Journey of the Heart (40 page)

* * * *

When Gabe and her Da had come riding in with a wounded Juan Chavez across the saddle, there had been no time for Cait to do anything but register with a heartfelt thank-you that her father and Gabe were unharmed. Things had moved so fast: the doctor’s arrival, her mother’s insistence on taking over the responsibility for Chavez’s recovery, and then Elizabeth’s growing belief that Mackie’s hired gun was her long-lost brother.

Because Elizabeth had spent so much time in the sick room, Cait had taken over the cooking, although no one seemed to have much appetite for the suppers she prepared.

“I’m sorry, Caitlin,” her father said, patting her hand gently as she started to spoon more chile into his plate, “but I’m still too worked up to eat much. I’m sure Gabe will have some more?”

“I’m not that hungry, either,” Gabe admitted with an apologetic smile. “I’d best get out and see to the horses,” he added as he pushed away from the table.

“How is your arm, boyo?” Michael asked.

“Still hurts, but getting better. I can actually move my fingers again,” Gabe added as he slowly and painfully made a loose fist.

“Why don’t you give Gabe a hand outside then, Cait? Sadie and I will clean up here, won’t we? I don’t want Gabe pushing harder than he should.”

“Of course, Da.”

“I’ll do fine,” Gabe protested, but he was secretly grateful for the help. Though he would have expected Michael Burke to be offering himself rather than his daughter.

Gabe pulled the barn door open and was starting for the two saddles on the corral fence when he saw that Cait was already lifting one down. “I can do that, Cait.”

“I’ve been hauling saddles since I was ten, Gabe. Why don’t you see to the horses.”

Gabe had managed to get Snowflake and Patch fed and watered by the time Cait had gotten the saddles and bridles hung up in the tack room. “Let me take care of Red Hawk, Gabe,” she offered.

She filled the horse’s trough with fresh hay and was just turning to go for water when she bumped right into Gabe who was coming up behind her with a full bucket. There she was, up against his chest, looking with startled eyes up into his deep blue ones. She heard a clank and felt water splash her feet, so she knew he had dropped the bucket, but all she was conscious of was how he one-handedly pulled her even closer and leaned down to seek her mouth.

“Oh, Gabe…” she whispered when they broke apart. “I would have died if you hadn’t come back safely.”

“And why is that, darlin’?” he asked, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you so much and I was afraid I’d lose you before I could tell you.” Cait blushed and whispered, “I shouldn’t have told you now.”

“Why not?” he asked softly.

“Because I’m not sure whether you love
me,
” she answered bravely.

“Not love you? Why, I’ve loved you for weeks now, darlin’.”

“Have you, Gabe? Then why haven’t you said anything?”

“Why haven’t I said anything?” he repeated humorously. “Well, Mr. Henry Beecham for one. And the fact you’re Michael Burke’s daughter for another,” he added more seriously. “And why should I believe you’d love me, a wandering old horse wrangler?”

“Old! Why you are not that much older than I am,” Cait protested.

“But years older in experience, Caitlin. I’ve seen and done things I wouldn’t want you to know about.”

“I grew up in New Mexico, so don’t patronize me, Gabe,” she protested.

“I’m not, Cait. It’s just that you don’t really know that much about me.”

“I know that you are wonderful with horses, Gabe. And loyal and brave. Look what you’ve done for Da.”

“I’m also very good with a gun.”

“Thank God, or you all might be dead!”

“You have Chavez to thank for that,” Gabe corrected her.

“Da told me you killed Beard and Canty, Gabe.”

“I’ve killed others, too, Cait. You know I rode with the Regulators in Lincoln.” He was silent for a minute and then continued. “I was engaged to a woman there. Caroline Bryce, the schoolteacher.”

Cait pulled back at that. “You loved her?”

“I did,” he admitted. “But it was a young man’s love, Cait. Nothing compared to what I feel for you,” he reassured her.

“Why didn’t you marry her?”

“She saw me as a lawless vigilante and hated the violence I was caught up in. She just couldn’t see….”

“But what choice would any justice-loving person have had there, Gabe? I was only thirteen, but I remember Da and Ma talking about it. Catron owned everyone.”

