Trilby (25 page)

Indeed it was, and several rebels had been shot, some Americans among them if the rumors were true. She couldn’t bear to think of Naki among them. She changed the disturbing subject. “Otherwise, how did your fieldwork go?”

That coaxed him back into a good mood. McCollum loved nothing better than to talk about his work. He expounded on it in great detail. Thorn joined them shortly thereafter, no hint of jealousy in his face as he found McCollum with Trilby. In fact, he looked very thoughtful and intense.

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS
were fascinating ones for McCollum’s graduate students as they divided their time between exploring the sites of the earliest Indian occupation and learning firsthand about daily life among the Apaches. Thorn had urged caution, however, because down in Mexico some of the fiercest fighting of the revolution had been reported, and small towns switched hands
almost daily from rebels to
Federales.
More dynamiting of railroads and bridges and even narrow trails had been reported. In addition, the Mexican War Department had placed an order in France for twenty million Mauser cartridges for immediate delivery.

McCollum took the situation seriously and allowed Thorn to send some cowboys along as escort when he went to the reservation. They waited in the hills for McCollum and his students to do their fieldwork.

“They’re a fascinating people,” Haskins remarked under his breath to Dr. McCollum when they were sharing a meal of meat and beans and tortillas with their host, a sub-chief of the tribe.

“Indeed,” McCollum agreed, glancing at his other rapt students. “Not what you expected, are they, Mr. Greensboro?” he asked a tall, dark man.

“Not at all, sir,” Greensboro replied. “I had expected a Stone Age group of people. They are not the ignorant savages I thought to find. Despite the belief in magic and the superstitions, they are an intelligent and proud people.”

“Seen close up like this, most tribes are. They may not practice social customs in the manner we do, but they have much to tell us about survival in one of the harshest environments on earth.”

“Why is the myth of ignorance perpetuated? It is easy to see that prejudice still abounds here in the West,” Haskins remarked.

“Indeed, yes.” McCollum belched to show his host that the meal had been enjoyable, scowling until the others got the idea and quickly followed suit. Then, with permission, he lit his pipe and smoked it while the others finished. “You can hardly expect centuries of
prejudice to disappear because the century has turned over, Haskins. I’m afraid we shall have to live with it for many more years before civilized people become enlightened enough to accept and appreciate differences in other cultures.”

“We do,” Greensboro pointed out.

“Of course. But, then, we’re intelligent.” McCollum grinned. “Do belch again, Mr. Greensboro. You have our host worried. He thinks you don’t like your food.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Greensboro produced a very satisfying belch.

“In the backwoods of the East, it is also considered good manners to belch after a meal,” McCollum pointed out when he saw the faint unease on his students’ faces. “And I’ll remind you that despite the exquisite manners one finds in an Eastern parlor at teatime, among elite families there does exist the incredible custom of dressing young boys like little girls.”

“But some Indian tribes have men who dress like women,” Greensboro interjected. “They call them
berdache.
”

“Very good, Mr. Greensboro! You do occasionally listen when I lecture, then?”

Greensboro colored. “Of course, sir!”

“What is this lecture?” the sub-chief, who was keeping silent during the conversation, asked politely.

“It is the way we teach in college,” McCollum told him. He said the Apache word for learning. “I teach anthropology as well as archaeology.” And he went on to explain that as well.

“I see,” the older man replied when he finished. He looked around at the students. “Do these young ones live in wickiups, as we do—” he indicated the lodge in
which they sat “—and learn the ways of manhood as we teach our youth?”

“You mean, how to go without water in the desert by sucking pebbles and fasting to gain a vision or a spirit guide?” McCollum asked. “No. Not exactly. These men are learning how to appreciate other cultures and other ways of life, as well as learning about how early men lived. They will, in turn, teach others.”

The sub-chief nodded. “This is good. We will learn about each other and there will be less—” he paused, searching for the wood “—hostility.”

“We hope so,” McCollum replied.

