy a long time ago. And she had done all she
could to make the marriage a success. It was his choice, not hers, that forced
this end to the drama begun six years earlier in Cross River.

"Dona
Amy! Dona Amy!" Maria's wails filled the cool serenity of the beautiful
hacienda. "Come quick! Don Tommy, I think he is dead! They have killed him
..."

Amy's
sandaled feet slapped on the tiled floor. She ran out into the courtyard and
ignored Tom Junior's howls of fright. The baby could not understand what was
said, but he recognized the anguish in Maria's voice and was terrified.

"What
is it?" What are you talking about?" Amy thrust her head into the
wagon and saw Tommy's inert form. He was lying on his stomach and a blanket
covered him from the neck down. She did not think he was breathing. "Oh,
my God! What happened?"

"He
is still alive," Pedro said. Then he quickly told her the facts. Amy did
not require long explanations. She instructed them to carry Tommy to his
bedroom, and then looked at her watch. It was pointless to send for help. Rick
was on his way there right now. Nothing would make him come any faster than the
motive he already had.

"Get
hot water and more blankets," she told Maria. "Bring them to Don
Tommy's room. Then see that these men have a drink and something to eat before
they leave."

Amy
started to follow the half-dead form of her husband. Then she noticed Kate. The
little girl stood by the entrance of the patio. She was absolutely rigid, and
her eyes were wide with terror.

Amy
dashed to her and swept the child into her arms. The small form was hard and
unyielding. "It's all right, darling," Amy crooned, stroking Kate's
hair and pressing her close. "Daddy's going to be all right. Uncle Rick
will be here any minute to make him better. "

Suddenly
Kate began pummeling her mother with tiny clenched fists. She threw back her
head and screamed and screamed, and her agony was fearful to behold.

26

WILLHE
LIVE?" AMY ASKED AFTER RICK HAD BEEN with him for almost an hour.

"I
don't know." He wiped his hands on a towel and accepted the drink she had
poured for him. The kitchen was cool and dim, despite the midday heat. Rick
extended his foot and hooked a chair closer, then straddled it. He leaned on
the back with his elbows and studied her over the rim of his frosted glass.

"The
knife punctured a lung. I've stitched it as best I can, but there'll probably
be infection. Besides, he's lost a lot of blood. How's Kate?"

"Sleeping.
Whatever you gave her worked fast."

Amy
lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. "I didn't want it to end like
this," she whispered. "I wanted to leave him, but not like
this."

"I
could say a lot of things about useless guilt for something you didn't
do," Rick said. "I don't think there's much point. You know it all
anyway. Here." He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded
letter. "You'd better read this."

Amy
took it and saw the heading of the Dominican Priory in Dover. The handwriting
was familiar. It was from Luke. "Where did you get this?"

"It
was in Tommy's desk. He was conscious for a few minutes. I asked him if he
wanted a priest. I thought his answer was pretty strange. He said, 'Only if
it's the right one.' Then he told me to get the letter. He lost consciousness
after that, so I read it. There didn't seem anything else to do."

Amy
looked at Rick for a long moment, then bent her head to read Luke's letter. It
was postmarked a month earlier and the first paragraph was just ordinary
chatter about how he was and what he was doing. Then he'd written, "I am
sorry to hear things between you and Amy are past help. If you have 'bitched it
up beyond repair,' as you say, that's a damn shame. Don't forget you're married
in the eyes of God. He'll help you if you ask Him."

Amy
suppressed a wave of distaste for this easy religiosity. She continued reading.

"As
for Uncle Donald, we can leave the judgment to the Lord. Apparently he backed
himself into a corner and didn't know how else to get out. May he rest in
peace. When I get there we can talk more about all this. I don't mind saying
I'm nervous about traveling with the extraordinary luggage you've arranged.
Brother James will be coming with me and we should arrive on the third or the
fourth of June ...." There was more, but it was unimportant.

"Does
any of that make sense to you?" Rick asked.

"Some
of it does. Uncle Donald is Donald Varley. He was my guardian and executor of
Tommy's and Luke's parents' estate. I guess he must have died. Tommy never told
me."

