Only in My Arms (14 page)

Jarret kept Mary from replying. "She's threatening me again."

"Then I don't know why you're laughing," Rennie said seriously. Unconcerned, she went back to helping her children with their meal and listening to her mother's story.

Jarret was shaking his head helplessly. "You Marys know how to close ranks on an outsider."

Mary took pity on him, linking her arm through his and offering the uneaten half of her sandwich. "You're not an outsider, Jarret. I'm mostly polite to them."

He took the sandwich, recognizing the peace offering for what it was.

"Tell me about the scout," she said. "Where is he?"

"Ahead of us, watching for signs."

"Signs?"

"Chiricahua signs. They're the ones who have been doing all the raiding." His eyes were grave now. "It's serious, Mary. They're not taking prisoners these days and death is brutal at their hands. A ranching family was slain recently. The five-year-old daughter was left to die, hanging on a meat hook in the smokehouse."

Mary's complexion paled. Her eyes went immediately to her nieces. "Oh, that can't be true," she whispered.

"It is," Jarret said flatly. His gaze had gone to his daughters as well. They were both laughing brightly, oblivious to the dangers. Jarret already knew his children would die by his own hand before he'd let them fall victim to Apache torture. He turned to Mary and realized she had divined his thoughts and wasn't horrified by them, only heartsick. "The Army's been going mad looking for Geronimo and his renegade warriors. Now that the Chiricahua have the gold ore from the Colter Canyon raid, it's expected they'll get more guns and ammunition."

"Surely no one will sell them any."

"For a hundred thousand in gold?" Jarret scoffed at Mary's naiveté. "The sellers are lining up all the time. A detachment from Fort Union confiscated a wagonload of Henry rifles and ammo just three weeks ago. All of it was headed for Chiricahua country."

"What kind of men would—" She shook her head, realizing it was beyond her sensibilities. "Never mind. I wouldn't understand."

"I'm not sure I do," he admitted. And he had seen a lot more of the world than his sister-in-law.

Mary's eyes were drawn to the rocky cliffs around them again. "So our scout's out there, watching over us like a guardian angel."

Jarret smiled at the image that presented. "Something like that," he said.

"I hope he's a good one," she said. She was unaware of her smile or the fact that it was vaguely secretive. Mary didn't realize her eyes had taken on a faraway look as she thought of a certain Army scout getting lost on his way from Baileyboro to the Granville mansion. There was an edge of laughter in her voice when she added, "Not like Ryder McKay."

Enjoying the otherworldly expression that had crossed Mary's face, Jarret had felt a momentary lightness in his chest. It passed quickly when she spoke this name. He frowned, confused. "I thought I heard you tell Rennie you didn't know anything about the attack on Colter Canyon."

"I don't."

"But you said—"

Puzzled, Mary tilted her head to one side. "What?" she asked. "What did I say?"

"Mary, Ryder McKay is the traitor the Army's preparing to hang."

* * *

"You're looking very pensive," Rennie said to her sister. "Hmm?"

Rennie smiled to herself. Mary's thoughts were clearly elsewhere and had been for some time. Rennie had first noticed it not long after they'd resumed their journey to the fort. At first she had considered sheer weariness the cause of Mary's uncharacteristic silence. But there had also been the tiniest indication of a frown between Mary's brows, and she'd worried her lower lip in a way she only did when she was deeply concentrating.

Rennie hadn't asked any questions then, nor as she helped her mother and Mary settle into their quarters in the officers' building. Now that Moira was napping with her granddaughters and Jarret was engaged in some business with the surveyors, Rennie realized she had waited quite long enough.

She repeated her comment, more loudly this time. "You're looking very pensive."

Mary blinked, startled into awareness by Rennie's raised voice. "Was I?" she asked.

Rennie's mouth screwed comically to one side, and she shook her head, amused. "Here," she said, holding out a cup of tea. "I made this for us while you were daydreaming."

Mary accepted the cup and saucer that was thrust into her hands. She was curled comfortably in a large, overstuffed chair, her stockinged feet hidden beneath the full skirt of her hunter green gown. She watched Rennie settle opposite her on the short sofa and draw her legs up in a similar fashion. Rennie's posture was relaxed, yet there was a certain expectancy in her expression. There is no pretense between us, Mary thought. There was something distinctly soothing about this, and especially about Rennie's expression. They could have been children again, preparing to share secrets in their room long after they should have been asleep.

"So," Rennie prompted, "what have you been thinking?"

"Straight to the point as usual," said Mary. "And absolutely no respect for the privacy of one's thoughts."

Rennie's response was cheerful. "That's right." When Mary still hesitated, Rennie asked, "Is it you and Mama? Is nothing changed between you?"

Mary's head was lowered as she stared at her teacup. That was why her sister didn't catch the relief that passed quickly across her features. When Mary lifted her face it was stamped with its trademark serenity. "Everything's changed between us," she said honestly. "She won't accept my decision, and I can't accept that she won't accept it."

Rennie nodded, understanding perfectly. "Michael and Maggie couldn't help her see reason?"

"I didn't ask them to try." She speared her sister with frank, warning eyes. "And I am not asking you to do it either. It's not your place."

"I wouldn't know where to begin." Not that it would have stopped her, Rennie thought. Mary's vaguely threatening glance, however, was giving her pause. Unconsciously Rennie found one of her hands going to her hair in a protective gesture. When they were growing up together Mary thought nothing of yanking on Rennie's thick auburn braids to keep her in line. Rennie's hand fell away when she saw Mary's look of caution fade and amusement take its place. She stuck out her tongue.

"Well," Mary said dryly. "That certainly cut me to the quick."

Rennie ignored her and asked seriously, "Has there been no understanding at all on Mama's part?"

