Comanche Moon (28 page)

Rachel smiled slightly, and tears filled her eyes. ‘‘God forgive me, I gave you up for lost. It’s a miracle.’’

‘‘Unbelievable, more like,’’ Henry snarled.

Loretta ignored him. ‘‘Didn’t Tom tell you he saw me?’’

‘‘He said you were starving yourself, that you weren’t likely to last more ’n a few days.’’ Rachel caught Loretta’s face between her hands. ‘‘We figured you—’’ Her voice broke, and her throat worked as she fought to speak. ‘‘We thought you were long since dead. Tom and some others went out searching for you. Couldn’t find a trace. I gave up hope.’’ Her mouth began to quiver. Looking a little sheepish, she shrugged and blinked. ‘‘I don’t know why I’m cryin’. I should be happy.’’

With a sob, Rachel began checking Loretta for injuries, her hands trembling as she ran them over her niece’s clothes. ‘‘Are you—did they cut you anywhere? Burn you? Are you all right?’’ When she spied the medallion, she cupped it in her palm and stared at it. ‘‘Lord Almighty, what’s this?’’

‘‘It’s Hunter’s. He gave it to me as a remembrance.’’

‘‘A remembrance!’’ Henry barked. ‘‘Lord help us, she’s plumb addled. A remembrance?’’

‘‘I—yes. We’re, um, sort of . . .’’ Loretta licked her lips again and glanced around the room, the words to explain eluding her.
Careful, Loretta.
If she said the wrong thing, it could damn her. ‘‘I can’t believe I’m actually standing here. Home. Really and truly home.’’

‘‘Are you hurt anywhere?’’ Rachel demanded.

‘‘No, not a scratch. Just a little grimy around the edges.’’

‘‘Lands, you are in a tangle. Don’t those Injuns have soap?’’

‘‘Not a sniff.’’ Loretta laughed, feeling giddy, not quite able to believe Hunter had brought her here as promised. ‘‘Maybe that’s a bad choice of words. I bet I smell to high heaven.’’

‘‘Like a little smokehouse.’’ Rachel grabbed her for another fierce hug. ‘‘And talking a blue streak, Henry! Isn’t it wonderful?’’

Henry, who had stepped back to his post, peered out the doeskin membrane and swore under his breath. ‘‘Sweet Jesus, here they come!’’ He threw his carbine to his shoulder. ‘‘Rachel, git your rifle! Loretta Jane, you load!’’

‘‘No!’’ Loretta broke away from Rachel and ran across the room to jerk Henry’s rifle off bead. ‘‘Don’t shoot!’’

‘‘Don’t shoot? You done lost your mind, girl? They’re attackin’!’’

Loretta bent to peer out the crack. There they came, forty Comanches, all whooping and hollering, lances raised, a frightening spectacle indeed. Forgetting for the moment that she must guard what she said, she cried, ‘‘They
aren’t
attacking. He promised.’’

‘‘Then what the hell
are
they doin’? Get outa my way!’’ Henry shoved her aside and resighted his rifle. ‘‘He promised? She’s touched, Rachel! They messed her up in the head, keepin’ her all this time.’’

Loretta ran for the door. ‘‘He isn’t attacking! I
know
he isn’t. Please, don’t shoot!’’ The bar stuck as she tried to lift it. Her heart began to slam as she wrestled with it. A vision of Hunter lying dead in the yard flashed through her head. This was exactly what she had dreaded might happen, what she’d tried to explain to him last night. ‘‘Please, Uncle Henry—he promised me. And he wouldn’t make a lie of it, he wouldn’t, I know he wouldn’t!’’ The bar finally came free. ‘‘Don’t shoot him, don’t!’’

Throwing the door wide, Loretta ran out onto the porch. The Comanches were circling the house. She ran to the end of the porch and saw a lance embedded in the dirt fifteen feet away.

Hi, hites,
hello, my friend.

Her knees went weak with relief. ‘‘Uncle Henry,’’ she cried over her shoulder, ‘‘they’re marking the property. Protecting us! Don’t shoot or you’ll cause a bloodbath for sure!’’ She ran to the window and peered in the crack at her uncle. ‘‘Did you hear me? If they were wanting to murder somebody, I’d be dead.’’

She turned back to watch as the Comanches widened their circle to mark the outer perimeters of Henry’s land. Tears stung her eyes. Hunter was leaving a message to every Indian in the whole territory: those at this farm were not to be attacked.

Within minutes the braves had driven all forty willow lances into the dirt and ridden to the crest of the hill. Loretta shaded her brow, trying to find Hunter in the swarm. Recognizing him from the rest at this distance was impossible. Then they disappeared over the rise. Loretta stared at the empty knoll, her chest aching, her knees still shaking.