The sub-chief drew out the ceremonial pipe and, with a twinkle in his eyes, glanced at McCollum as he filled it. “Have you explained this custom to them?”

McCollum was uneasy about it. He knew of the use of peyote, but this was his host’s home and he was required by ethics and custom not to refuse the hospitality. “Yes, I have,” McCollum said, looking around with eyes that dared any of his students to make a disparaging remark.

“Not to worry, sir,” Haskins said, with a twinkle in his bespectacled eyes. “We’re troupers.”

As he spoke, the sub-chief finished filling the pipe. He offered it to the four directions with a prayerful solemnity.

When the ritual was complete, the pipe was handed around the group, with everyone taking a puff. A ceremonial drink from a central container followed. The noxious liquid smelled even worse than it looked, but ritual demanded participation. Only a brief time later, there was a mad scramble for the flap that closed the
wickiup, as the students and their professor barely made it to the undergrowth in time.

“Good medicine.” The sub-chief chuckled as he, too, emptied the contents of his stomach. “It cleanses.”

McCollum, who knew all too well—from studying Eastern Indians—about the noxious “black drink” that accompanied each meeting with white men, murmured a weak assent. His head was spinning and his stomach felt like all the fires of hell. “Good medicine,” he agreed gamely.

Haskins thought he might die. He was offered a drink of water and took it eagerly, his face pale but still game.

“Congratulations,” McCollum said under his breath. “You are now a man.”

“Thank you so mu—”

The rest of the contents of his stomach came up.

The sub-chief was delighted at the fortitude of his guests. He opened up to them, then, detailing small facets of Apache life that even Naki hadn’t shared with McCollum. He told them about the various sicknesses—bear sickness, coyote sickness—and how they were treated. He told them how the owl was feared, because the souls of the evil dead inhabited them at the moment of death. He told them about the casting out of disease and how to recognize a witch. These were very secret things, and only by promising to keep the knowledge secret were they allowed to hear it. McCollum respected the customs and confidences of his host and insisted that his students do the same.

“The mysticism is fascinating,” Greensboro whispered as they followed the old man around the village.

“Don’t ever make the mistake of criticizing the beliefs of people from other cultures,” McCollum advised.
“In most ancient cultures, illness and death are considered abnormal events that are caused by magic.”

“Yes, I know,” Haskins said knowledgeably. “I’ve read about some tragedies involving the breaking of tribal taboos by outsiders.” He mentioned a massacre in a South American country connected with one.

“Such things happen,” McCollum agreed. “A very dangerous thing, meddling in mysticism.”

“Surely the Apaches aren’t that hostile…?”

“They’re very superstitious,” McCollum replied. “They might not kill you, but you could undo all my hard work here. Don’t jeopardize my research with any careless remarks. You don’t have to agree with their customs to respect them.”

“Of course, sir. Certainly I won’t give offense.”

“You’re doing very well, Greensboro,” McCollum added quietly. “Quite well. I think you have the makings of a superior archaeologist.”

The young man colored with embarrassed delight. “Why, thank you, sir.”

“You’ve never said that about
me,
” Haskins pointed out.

His thick blond eyebrows arched. “Do I look stupid, Haskins? You’ve made perfect scores on all my exams, and the dean tells me I’m in danger of losing my chair to you before you even graduate! My God, encouragement is the last thing you need!”

Everyone laughed, including Haskins.

T
HORN AND
M
C
C
OLLUM
were subdued at the evening meal, and Trilby realized that it was because of what they’d learned today about Naki. Thorn had asked Jorge for any news from Mexico about the missing Apache. When pressed, the Mexican had reluctantly told McCollum that there was a rumor from some cousins in Mexico that Naki could be dead. No one knew.

Trilby didn’t know how she was going to break the news to Sissy when she wrote to her next. The other girl’s most recent letter had been heartrending, hungry for any news of Naki. Trilby had waited to answer it, hoping for something to ease Sissy’s mind. She had, it seemed, waited in vain.

