The Valiant Women (37 page)

Talitha winced at the thought of his sleeping in the next room, and was relieved when Shea said heartily, “There's an extra bed in the vaqueros' quarters since Chuey moved out. You're welcome to it and our table, Mr. Frost, as long as you care to stay.”

“You're kind indeed.”

The smooth hypocrite! Talitha longed to shout accusations at him but that could lead to disaster for these people she loved. She bent her face to Chusma as Frost thanked his hosts and said he would very much appreciate their hospitality for a few days.

XX

He left on the third morning after his arrival, riding west along the creek on the big gray horse, turning once to flourish his silver-flashing hat in farewell. In his saddlebags he carried at least half of the ranch's accumulated gold and silver to be invested in railroad shares and form part of the capital for a freighting enterprise in which the O'Sheas and Santiago would be partners with Frost.

He'd insisted on leaving them duly signed papers and guarantees though Shea had laughed at this. “If you're honest, we don't need papers, and if you're not, they won't matter!”

“Thanks for your confidence,” said Frost dryly. “But I've learned it's best, in financial matters, to have it all in writing, fair, firm and easy to read!”

Santiago nodded. Though neither of them had said so, Talitha sensed that neither he nor Belen really liked Frost.

“He's promised to have his associates in California watch out for your father, Tally,” said Socorro, as they turned back to their work. “If he's found, he'll be told where you are and that you're safe. And he'll send word to my cousin Carlos, telling him why I never got to California.”

Talitha didn't for a moment believe that Frost cared about relieving her father's worry. “I wish Judah Frost would mind his own business!” she said violently.

Shea stared at her in surprise. Socorro, understanding at least some of Talitha's feelings, gave her a soothing hug. “Don't be troubled, dearest! After all this time, your father probably wouldn't make you live with him if you chose not to. But how joyful he would be to learn that you're alive!”

“And that mother's dead and bore an Apache child?” James was already at the corral so Talitha could vent her bitterness.

“It would be better than thinking you were all dead,” Socorro said reasonably. “Besides, it's better to know what happened, however bad it was, than to always wonder, always try to find out.”

“That's right.” Shea's tone allowed no argument. “Whatever you think about it, Tally, your father has a right to know.”

Smarting at his manner, Talitha wanted to cry out that Judah Frost was bad, that she didn't trust him. But if she told about that forced kiss and his threats, either Shea would ride after him and there'd be shooting or the O'Sheas would think she was exaggerating a playful whim into an assault. Either was unbearable, especially her fear that Shea would be killed. Talitha clenched her teeth, got a large basket, and went to gather mesquite beans.

She wasn't worried about the ranch's money, though. Frost wouldn't steal it because for some inexplicable reason he had decided to ingratiate himself with the O'Sheas. And Talitha had no doubt that he was going to have his railroad, his ranch, his freight company and mine.

But he's not going to have me
.

And then she mocked herself for that thought because surely his kiss that day had been an impulse. He'd probably already forgotten it. Still, she hated him, for setting that first male kiss on her like a brand. She felt as marked as Shea though Frost's sign was invisible.

Frost's visit provided conversation and speculation for several days. Anita sighed dreamily that she was sure he, was
muy fuerte y amoroso
, strong and passionate. And James went about whistling “Sweet Betsy.” Talitha found it excruciating. She wanted to forget, as much as she could, that the tall silver-haired stranger had ever set foot in the house, been accepted almost as one of them.

Because he wasn't! He was no more like Shea and Santiago than a blood-grooved Bowie was like a knife meant for honest work.

Estranged from the family because of what she knew about the man they trusted, also because she felt dirtied by his handling, Talitha found enough solitary outside work to keep her busy. She ranged widely, gathering wild currants and grapes as well as acorns and mesquite beans, restoring herself with golden air, and the changing shadows on the mountains.

“A coyote ran right up to me today,” Santiago said one night at supper. “Acted blind and staggered. I guessed he had hydrophobia, so I got my rifle and shot him.”