‘‘Good-bye, my friend,’’ she whispered.

As if he had heard her, Hunter reappeared alone on the rise. Bringing his stallion to a halt, he straightened and lifted his head, forming a dark silhouette, his quiver and arrows jutting up above his shoulder, his shield braced on his thigh, his long hair drifting in the wind.

Forgetting all about her family watching her, Loretta stumbled down the steps and out into the yard to be sure Hunter could see her. Then she waved. In answer, he raised his right arm high in a salute. He remained there for several seconds, and she stood rooted, memorizing how he looked. When he wheeled his horse and disappeared, she stared after him for a long while.

The joy of Loretta’s homecoming was overshadowed by Henry’s rage. Friends with a murderin’ savage, was she? A Comanche slut, that’s what, kissin’ on him in broad daylight, comin’ home to shame them all with her Injun horse and heathen necklace. His land looked like a bloomin’ pincushion with all them heathen lances pokin’ up. He was gonna get shut of ’em, just like he had those horses. Half of ’em stole from white folks! Some trade that was! Loretta listened to his tirade in stony silence.

When he wound down she said, ‘‘Are you quite finished?’’

‘‘No, I ain’t!’’ He leveled a finger at her. ‘‘Just you understand this, young lady. If that bastard planted his seed in that belly of yours, it’ll be hell to pay. The second you throw an Injun brat, I’ll bash its head on a rock!’’

Loretta flinched. ‘‘And we call
them
animals?’’

Henry backhanded her, catching her on the cheek with stunning force. Loretta reeled and grabbed the table to keep from falling. Rachel screamed and threw herself between them. Amy’s muffled sobs could be heard coming up through the floor.

‘‘For the love of God, Henry, please . . .’’ Rachel wrung her hands in her apron. ‘‘Get a hold on your temper.’’

Henry swept Rachel aside. Leveling a finger at Loretta again, he snarled, ‘‘Don’t you sass me, girl, or I’ll tan your hide till next Sunday. You’ll show respect, by gawd.’’

Loretta pressed her fingers to her jaw, staring at him. Respect? Suddenly it struck her as hysterically funny. She had been captured by savages and dragged halfway across Texas. Never once, not even when he had just cause, had Hunter hit her with enough force to hurt her, and never in the face. She’d had to come home to receive that kind of abuse. She sank onto the planked bench and started to laugh, a high-pitched, half-mad laughter. Aunt Rachel crossed herself, and that only made her laugh harder.

Henry stormed outside to get ‘‘those dad-blamed Indian lances’’ pulled up before a passing neighbor spied them and started calling them Injun lovers. Loretta laughed harder yet. Maybe she
had
gone mad. Stark, raving mad.

Aunt Rachel moved the bed to let Amy come up through the trap. Loretta managed to regain control of herself in time to catch the child in her arms when she cannoned across the room.

‘‘Loretta! Loretta!’’ Amy clung to her neck, sobbing and laughing. ‘‘They didn’t kill you. I
knew
they wouldn’t!’’

‘‘How’d you know?’’

Amy pulled back and grinned. ‘‘ ’Cause I couldn’t have stood it, that’s how. And I prayed you home. Two rosaries a day, faithful! You can ask Ma.’’

‘‘No cheating? I don’t believe it. You always skip Hail Marys.’’

‘‘Nary a one.’’ Amy trailed a finger along Loretta’s cheek. ‘‘The old toad! He gave you a shiner, sure as rain. I hate him.’’

‘‘Amy!’’ Rachel admonished.

Loretta ruffled her little cousin’s hair. ‘‘You don’t even seem surprised that I’m talking.’’

‘‘That’s ’cause I ain’t. I heard you talk out in your sleep, remember?’’

Loretta did remember. She hadn’t believed Amy then; she did now. Sighing, she released the child and threw a lingering look at the room. Aunt Rachel’s patchwork, Amy’s primer, the
Godey’s Lady’s Book,
the scarred old rocker.
Home.
Even with Uncle Henry to spoil things, it was heaven to be back.

Questions flooded Loretta’s mind. How had Tom Weaver fared during his journey home? How many men had gone searching for her? Where were the horses Hunter had left? How were the chicks doing? Had the jerky Loretta had put up dried to a turn, or was it tough?

Rachel answered each question as it came, unable to keep her hands off Loretta as she talked. Tom was fine. About thirty men had tried to track the Comanches, but the Indians had split into groups, making false trails.

‘‘Which explains why Tom wasn’t with the same group I was.’’ Loretta frowned. ‘‘Who’d think it? Those Indians have more brains than we credit them with.’’