Trilby had a flash of insight as she realized how it would be if Thorn were fighting in Mexico and hadn’t been heard from in months. She got sick to her stomach and had to sit down.

“What is it?” McCollum asked.

“Nothing,” Trilby replied. But she felt hollow inside. The full force of what she felt for Thorn blossomed inside her. She’d always known that she cared for him, but she hadn’t really known how much until now. He had become her world. If she lost him, wouldn’t she feel exactly as Sissy would when she knew about Naki?

“Can I get you something?”

Thorn came through the doorway and scowled when he saw Trilby sitting down and a worried McCollum hovering over her. “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“Trilby was a little wobbly, that’s all. I’ll leave her in your hands.”

Thorn knelt beside Trilby, his eyes almost on a level with hers because he was so tall. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

She looked into his eyes and some of the terror vanished. She touched his face slowly, tracing his cheek down to his mouth. Impulsively she leaned forward and put her mouth softly to his.

He made a rough sound and jerked back.

“Oh, I—I am sorry,” she faltered, embarrassed. Her hand dropped. “I didn’t mean to—”

But he caught her hand and brought it back to his face. His other hand tangled suddenly in her hair, and she had a glimpse of blazing dark eyes before he jerked her face to his and kissed her with a passion that made her knees go weak.

His lean hands smoothed over her back. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he said heavily, with an odd laugh. “You don’t usually touch me, Trilby.”

She lifted her head and looked up into soft, quiet dark eyes. “I could, if you—if you like it.”

His face went tense. “I like it, all right.”

She reached up, her hands tracing his lean face slowly, tenderly. “You’re very handsome,” she whispered. “And I like the way it feels when we kiss.”

His breath darted through his nose in sharp jerks. “So do I.” His eyes fastened on her mouth. “I would very much like to stretch you over the kitchen table and—”

“Oh, Thorn!” she moaned.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought back sanity. He moved her discreetly away from his powerful body and laughed unsteadily. “You take my breath away.”

“How nice,” she whispered impishly.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” he groaned.

Her eyelashes fluttered. She was alive as never before, conscious of her power and his vulnerability. “Tit for tat,” she whispered. “I can barely stand.”

“Will you sleep with me tonight?”

She looked up. “Of course.”

His cheekbones went ruddy with color, and there was something explosive in his dark eyes as McCollum paused at the doorway.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, aware of some odd undercurrents in the room.

“I’m quite all right. Really I am,” Trilby told him. “It was just a dizzy spell. I get them from time to time. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?” Thorn asked worriedly.

She smiled into his dark eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m sure.”

T
RILBY DIDN’T WANT
McCollum to tell Sissy about Naki. He promised that he would keep the confidence.

“I’m sorry about Naki,” McCollum said wearily.

“So am I,” Thorn agreed.

“He might still turn up, you know,” McCollum added, smiling. “He’s resourceful.”

“He’ll need to be.” Thorn toyed with his fork and studied Trilby with eyes that grew quickly hungry. He’d kissed her last night until his mouth ached, but he didn’t dare do more than that after the passionate loving they’d
shared in the afternoon. So he’d cradled her against his heart under the covers and they’d held each other all night. This morning, there was a totally new relationship between them. She looked at him openly with warm, secretive eyes, and the looks he gave her back were darkly possessive. When his arm slid around her shoulders, she didn’t draw away. She pressed close and laid her cheek against his chest. He could barely breathe for the utter delight he felt. For once, he didn’t consider motives or causes. He pushed the specter of Richard Bates to the back of his mind and was determined to live for the moment.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, McCollum and his students boarded a train and left. They’d had plans to stay for two weeks, but McCollum was called back early. It was just as well, Thorn told Trilby, because the situation over in Agua Prieta had suddenly ignited again as projections of a rebel attack mounted. The Nacozari train, which came up from the mining camps in Sonora, had been boarded and delayed by “El Capitán” López at Fronteras. Their orders had been to take the train into Agua Prieta to attack, but there were women and Americans on the train, and López refused to put them at risk. The very controversial López’s stock went up several points in Thorn’s eyes after that.