Her response was so quick, so sure, that Gabe felt something open up in him that had been closed off for years.

“I’d be surprised if you hadn’t killed, Gabe,” Cait continued slowly.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course, it bothers me. It bothers me that Da has had to kill too. But I’ve heard enough to know that a man sometimes doesn’t have much choice. I don’t know what it was like in Lincoln County, Gabe, but Mackie certainly left my Da no choice,” she said with suppressed fury. “And if I had been there with you, I would have shot him myself!”

He should have known that despite her time in the East, the daughter of Michael and Elizabeth Burke would have no illusions about life in New Mexico.

“I struggle with the violence here, Gabe,” Cait admitted. “I thought I wanted to get away from it. Philadelphia was so civilized and peaceful. I loved school,” she continued, a note of sadness in her voice. “But I belong
here
,” she added passionately. “Nelson Mackie would have had to kill me as well as my Da to get this ranch, Gabe,” she said fiercely.

“Hush, Cait,” Gabe said, kissing her gently. “It’s all over. Mackie’s dead and Chavez…well, he might well be your uncle!”

“Whoever he is,” whispered Cait, “I am grateful, for he saved the two men I love most in the world.”

* * * *

Juan did not open his eyes again until after noon the next day and when he did, Elizabeth was back by his side. She was sitting there sewing, a small rosewood sewing box on the table beside her. Juan was so weak that even watching the flashing of her silver needle made him dizzy and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

Every time he breathed it felt like someone was sticking hundreds of those needles in his side. But he was obviously alive and in the Burkes’ house. But that little rosewood box? He’d seen it before, which was puzzling, since he’d never been inside the Burkes’. He opened his eyes again, this time focusing on the box with the velvet mound that was used as a pincushion. His ma’s sewing box had looked just like that. The thought drifted into his mind like smoke and he tried to hold onto it, but like smoke, it drifted right out again.

“You are awake, Señor Chavez?” asked Mrs. Burke in a soft voice. “Do you know where you are?”

Juan nodded. “
Si, señora
. Your husband and Hart?” he asked in a voice so weak it was hardly a whisper.

“They are safe thanks to you,” said Elizabeth with a smile.

Juan tried to pull himself up, but Elizabeth was beside him immediately. “No, no,
señor
. You’ve had a high fever and lost a lot of blood. Please lie still.”

Juan nodded, sinking back, gratefully obeying her order.

“Let me get you some fresh water.” Elizabeth stuck her needle in the velvet and left it on her chair.

He wanted to hold it. For some reason unknown to him he needed to hold that sewing box in his hand to convince himself that it wasn’t his mother’s. Of course, it wasn’t his mother’s. How would Elizabeth Burke come into possession of a sewing box that the Comancheros must have destroyed years ago?

This time, he didn’t try to get up, but slid over to the edge of the sofa, reaching toward the chair seat. He finally grasped the little box, but he was shaking so hard that it fell out of his hand, hitting the floor and spilling spools of thread.

“
Mierde
,” he muttered. He was white with the effort and when Elizabeth returned with the water, his eyes were shut again.

“Be careful,
señora
. The box…” he whispered.

The box? What box? Perhaps he was delirious again? “What box, Señor Chavez?”

“The sewing box.” Then Elizabeth realized it was not on the chair but on the floor beside the sofa. She put down the mug and knelt down, scooping the spools of thread and the few pins that had fallen out. “Oh, dear,” she said softly.

Juan’s eyes opened. “What is it,
señora?”

“The box…it is broken.” Her voice caught as she picked up the top that had split in half.

“I am so sorry, Señora Burke,” he said, struggling to sit up. “It is my fault…I dropped it.”

Elizabeth knelt there looking up at him. “It was my mother’s sewing box….”

“It reminded me of my mother’s sewing box….”

They both spoke at the same time and then fell silent.

Elizabeth spoke first. “You were out of your head with fever last night, Señor Chavez.” Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice steady, although her heart was beating wildly. “You spoke in Spanish of a Señor Tomas, who was obviously very cruel to you.”

Chavez frowned. “I did? Well, Señor Tomas, he did have his own way of persuading.”

“Perhaps that is where you learned yours?”