"I don't know. She won't let me broach the subject."

"Oh, Mary," Rennie said sadly.

Mary pushed words past that hard, aching lump that was forming at the back of her throat. "We talked about incidental things on the journey from New York to Denver. The weather. The scenery. The people in the forward cars. We shopped in various cities along the way for gifts for all the grandchildren. If I mentioned my desire to teach I was met with icy silence. If Mama saw me reading my Bible she began to cry."

Rennie felt tears pressing at her own eyelids. "How awful for you," she whispered.

"For both of us," Mary said. "I don't believe for a moment that Mama wants it to be this way. She just doesn't know how to change it." Mary raised her cup and sipped. The tea was flavored with honey and it soothed her throat. "I thought we were making some progress when we were at Maggie's. Mama's mood was lighter. She was tolerant of Maggie and me discussing my decision to leave the order." Mary's smile was wry. "Or at least she didn't run from the room when the subject came up."

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Mary said. "At least it was nothing that Mama did. I suppose it was my attitude that was altered then." Seeing Rennie's puzzled expression, Mary sighed. "It was while we were preparing to leave the Double H. Mama and Maggie were having a last chat in the kitchen while I was finishing the packing. I found one of Mama's gowns still in the wardrobe so I opened her trunk to put it away." Mary was caught off guard by the sudden welling of tears in her eyes. Trying to compose herself, she ducked her head. The teacup and saucer rattled slightly, and she set them aside. She gave Rennie a watery smile as a handkerchief was pressed into her hands. "Thank you." She swiped at her eyes and then crushed the handkerchief in her fist.

Rennie knelt in front of the chair where Mary sat and placed her hands over her sister's. "What was in the trunk?" she asked quietly. "Mary? What did you find in Mama's trunk?"

Mary had to draw a breath before she could answer. "A habit," she said, her voice low. "I found a habit. Mama's been carrying it across the country in her trunk."

Rennie's shoulders sagged. She didn't know for whom she felt sorrier, Mary or her mother. "Did she expect that you'd change your mind somewhere along the route?" she asked.

"It's worse than that."

"Worse?"

"It isn't my habit."

Rennie's eyes widened. "Not yours?"

"Not mine. I think it was made for Mama." Mary noticed that Rennie looked as if she needed to sit down. At a loss to understand herself, Mary shrugged helplessly. "It's hard to say how her life might have been different if she hadn't come to America or met Jay Mac. I don't know what went through her mind when she packed it, but I know what went through mine when I saw it. It was a message meant for me." The tightening of her jaw was imperceptible at first; then, as memory and emotion swept through her, it became so clenched that a muscle worked in her cheek. She had been nearly blind with rage. Even now she could feel her heart accelerating with the fierceness of her anger. Afraid of what she might say, Mary wouldn't give words to it now.

Rennie understood the reason for Mary's silence. She squeezed her sister's hands gently and remained at her side for a few more minutes. When she got to her feet she said softly, "She hasn't stopped loving you, you know."

The knot in Mary's stomach was only slightly larger than the one in her throat. She looked away from Rennie's searching, knowing eyes. It only feels that way, she thought. Then again, as if to convince herself, it only
feels
that way.

* * *

Harry Bishop set a chair in the corridor just a foot from the iron bars of Ryder's cell. Florence thanked him curtly and sat down. She used her cane as an extension of her hand to shoo him away. She didn't speak until the door to the guardroom was firmly closed.

"Don't you have anything to say?" she demanded when Ryder merely sat on his cot facing the opposite wall.

He turned in her direction slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, that's a fine greeting." Florence attempted to keep her voice crisp, but anxiety threaded her voice. It had been nearly nine hours since the sentencing had been handed down at noon. Ryder McKay had less than forty-eight hours to live.

"I mean it, Florence, you shouldn't be here. If General Gardner finds out—"

"Let me worry about my son."

"And there's Harry Bishop," Ryder said. "He can't rely on the general's good graces." Ryder knew Florence had resorted to paying off the guard in order to continue her visits to the stockade. The arrangement had worked satisfactorily for months, but there was always the risk of discovery. Over time his protests had become halfhearted but he made them because it was expected. Florence Gardner, he suspected, enjoyed the intrigue and secretly liked pooh-poohing the danger. "I didn't expect you'd come this evening," he said. "I didn't see you after the sentencing."

Florence had stayed in her room while sentence was being passed. She couldn't join the officers' wives who waited in the courtyard, eager for the final judgment. Her opinion that Ryder McKay was innocent of the charges was an unpopular one, especially since there was no evidence to support it. For Florence, the fact that her son was handing down the sentence made the proceedings intolerable. "I didn't want to be there," she explained. Now she came to the point of her visit. "Your uncle was present, though."

"I saw him."

"Oh? He said you didn't glance in his direction."

Ryder's features settled in a remote mask that shuttered his thoughts. He continued to look at Florence but didn't respond.

"He wanted to see you this evening," she said. "Joshua permitted it, but the senator told me you didn't want him here."

"He came, but he left after a few minutes."

"And you never spoke to him."

"That's right."

Florence's lined face was grave, her eyes sad. "Wilson Stillwell believes in you," she said. "He came here because he wanted to help."

Ryder decided not to disabuse her of the notion. "Is that why you came tonight?" he asked. "To persuade me to see him again?"

She had enough good sense not to lie. "That was part of it."

"And the other part?"

Her throat began to close, but she continued to look at Ryder steadily. His cleanly defined features were calm, but the light gray eyes were penetrating. "To say good-bye. I won't be coming again. No one but officers and clergy will be permitted to see you. Harry warned me about the order. He won't make an exception this time. He says even Senator Stillwell won't get back here."

Ryder's slight smile was cool. "The general's anticipating an escape attempt."