No sooner were Trilby and Samantha and Thorn back at Los Santos than a lone rider appeared on the horizon, riding hell-for-leather toward the house.

Trilby had taken Samantha inside. Thorn waited on the porch for the horseman, his keen eyes already having determined the visitor’s identity.

“Naki!” he burst out when the other man dismounted at the steps. “Is it you?”

He had to ask, because the man wearing conventional cowboy clothing with boots and a gunbelt and a huge Mexican hat didn’t look like Naki. He’d even cut his long hair. When he took off the hat, he looked like a highborn Spanish grandee, right down to the arrogance of his dark eyes and high-bridged straight nose.

“Yes, it’s me,” Naki said. He was half out of breath. “Where is she? They said you had McCollum and several students here. I hoped she might be among them. I rode all night to get here… Is she in the house?”

Thorn just stared at him, faintly horrified. “She’s not here.”

Naki stared back. “They said—”

“She didn’t come,” he replied. “Only McCollum and several male students. McCollum was told that you’d gone to fight for the Maderistas and that you hadn’t been heard from. Jorge said you were missing in action and presumed dead.”

He hesitated, his face grim. “Does Alexandra know? Has someone told her that I was dead?”

“No,” Thorn said. “No, not yet. Trilby swore McCollum to secrecy.”

Naki ran a lean hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat. “I got embroiled in the fight. It seemed like a second chance, somehow, to help free an oppressed people. I’ve been riding with Colonel José de luz Blanco’s people, mostly with Red López, against the
Federales.
It’s been hell. I was wounded in the shoulder and it took me a few weeks to get completely back on my feet, but I’m certainly not dead.”

“Thank God,” Thorn said.

Naki shrugged, fingering the reins. “Perhaps it’s for the best that Alexandra didn’t come,” he said dully. “Blanco said that after the revolution, I could probably manage a ranch for one of the
hacendados
or even buy a place of my own. There isn’t so much prejudice in Mexico, except against highborn Spaniards and whites.” He looked up. “Unless I tell people I’m Apache, they don’t know.”

Thorn studied the other man quietly. “And how long do you think you can ignore your heritage, deny your ancestry?”

Naki groaned. He looked toward the horizon. “I can’t. I’m proud of what I am. I don’t try to hide it, even in Mexico, but there’s so little prejudice among the rebels. All of us are misfits. After the revolution, if we win, it won’t matter what race I am. Not in Mexico.” He turned to Thorn. “I love her!”

The anguish in that deep voice touched Thorn’s very soul. “I know,” he said heavily. “But she wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your heritage. She accepts you as you are. She loves you as you are.”

Naki turned back toward him. “Thorn, I could never live back East. And despite what she thinks, the reservation would destroy her. The only common ground possible is Mexico.”

“Mexico is in the throes of revolution.”

“I noticed,” the Apache said dryly.

“Come in and visit for a while, at least,” Thorn said. “You can tell us what’s happening. Jorge is the only source we have for any news of the revolution.”

Trilby, delighted to see that Thorn’s friend was very much alive, set an extra place at the table, and Naki filled them in on the latest developments.

“Here in the north we have an able leader in Colonel Blanco, and there are others. There’s a game fellow named Arturo López who leads a contingent. They call him Red. I’m with his group right now.” He shook his head. “You can’t believe the diversity of our men. I’ve seen French Foreign Legionnaires, Germans, Dutch, and plenty of cowboys from Texas and Arizona and New Mexico. Even some Eastern dudes, among them a Harvard graduate.” He grinned, his teeth very white against his tan. “And rumor has it—” he leaned forward conspiratorially “—that there’s an Apache Indian in the fight!”

“No!” Thorn exclaimed.

“Who would believe that?” Trilby teased, smiling. “Will Madero win?”

“Of course,” Naki replied. “Even so, I doubt that he will remain in power very long. He has a kind heart, but it takes much more than that to lead a country. It takes ruthlessness.”