"What
about the 'luggage' he refers to. Do you know what it is?"

"No.
Tommy never said a word ..." She broke off and looked at the calendar on
the wall. "What day is it?" she asked Rick.

"Wednesday,
June seventh," he said. "Your brother-in-law is at least three days
overdue."

Suddenly
it dawned on Amy that Luke was coming there, to the ranch. That part of his
letter was absolutely clear. "How will he get here?" she asked.

"Hire
a taxi at Lamy I expect." Rick stood up. He started to cross to her, but
something in her face stopped him. He had finally won her away from Tommy, whom
she had never loved. Was he to lose her now to a ghost from the past? A
celibate ghost at that. "I have to get back to my patient," he said.
His voice was grim, but Amy neither looked up nor met his eyes.

The
Dominicans arrived late that same afternoon. They came in a taxi from Lamy, as
Rick had pre-dieted. Both Luke and his companion looked tired when they climbed
out of the car and stood in the courtyard facing the house. They didn't wear
their white habits as Amy had expected. They were in black suits with small
white collars at their necks, and they were gray with the dust of the dry
roads.

"Hello,
Luke," she said, extending her hand. "I'm sorry there was no one at
the station to meet you. I didn't know until a few hours ago that you were
coming."

He
held her hand a moment longer than formality dictated, then introduced his
companion. Brother James was a man a little older than Luke. He had a broad
smile and a decidedly Irish cast of features. Amy waited until the driver had
unloaded their luggage and received payment for the trip. Only when the taxi
drove out the gate did she say, "I'm sorry to greet you with bad news, but
there's been an accident. Tommy is very ill, he may be dying. I'm sorry,"
she repeated. "There's no easy way to tell you such a thing."

Luke
ignored her apologies and asked only one question. "Has he had a
priest?"

"He
told the doctor he only wanted 'the right one.' I think he meant you."

Luke
unstrapped his single suitcase. It was old and battered, though once it had
been of fine quality. His possessions were all neatly folded, and he found what
he wanted right away. Then, holding a satin stole that was purple on one side
and white on the other, he followed her into the house.

***

"
In
nomine patris et fili et spiritu sancti
." Luke traced the sign of the
cross on Tommy's forehead. His thumb was moist with holy oil, and he bore down
as if he wanted to impress the symbol on his brother's mind and soul. Tommy
didn't respond. Three days he'd been like that. Seventy-two hours of heat and
suppressed emotion and mystery had passed since Luke came to Santo Domingo.

He
sighed and stood up. His knees were sore and his white habit was faintly soiled
where it had pressed against the tiled floor. Luke had spent most of the last
three days praying beside his brother's bed. He was waiting for a sign, for
some symbol of remorse or awareness. Luke wanted that desperately. He wanted to
give Tommy real absolution, not the conditional sort the Church permitted in
these circumstances. It was only for that grace he stormed heaven. Luke did not
presume to pray for his brother's recovery. Now he was too weary to pray for
anything.

When
he bent his head to remove the purple stole he saw the child. Tommy's daughter
was standing in the doorway. Luke couldn't know how long she'd been there
watching. Carefully he folded the stole and placed it and the vial of holy oil
in the drawer of the bedside table; then he walked toward her. "Hello,
Kate, do you want to see Daddy? He's still sleeping."

Kate
didn't answer; she merely studied him with her silvery eyes. Luke took her hand
and led her to the still figure of her father. "You can give him a kiss if
you want, then we'd better go away and let him rest." She pressed her
small rosebud mouth to Tommy's ashen cheek. After that she allowed Luke to lead
her from the room.

The
household had evolved a schedule for watching by Tommy's bed. When Luke and his
niece left the sickroom Brother James was waiting in the hall. He nodded to
them and went in to continue the vigil.

There
was another vigil being kept simultaneously. Luke glanced out the window and
saw the pair of Indians still poised motionless on the horizon. They had been
there since Tommy was brought home. They were from Pueblo San Felipe, and they
were waiting to see if the man Rosa stabbed would die.

"The
people of the pueblos are very closely knit," Rick had explained. "If
Rosa is indicted for murder, they will see it as a trial of the entire village.
It will be too. The publicity will be awful." He'd gone on to speak of the
life of the pueblos, their struggle to survive and preserve their culture,
their poverty.

