Journey of the Heart (11 page)

* * * *

“Educating them to join society!” exclaimed Michael later when he and Elizabeth were getting ready for bed. “Cutting off a boy’s hair and forbidding any of them, boy or girl, to speak their native language!”

“I just didn’t think our first night together was the time to discuss it, Michael,” said his wife with a wry smile.

“And you were right,
a ghra,”
he admitted. “It is just that we have seen some of the results when we’ve visited Antonio and Serena. Remember her nephew who went back east to school? He came home in a suit and tie and could hardly speak Navajo. He didn’t feel at home with his own people and all those well-meaning people back east? Well, they were not interested in hiring him or introducing him to their daughters.”

“I know and I am very glad that Serena refused to send their daughter away.” Elizabeth sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done it, either.”

“ ‘Tis hardly the same.”

“Oh, I know that, Michael. But clearly Cait does not see this as home anymore. Once she goes back east, she won’t be our daughter in the same way.”

“Well, what did ye think of the lad, Elizabeth?”

“He seems very intelligent. He is certainly handsome. And he obviously respects Caitlin as well as loves her. That is very important to me, Michael. That whomever she marries not hold her back out of some old-fashioned idea of what women should do.” Elizabeth hesitated. “But….”

“But what,
a ghra?”
asked Michael, putting his arm around his wife as she sat up against the pillows.

“It is hard to know much after just one day, Michael. I think he loves Cait. He showed affection to her at the station. It is just that she is such a passionate person and I sense that he isn’t.” Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “He is obviously a fine young man, but I want Cait to have what we have, Michael.”

“And what is that, Elizabeth?” Michael whispered.

“A love that combines respect and affection with passion, Michael.”

“Ye can’t always judge by the outside of a man.”

“I know. He may very well be Heathcliff underneath his fine blue suit and spotless linen,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

They both looked at each other and laughed.

“Somehow I don’t see Henry Beecham as a lad who’d enjoy wandering over the moors in the rain and the wind, me darlin’. And don’t ye think Cait has grown up a bit?”

“Of course, but I think she is still our Cait, passionate about horses and books and ideas. She will need to have that passionate self welcomed in her marriage.”

“ ‘Tis too early to tell anything, Elizabeth. And we must assume that she knows what she wants.”

Elizabeth slid down and reaching under Michael’s nightshirt, ran her fingers down his chest. “I know what I want, Michael,” she whispered.

Michael sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. Then he helped his wife off with her nightgown.

“You are as beautiful to me as you were the first time I saw you,
muirneach
,” he said softly, and pulled her down on top of him.

* * * *

The next morning Cait smiled as she watched her parents. Her father came in and put his arms around her mother’s waist as she stood stirring the oatmeal. He leaned forward and murmured his good-morning against her neck. As Elizabeth served Michael his breakfast, she leaned against him naturally and unconsciously. They had what Cait called ‘the look’ in their eyes. She had always rested secure in the way they expressed their affection for each other openly. But as she got older, she began to sense a special tenderness on some days. It must be that they have made love, she had decided one day when she was around fourteen. Not that she knew much about making love then.

Or now, for that matter, she thought, though she could certainly imagine it better, now that she knew the physical details. What would it be like with Henry? she wondered, looking over at him. They had had a few more kisses than that first one before she left Philadelphia. But he had always broken them off too early for her liking. She wanted his tongue exploring her mouth, She loved the feelings his kisses aroused. But he seemed to think her soft moan of pleasure was a signal to stop rather than go on. He would tell her that they mustn’t get carried away. And he was right, of course. But oh, she wanted to be carried away.

Henry must have felt her gaze for he looked up and smiled over at her as he buttered his bread. “I was hoping you would show me the horses today, Cait. And perhaps some of the countryside?”

“That’s exactly what I’d planned, Henry,” she replied with a grin.

After a leisurely breakfast, Henry went up to change into his riding clothes. Michael was already gone by that time, and as Cait helped her mother with the dishes, she asked: “Well, what do you and Da think of him, Ma?” She made her voice sound calm, but she was actually very nervous.

“We think him a fine, intelligent young man, Cait. One who obviously respects you and your ambitions and that is very important,” replied Elizabeth without hesitation.