After they ate, Thorn walked his friend out to the barn, where his horse had been fed and watered for the journey back.

“Are you sure you won’t spend the night?” Thorn asked.

“I gave my word that I’d return by morning,” came the reply. Naki hesitated. “I act as translator when López isn’t available. I trust you to say nothing. There is a great battle in the offing. It would be wise to keep to the ranch for a while and go no nearer Douglas than this. I can say no more, and you must keep my confidence.”

“I will. Thank you.” Thorn didn’t press the other man for information, but he wanted to. “What shall we tell Sissy when she writes?”

Naki hesitated. He finished saddling his horse and adjusted the cinch strap again. “Tell her nothing,” he said finally, his face hard and resigned as he turned back to the other man. “Until the revolution is won or lost, it is best that she know nothing.”

Thorn hesitated. Trilby had said that Sissy had sounded desperate for news in her last letter. Thinking Naki dead, she might very well do something drastic.

“I hope McCollum can keep his mouth shut if Sissy asks him about you,” Thorn said heavily. “He means well, but women fluster him—especially upset women. What if he tells her the gossip about you?”

“I can almost see what you think,” Naki remarked astutely. “But you underestimate Alexandra. I know how she feels, but she is too strong, too gritty, to take her own life. If someone tells her that I am no longer alive, she will survive the grief and be stronger for it. I know her.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Thorn asked. “Can you live with it?”

“Of course not,” came the quiet reply. “But I’m not wrong. Eventually, if I can cope with life in Mexico, I will tell her myself and give her the choice. If I cannot, it is best that she believes me dead. For her own sake.”

“In your place, I don’t think I could be so noble,” Thorn replied. “I’d kill for Trilby. I’d die for her.”

“I know. Have you told her?”

Thorn laughed coldly. “She’s still in love with that Eastern fellow. She finds me acceptable now, but I don’t have her heart.”

“Don’t lose hope,” Naki told him. “The Eastern fellow isn’t here. You are.”

“I know. That’s my ace.” He shook hands with his friend. “Don’t get your guts shot out.”

“Don’t sleep too soundly at night. You may have given up your Mexican lands, but your cattle are tempting to hungry men desperate to win a revolution. Keep both eyes open. Remember what I said about Douglas.”

“I will. And thanks.”

“De nada.”

“Try to keep in touch, at least through Jorge’s relatives, couldn’t you?”

Naki sat astride the horse, looking elegant and right at home. “I’ll do my best.”

“Adios.”

“Vaya con Dios,”
came the soft reply. Naki turned his horse and rode away, a lonely silhouette against the sky.

“B
UT WHY WON’T
he let us tell Sissy?” Trilby asked plaintively. “Doesn’t he know that it will kill her to think he’s dead?”

“He knows. It’s for her sake that he doesn’t want to raise her hopes, only to have them dashed. It’s an incredible thing he’s trying to do, Trilby—giving up his country for love of a woman.”

“Imagine a man willing to do that for a mere female,” she said softly, peeking up at him through her lashes.

He smiled slowly. Samantha had already been put to bed. The house was quiet and empty of noise, except for the unusually loud ticktock of the grandfather clock in the hall.

“I want you,” he said softly.

Such plain speaking still had the power to fraz
zle Trilby’s nerves and make her blush like a bride. “Thorn!”

“I know. I’m not quite civilized, am I?” he asked, moving close to her. He stopped when he was scant inches away, so close that she could feel the heat from his body, smell the tobacco and leather scent of his clothing. “I’m too rough and too Western for a gentlewoman like you.”

“No, you aren’t,” she whispered, shivering. “I want you!”

Her breath swept heavily from her lungs. She looked up at his shocked face with eyes that grew heated with slow passion. Her hands went to the neck of her dress and she began to unfasten it without taking her eyes from Thorn’s. She didn’t stop until she had it open all the way down the front. And while he watched, she peeled everything down to her waist and stood there, bare breasted, breathing as if she’d been running.