Luke
liked Rick. He recognized in the doctor a blend of toughness and gentleness.
"He knows who and what he is," he'd told Brother James. "Ibanez
doesn't need to put on an act for himself or anyone else. That's rare."
Luke stuck by that evaluation, but he also knew that some kind of charade was
being enacted in his brother's home. Ostensibly the doctor was present because
a desperately ill man required his skills. And Amy was quiet and withdrawn
because her husband was teetering on the edge of death, as a result of wounds
inflicted by his mistress. Perhaps it was understandable, this sense of hidden
truths seething below the surface, but Luke didn't believe he wholly understood
it.

A
maid appeared and took Kate from his custody. Luke wandered into the living
room. Amy was sitting alone and staring into space. Luke went to her and laid a
hand on her shoulder. "Let me get you something," he said. "A cold
drink or perhaps some tea."

"I
don't want anything, thanks." She put her hand over his, almost without
thinking of the gesture. "I'm glad you're here. I never would have
expected it, not in a million years, but it's a blessing."

"For
me too." He paused, then went on, "Amy, dear, we've got to talk.
Maybe this isn't the right time ..."

Rick
came into the room, and Luke stopped speaking. Ibanez looked at the pair of
them. Amy's hand still layover Luke's, his was still on her shoulder. "Sorry,"
Rick said. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Amy
stood up. She looked oddly guilty. "You're not intruding. We were just
..."

She
had no opportunity to complete the sentence. Brother James appeared in the
doorway. " 'Tis over," he said in his soft brogue. "He's gone to
God."

Rick
was the first to move. He said nothing, merely hurried from the room to
ascertain the accuracy of the pronouncement. Amy looked after him, as if
debating whether she should follow. She couldn't bring herself to do it, and
she sank back to her seat instead.

"Did
he recover consciousness?" Luke asked. "Did he say anything?"
His eyes pleaded for the right answer.

Brother
James shook his head. "He moaned once, that's all. Then he stopped
breathing. I made an Act of Contrition for him. Sure the Lord takes a soul when
and how 'tis best. You'll not be doubting His mercy or His wisdom."

In
minutes the fact of Tommy's death somehow made itself known throughout the
house. Maria went out to the courtyard and rubbed her face with dirt and began
a keening chant of formalized grief. It was unrelated to her feelings for Don
Tommy; it was merely a rite she owed her employer.

Amy
heard the eerie wail and ran to where Maria sat cross-legged on the ground.
"Stop it! The children will hear and be terrified. Kate's already beside
herself."

Maria
paused and looked at her mistress. "They must know about dying," she
said. "It is not a secret." Then she resumed her loud mourning. Exasperated,
Amy started back to the house. She must find Kate and Tommy Junior and tell
them herself. Before she went inside she looked up. The men of Pueblo San
Felipe were gone.

In
the hiatus between death and burial they went through Tommy's papers. A locked
drawer in the desk in his bedroom contained all his vital documents, carefully
filed. There were the deeds to the ranch, the original one and those
representing Tommy's later acquisitions, and there was a will.

How
like him, Amy thought. He was young and healthy and very much alive, but he
made a will. Clever Tommy left nothing to chance, until he turned his back on
Rosa.

The
will was a carefully thought out disposition of Tommy's assets. The terms were
clear and simple.

Santo
Domingo and everything belonging to it went to his children. It was to be run
as a trust until Tom Junior was twenty-one. The First National Bank of Santa Fe
was the trustee. "My wife, Amy Norman Westerman," the will continued,
"has the right to live at Santo Domingo as long as she wishes. Further, I
instruct my trustee to pay her support and maintenance as long as she
lives."

That
was all, no riders, no codicils or exceptions. The ranch was Amy's home and its
earnings her upkeep as long as she lived, not just until she remarried or broke
some other condition of Tommy's making.

"He
wanted to be fair," Rick said. Amy nodded.

There
was one other thing in the locked drawer. It was a folded brown paper
containing a dozen small brown seeds. Outside it was marked, "flame
tree."