‘‘The first day there were at least a hundred of them,’’ Rachel replied. ‘‘I figure there were sixty when they came back, give or take. The other forty split into groups and led the border patrol a merry chase, dang near all the way to the Colorado River in one direction, toward the Staked Plains in another. The other group rode in circles.’’

‘‘Well, while they were chasing around, I was right here on the Brazos!’’ Loretta rolled her eyes. ‘‘I prayed and prayed someone would stumble across us, but no one did.’’

Loretta leaned her head sideways to press her cheek against her aunt’s hand, forcing the memories from her mind. ‘‘I’m so hungry, I could eat the south end of a northbound mule. What’s for supper? And please don’t say pecans or buffalo meat.’’

Rachel laughed and released her. ‘‘A bath?’’

Loretta stuck out a leg and grimaced at her filthy bloomers. No wonder Hunter had told her to make them nice like flowers. She must reek to high heaven. ‘‘A tub bath? You reckon I can? It isn’t Saturday, is it? Uncle Henry might get into a snit.’’

‘‘It’s Tuesday, and he won’t get in a snit.’’ Rachel handed Amy the bucket to start hauling water. ‘‘A bath and a good currying.’’ She lifted a hank of Loretta’s hair. ‘‘If we can’t get those tangles out, I may have to cut it.’’

Loretta glanced down at the web of curls on her shoulder, once golden, now dull with dust, and wrinkled her nose.
Lilac water.
It would be paradise to soak in a hot tub and scrub until she squeaked. She could scarcely wait.

That night, long after Henry and Amy were asleep, Aunt Rachel came up to the loft and sat on the edge of Loretta’s and Amy’s cot. Loretta rolled onto her side and took her aunt’s hand, thinking how beautiful she was. Fragile, like porcelain, and shimmering in the moonlight like intertwined gold and silver with her white skin and unbound flaxen hair.

Rachel sighed and patted Loretta’s wrist, smiling yet not smiling, her expression taut and frightened. ‘‘Loretta Jane, we have to talk.’’

Loretta’s chest constricted. ‘‘Aunt Rachel, he didn’t violate me, I swear it.’’

‘‘If he did, would you say?’’ Rachel smoothed Loretta’s hair. ‘‘It’s a terrible, terrible thing that’s happened to you, darling. But it wasn’t your fault. I love you, you know, like you were my own. You don’t have to hide anything from me.’’

‘‘I’m not.’’

Rachel sighed. ‘‘Loretta Jane, I’m a firm believer in the power of prayer, and God knows Amy and I prayed our hearts out. But, honey, Comanches don’t haul a woman halfway across Texas and leave her untouched! You’re either lying or you’ve blocked the horror out of your mind.’’

Loretta gazed out the window. Memories played through her head, some so bad they made her shiver, others strangely sweet. ‘‘He’s not like you’d think. He’s—’’ She frowned. ‘‘He’s not cruel, Aunt Rachel, just different.’’

‘‘One of the men in the border regiment that rode out with Tom to look for you—he told us some stories about Hunter, stories that’d turn your blood cold. From what he said, the man’s a monster. He ran a soldier through with a lance . . . lengthwise. Skewered him, Loretta Jane, and left his—his—’’ Rachel passed a hand over her eyes. ‘‘He left his pride dangling on the lance tip.’’

‘‘I don’t believe it!’’ Loretta cried shrilly. ‘‘How does he know if it was Hunter’s lance?’’

‘‘He said the lance carried Hunter’s mark. He seemed to think it was retaliatory—vengeance over an attack some U.S. Army deserters and some civilians made on a village a few years back. The murdered man had ridden on that raid. He carried an Indian woman’s necklace on him—used it for a watch chain— a souvenir, he called it, taken off a girl in the village. When his body was found, the watch chain was gone. It’s only conjecture, but this fellow seemed to think Hunter might have known the girl who had worn the necklace and flew into a rage when he saw it.’’

‘‘Not Hunter. Trust me, Aunt Rachel, he isn’t like that. I was in his tepee for three days! I’d have seen evidence. There wasn’t even a scalp!’’

Rachel tipped her head back, not speaking for a long time. When at last she did, her voice was strained. ‘‘I just want you to know that, for better or worse, I love you, and I’ll stand by you. If—well, if you’re carrying any baggage from the experience, you don’t need to worry. Any child of yours has a home here. I don’t care what blood it has. Henry can either accept that or get to packin’.’’

Though she knew Aunt Rachel’s promise was more bluster than fact, Loretta sat up and enfolded the older woman in her arms. ‘‘I appreciate that, Aunt Rachel. It’s good to know you love me so much. But trust me, I’m not in the family way. Couldn’t be.’’

Rachel returned the embrace. ‘‘If the time comes you need to talk about it, you can share anything you need to with me. I won’t judge you—not for anything.’’