Cait was relieved. The understanding and respect Henry had for her was one of the reasons she wanted to marry him. Of course there was more to it than that, but she could hardly expect her mother to address Henry’s other feelings for her.

“I had hoped you would like him.”

“Well, we do. But the most important thing, of course,” said Elizabeth with a smile, “is that
you
do.”

“Oh, I do, Ma.”

“Then that is all that is needed,” said her mother.

* * * *

Jake had described Henry as a ‘fine-looking young man, tho’ he
was
a tenderfoot,’ but Gabe was not quite prepared for what he saw when Caitlin introduced him to Mr. Henry Beecham, a friend of hers from Philadelphia. The little hesitation before ‘friend’ told him the whole story, of course.

Mr. Henry Beecham stood there dressed for riding. Well, Gabe supposed it was for riding. He had on winged taupe breeches and a black wool jacket. His cravat was pinned with a gold bar. His black boots had been shined to a high gloss, although just walking across the yard had given them a good coating of dust, Gabe had to turn away for a minute at the sight of the hat on his head. It was an old one of Mr. Burke’s, and Gabe had never seen anything funnier than a Stetson topping the Eastern riding clothes.

“Jake is busy, Mr. Hart. I was wondering if you could saddle Snowflake and one of the other horses for us. I want to show Henry the ranch.”

Gabe looked at her for a minute and then giving a curt nod, went into the stable. Miss Caitlin Burke had seemed to pride herself on the fact that she groomed and saddled her own horse, but all of a sudden her Eastern ‘friend’ appeared and Gabe became a groom.

Cait had been riding Snowflake, a sweet little mare. There were two other horses available, Red Hawk, an older and rather plodding gelding, and Patch, a three-year-old with lots of fire and a tendency to warm up by bucking the kinks out if you didn’t know how to ride him. He could bore Beecham to death with Hawk or watch him be dumped into the dust, thought Gabe with a smile. It was an easy choice, he thought, as he saddled Patch.

Cait had not seen anyone riding Patch but Gabe and since the gelding knew better than to play his tricks on the wrangler, she only knew him as an energetic and pretty goer. She was pleased Gabe hadn’t brought out Red Hawk. He had obviously seen that Henry was an experienced rider.

“So this is an Appaloosa,” said Henry, when the horses were led out. He approached confidently and Cait began to point out the distinctive markings.

“There are quite a few painted horses in the West, Henry,” she explained, “but the Appaloosa is a separate breed, developed by the Nez Perce Indians in Idaho. You can tell them by the white around their eyes and the freckled look of their muzzles…and their scraggly tails,” she said, pulling Snowflake’s ears down as though to keep them from hearing the ‘insult.’ ”And, of course, the patterns of white on their rumps.”

Henry moved around the two animals confidently, getting Cait to tell him more of their history, and Gabe wondered if he’d handle Patch just fine.

They were in the corral, and Cait suggested that they mount there and ride around a little so Henry could get used to the different saddle. She mounted Snowflake and started her off at a walk, looking back over her shoulder at Henry.

“I’d be a mite careful with Patch. He’s a little fresh first thing in the morning,” Gabe warned as Henry was putting his foot in the stirrup.

“I am sure I’ll be fine, man,” said Henry, grabbing the saddle horn and swinging his leg over. He had barely gotten his right foot in the stirrup when Patch gave a series of crow hops and then bucked Henry neatly off. Keeping his face straight, Gabe went after the horse, watching Cait dismount and rush over to where Beecham was lying in the dirt.

“Are you all right, Henry?”

“I am fine, Cait,” he said, pulling himself up.

“Mr. Hart, I think you have some explaining to do,” she demanded as Gabe brought the horse over.

“Now, Cait, Mr. Hart told me the horse might be a bit fresh first thing,” said Henry.

“Wal, it was either Red Hawk or Patch, Miss Burke,” drawled Gabe. “And Mr. Beecham looked like he could handle a lively horse,” said Gabe innocently. “Do you want me to saddle Red Hawk?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Caitlin.

“Don’t be silly, Cait,” said Henry. “Now that I know his little tricks, Patch and I will do fine.”