“Wonder if he'd got to any of the stock?” Shea asked in quick fear.

“I don't think so. The only animal he got close to was my horse and he didn't get a chance to bite him.”

“But you don't know what he might have been doing earlier.” Shea glanced around the table. “We'd all better pay extra attention if we see an animal acting peculiar. Patrick and Miguel, you
do
remember that if a wild animal comes up to you, you should get away fast and call someone? Don't pet it. It may be terribly sick and make you that way.”

The twins nodded solemnly, but had an uproarious time playing mad coyote after the meal. Hydrophobia was a fearsome plague that spread some years through the wild creatures who would occasionally be so afflicted by the deadly sickness that they'd attack anything they chanced upon.

A few days after Santiago shot the coyote, a sow went into running, frothing fits. She made for Chacho who was majestically stalking past the
ramada
where. Talitha was slicing squash for drying.

Chacho had no fear of hogs, having taught several of them that he wasn't to be tempered with. When the sow lurched toward him, the cat arched his back and hissed. When she still came on, in spite of Talitha's scream, he lashed out, bloodying the sensitive snout, but the sow was past pain. Her teeth grazed the cat as he streaked away, understanding he was up against something outside normal experience.

A little foam dribbled from the sow's jaw. She stood stupidly a moment after Chacho's disappearance, then reared about and started in Talitha's direction.

Talitha was already halfway to the house. Socorro came out with a rifle, rested it on the rain barrel, and fired. The sow jerked. Blood flowed from her side, but, horribly, she ran on. Shea, running from the corrals, brought the animal down with his second shot.

She collapsed only a few yards away from the house. “Did—did she hurt you?” Shea asked Talitha, his face chalky beneath its tan.

Talitha shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. It had been so sudden, so totally unexpected! “But she tried to bite Chacho,” she said through trembling lips. “I don't know if she scratched him or not.”

James, behind Shea, screwed up his eyes and shouted furiously, “She couldn't bite him! She couldn't!”

“We'd better find him and have a look,” Shea said.

When James coaxed his pet out of the mill where he'd refuged after fleeing the sow, Shea carefully went over every inch of the soft black fur. It began to seem that Chacho had indeed escaped when the probing fingers paused, searched, then drew back the hair to expose a small scratch.

Talitha sucked in her breath. Shea got wearily to his feet, holding the cat. But James cried ringingly, “That was already there! It was, Shea! Chusma got mad at Chacho this morning and she did it!”

“You're sure?”

James nodded his head, claiming the cat, cuddling him protectively. Shea hesitated, searching those dark blue eyes that were at once so defiant and pleading.

“James, we can't take chances.”

“Chusma scratched him!”

Shea shrugged and turned to Santiago who had come up during the examination. “We'd better have a look at the pigs. Kill any that look like she may have nipped them.”

Two young hogs had bloody marks that might have come from a grazing fang or from rubbing into a projecting dead branch. Both were killed and butchered since at this point the meat would be unaffected. The sow was burned to make sure that nothing, wild or tame, dug her up and caught the disease.

“I don't know if it can be caught that way,” Shea said grimly. “But no use risking it.”

Talitha was jumpy for several days and kept a rifle with her when she was working in the field. She tried to question James more closely about Chacho's scratch, but he only grabbed up his pet and made off with him. No more mad animals turned up and the day the sow went wild was fading in memory when, about two weeks later, Chacho came into the house while they were having supper.

He was unsteady, weaving, stood on the threshold blinking as if the last rays of sun hurt his eyes. “Chacho!” James ran toward him, arms reaching down.

The cat hissed, arching its back, but James kept on. Talitha shouted at him, slipping from the bench. Shea caught James backward just as Chacho bit. The teeth spiked into Shea's wrist. Santiago stripped off his leather vest, dropped it, over the cat, swaddling his claws and head, while Shea held James who gave one wild cry and began to sob.

“What—what's he going to do?”

“See if Chacho's sick.” Shea spoke quietly though blood dripped from the punctures on his wrist.