Juan gave her a bitter smile. “I know it must be hard to have me here,
señora
. Believe me, I will be gone as soon as I….”

“No, no,
señor
, that is not what I meant,” she responded and he gave her a puzzled look. “I only meant that children learn to do what is done to them. If they are treated kindly, they treat others so. If cruelly…well, they often grow up to bully others.” When Chavez remained silent, Elizabeth continued. “You spoke of your mother last night too, but not in Spanish. And of your father. You saw them killed?”

Juan closed his eyes, once again seeing that blood red rose opening and opening in his father’s chest.

“
Si, señora
,” he whispered. “I have a few memories that occasionally come back to me.”

“You also spoke of someone called Lizzie?” She was too afraid to be more direct.

“
Si,
Lizzie was my sister.”

“So you have a sister,” said Elizabeth softly.

“
No, señora
, the Comancheros killed her, too.”

“Did you see it happen?” asked Elizabeth so quietly he had to strain to hear her. He closed his eyes again and turned his head away. Why did she ask him these questions and bring it back so clearly? All the fragments fell into place like the pieces of a kaleidoscope and he could remember everything about that morning. His father singing that song they were all tired of. His mother climbing down from the wagon, asking Lizzie to go for water. She didn’t want to go for water. And she didn’t like him calling her Lizzie and when he did, she stuck her tongue out at him and he was just waiting for her to come back from the creek so he could really get her into trouble when his father’s song had been cut off.

“Did you see your sister killed, Juan?” Elizabeth Burke’s voice was coming from very far away.

“No, but if they hadn’t killed her they would have brought her along to be sold, too.”

“What if she was down by the creek and they didn’t even know she was there?”

It took him a minute to realize it was Mrs. Burke’s voice asking the question, and not his own, inside his head. How could she
know
Lizzie had gone for water? Had he spoken of that in his delirium?

Mrs. Burke put her hand on his and when he turned back to look at her, he was surprised to see tears pouring down her cheeks. “You said my sewing box reminded you of your mother’s, Jonathan.” He didn’t immediately take in what she had called him, but nodded a yes.

“And I said it was
my
mother’s.”

“What did you call me?” he asked sharply.

“Jonathan. Jonathan Rush.”

His hand tightened convulsively. “That is my old name,” he whispered.

“They didn’t kill me, Jonathan,” said Elizabeth. “I was hidden by the creek bank, though I saw it all. I saw them take you, but I couldn’t do anything,” she told him, her voice breaking. “I am so sorry.”

“No, no…you can’t be Lizzie,” he said wonderingly.

“I’m afraid I am,” she confessed with a watery smile.

“But how…?” He shook his head as if to clear it.

“How did I come to be Mrs. Michael Burke? It is a long story, Jonathan, for another time. I stayed by the wagon all day and night and the next morning a troop of cavalry rescued me. I wanted them to go after you, but they said it was too late, that you’d been killed or sold. I guess it was easier for me to believe you dead, because the thought of your being alive somewhere would have tormented me. And the last thing I ever did, was to stick my tongue out at you,” she said, putting her head down on the sofa and sobbing.

He hadn’t really believed her until then, despite all she’d said. “Oh, Lizzie,” he said, his voice filled with wonder and pain.

She lifted her head. “I always hated it when you called me that, Jonathan,” she said with a heartbroken smile.

It was all too much for him. His head was spinning and his mouth was dry and he felt himself losing consciousness at the same time he felt the gentle touch of his sister’s hand.

When Michael came in for dinner, he went straight to the parlor and saw his wife sitting beside Chavez as though she’d never left. The man’s eyes were closed and he was very pale and Michael had a moment or two of worry until he saw Chavez’s chest moving up and down. He walked over to Elizabeth and put his arm around her.

“It
is
Jonathan,” she said softly, without looking up.

“Now,
a ghra,
ye don’t know that.”

“But I do, Michael. He was awake this morning. He wanted to hold my sewing box because it reminded him of his mother’s.”

“Dia!”
exclaimed Michael. “That’s your mother’s sewing box.”

“The only thing I have of hers except for a few pieces of jewelry. Chavez had a sister, Michael, whom he called Lizzie. He thought she’d been killed. He’d forgotten that she was down by the creek fetching water.”