As indeed they did, Gabe had to admit. Beecham was an experienced rider and he conveyed that to the horse this time up. Patch crow-hopped a little, but Henry was ready and controlled him with his legs and hands.

“You can open the corral gate, Hart,” Henry called out after a few minutes. “I think we’ve gotten the kinks out, haven’t we, Patch?” he said, patting the horse’s neck.

Gabe watched them trot away. Beecham was obviously as good a sport as he was a rider. If he had suspected Gabe of anything, he had not let on.

Gabe was a little ashamed of himself. He had encountered tenderfeet before and like all cowboys, loved playing jokes on them. But Beecham might have been hurt and Gabe hadn’t even worried about that. It was that silly outfit that had set him off, he supposed. Or maybe it was that Henry Beecham was obviously someone special to Caitlin Burke.

Gabe was not able to forget the way Miss Burke’s waist felt, so small and soft under his hands. He hadn’t felt that way about a woman for some time. After May he had avoided them all, except for the occasional visit to a local whorehouse. He hadn’t had much to offer a respectable woman, nor did most cowboys, poorly paid as they were. And he didn’t think they had much to offer him. May had doused his kindling interest in women, leaving him distrustful of them and himself. He had always wondered if there had been something he had said or done that had made May think it was all right to approach him.

Then he had finally let someone get past his quiet reserve: Caroline. He had opened his heart to her, had believed in a woman other than his mother and sister for the first time in a long time. She was the good woman he had never thought to find. But that was the problem; she had never been able to see the Regulators as anything but outlaws.

Since Caroline, he’d kept his contacts with women confined to whores. Until now, when here he was, being distracted by a good woman again. And one with Eastern schooling, who was likely going to marry this Mr. Henry Beecham and move away from the uncivilized New Mexico Territory, which demanded more than simple goodness from a man or a woman. He was being ten times a fool to be thinking of the feel of her waist in his hands.

* * * *

After Henry’s first day of desert riding, he appeared at the stable in the same boots and breeches, but minus his stock and wool coat. Gabe was busy with the colts, so Cait and Henry saddled their own horses. Gabe saw them leave and smiled to himself at the change in Beecham’s appearance. He had to give the man credit; he learned quickly. Of course being boiled alive in a jacket like he’d worn yesterday would teach any man who wasn’t a stubborn jackass.

When they returned, Cait saw that Gabe was just finishing up with the two-year-olds, which meant he would be working with Night Sky next.

“Henry, I want you to meet someone special,” she said, leading him over to the corral fence.

“I’ve already met Mr. Hart, Cait,” he said.

“Yes, but you’ll see who
I
mean in a minute.” She climbed up to the top rail and reached her hand down, pulling him up after her. Henry didn’t need any help climbing fences, of course, but it was an excuse to hold his hand for a minute. She was pleased when he kept her hand in his as they sat there waiting for Gabe to come out.

Cait had imagined this scene many times over during the past six months. But Henry’s sharp intake of breath as Gabe led Sky out was not the gasp of admiration of her fantasies. It was a reaction to the scar.

“My God, Cait, what happened to him?”

“That is my horse, Night Sky. Da thinks he was attacked by a mountain lion. I didn’t know about it till I got home. But it has healed very well and doesn’t affect his gait at all.”

Gabe had been working Sky on a lunge line for the past week. He stood in the center of the corral with a long rawhide whip in his hand, snapping it in the ground to keep the horse moving and reinforce his verbal commands.

“He would be a beautiful animal if it wasn’t for that scar,” said Henry as he watched Sky move from a trot to an easy lope around the ring.

“I think he is still a beautiful animal,” replied Cait in a tight little voice. Although she still mourned his unspoiled appearance, Cait had gotten used to Sky the way he was. And every other inch of him was outstanding.

“Why, yes, of course, Cait,” said Henry, patting her hand. “He is well-named too,” he added, “with that wonderful pattern of white on black.”

“It’s hard to tell what a colt will look like when he’s born, but I was hoping he would turn out like this.”

“Is he broken to the saddle yet?”

Cait let go of Henry’s hand and gripping the rail on either side of her, said, “The problem is we don’t know yet if he can be broken for riding. He is terrified of anyone going anywhere near his back.”