Belen said, “Perhaps if we cauterize those bites right away …” He built up the cookfire and put a dulled knife to heat. Talitha snatched James away from Shea and gave him a hard shake.

“Did you lie? About Chusma scratching your cat? Did you lie?”

“I didn't lie, Tally! Chusma did scratch him!” James struggled to wrest free. “Let me go! Let me go to Chacho!”

Santiago came back, his limp heavier than usual, addressed James as
ahijado
, godson. “Your pet had the sickness. I put him down in the quarters, watched till I was sure.”

“How—could you be sure?” James panted.

“He went into fits. I put him out of his suffering.”

James gave a shriek that echoed through Talitha's nerves. Then he went very still, slipped from Talitha's hand, and started for the quarters.

“You must be careful how you handle him, godson,” Santiago said, going with him. “I'll help you burn him.”

In spite of her anger at James, Talitha's heart ached for her brother. As soon as Shea's wrist was cauterized, she left him assuring Socorro that rabies didn't always follow from a bite, and picked up Chacho's “toys”: a round of bone that could be jerked by a piece of rawhide, a leather ball stuffed with cattail down, a battered eagle feather.

She took these out to where Santiago and James had made a pyre on the slope close to the burial of the scalps of Tjúni's village and Santiago's rancho. Thank heaven Santiago hadn't shot Chacho or split his skull. He must have smothered him. She placed the feather between his paws, the ball and bone by his head, helped James heap smaller branches on top as Santiago started the fire.

She held James in her arms and they both wept.

Life went on. The men began to brand yearlings and cull out cattle that would be driven to market. James rode with them for the first time, helped chase down recalcitrants, kept the branding fire going, and learned to use the iron himself. Though it was grueling for a six-year-old, Talitha was glad he was kept busy and tired. At that, she often heard him sobbing in the night, either in grief for Chacho or guilt for what might come to Shea.

Strange how they waited for that, as in a controlled nightmare. Everyone worked, ate and slept, not speaking of the horror that might come, though Socorro, heavy in the last weeks of pregnancy, knelt daily, a long time, before the madonna.

Then, when they were beginning to meet each other's eyes and smile, when surely the time of contagion must be past, or nearly so, Shea rode in one night and didn't want supper.

By morning he was delirious between spells of rationality. Socorro bathed him and Talitha brought joint fir tea which he drank thirstily, mumbling something that made Socorro's eyes glisten.

“He thinks he's lost in the desert again, as he was when I found him.”

Sometimes he thought his dead twin, Michael, was with him, for he encouraged him, offered what was left in the canteen. Then he was in Ireland, pleading with his mother to eat, assuring her that he and Michael had more than enough. And then he cried out something about a scythe, how Michael mustn't know, but their father was finally avenged.

After a long period of such ramblings, he knew Socorro, smiled, and managed weakly to touch her face. “My miracle,” he whispered. “
Querida
, you are more to me than all the ill that ever happened. I have been a happy, blessed man.”

He slept quietly a short while. Then convulsions wracked him. Belen, Chuey and Santiago, coming for breakfast, heard the chilling news and came to stand in the door, shocked grief and dread in their eyes.

“You must not nurse him, Doña Socorro,” Santiago said at last. “In one of the fits he might attack you, give you the disease. I'll stay with him.”

Socorro shook her head. “He is my husband.”

“The child you carry …”

“Santiago!” The beautiful eyes in the thin delicate face met and commanded the vaquero's golden ones. “I will stay.”

He bowed his head. “I will be with you, then. I've seen this before, my lady. Before long we will have to tie him to keep him from hurling himself about.”

Unnoticed, Talitha gripped the bedpost, forced down the primitive rebellious wailing that threatened to tear from her throat. Shea, bound like a frenzied beast? Shea, a danger to his worshiped Socorro?

The same disbelief must have overwhelmed Socorro, for, earlier composure breaking, she cried out pleadingly, “Must he die? Don't men ever recover?”

Santiago was helplessly silent but Belen stirred. “
Madama
, sometimes the Tarahumares can cure this.”