Wild Splendor (2 page)

Harold's eyebrows narrowed together into one line as he leaned down close to her face. “Don't you appreciate anything?” he snarled. “I'm paying a lot of money for that blanket. Would you rather I go back and get the yarn and forget it? Would you rather I didn't get you anything for your wedding gift?”

“I don't care what you do with anything,” Leonida snapped, then stamped away from him.

He caught up with her immediately. “I'm sorry for upsetting you,” he said, glad to be away from the Indian tents and walking toward the fort. “But, Leonida, I must warn you against being so easily swayed by the Indians. I'm being too trusting myself to believe that I will ever see anything made from the yarn I handed over to that crippled wench.”

Leonida cringed at his reference to Pure Blossom as a “wench,” but she now only wanted to get to the privacy of her house. “Who was that Indian warrior?” she asked cautiously. “It is obvious that you don't like him.”

Setting his jaw tightly, Harold did not answer her right away, but he finally responded, knowing that he would have to sooner or later, anyhow. Leonida was not the sort to let anything get past her. Especially the name of a man with whom she was so obviously infatuated.

“Sage,” he grumbled. “A Navaho chief.” He glared over at her. “Pure Blossom is his sister.”

“He's a chief,” Leonida said to herself, still tingling inside from Sage's touch, his voice, and the way he had looked at her with his midnight-dark eyes.

The sound of hooves behind her drew her eyes around just in time to see Sage riding away on a magnificent chestnut stallion with a saddle of stamped leather. The silver ornaments hanging from his saddle flashed in the sun. For a brief moment he turned his head her way. When their eyes met, a silent promise seemed to be exchanged between them, yet she did not know why.

Shaken by her feelings, Leonida tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere. She stared at the fort as they approached it. The high adobe walls surrounding it offered protection to the barracks, hospital and officers' quarters inside. The fort had been built within a green valley, supplied by water from a sparkling river that flowed down from the nearby mountains. Unable to shake the Navaho chief from her mind, Leonida turned and watched him as he rode toward the river in the distance.

It was her keenest desire to follow him.

Chapter 2

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?

—A
DELAIDE
A
NNE
P
ROCTER

 

 

Candlelight was reflected in the many sparkling, long-stemmed wine glasses on her oak dining table. Around it sat many important men of the fort and the highly honored guest, Colonel Christopher “Kit” Carson.

From the instant Leonida entered the room and seated herself, she had felt out of place, for she was the only woman in attendance and the conversations quickly made her most uneasy and angrier by the moment.

Glancing downward, she toyed with her asparagus, then sipped her wine as she listened, avoiding occasional admiring glances from the men. One and all noticed her gown of rich, pale-blue satin, with a bodice that came to a point in front, emphasizing the magnificent swell of her breasts and the smallness of her corseted waist. Little puffed sleeves trimmed with a lace ruffle draped to her elbows. Her golden hair was combed back at the sides and held there with a slide, tumbling across her shoulders in loose ringlets.

Leonida knew that she should feel honored to be in the presence of the great Kit Carson, the man who had guided the “pathfinders” sent by the government to open the West. Thanks to the penny press, everyone knew that Carson had guided the explorer John Fremont through the Rocky Mountains, not once but several times, and his exploits in the wilderness were already the stuff of legend. He had gone on to become an Indian agent at Taos, New Mexico.

Now, as he related why he had been sent to Fort Defiance, she could not help but form a dislike for him. He had been sent to this region with strict instructions to bring the marauding Navaho under control.

The way the discussion was going, all Navaho were being considered marauders, not just a few who wreaked havoc on the white settlers and even their neighboring Indian tribes.

The fact that Sage and his sweet sister Pure Blossom could be a target sent chills up and down Leonida's spine. Even Harold had seen that they were gentle. Yet she could feel Harold's eyes on her throughout this evening's discussion of the Navaho, knowing that he was recalling Sage's obvious interest in her. She knew that this alone could fuel Harold's agreement to do whatever needed to be done with the Navaho, and that realization made her detest him more than ever.

She did not offer any comments as the evening wore on, not even when they had all gone to the drawing room and were sharing smokes and drinks, again in her presence. Wanting to hear their final plans concerning the Navaho, she had purposely not excused herself to go to the privacy of her bedroom.

Sitting demurely in a plushly cushioned chair, with her hands folded on her lap, Leonida listened as Kit Carson resumed explaining in his soft-spoken manner the reasons why the Navaho's activities should be curtailed. She gazed over at Kit, a short and stocky, sandy-haired, ruddy-faced man, dressed in fringed doeskin.

From what she had read about him, he had come from Kentucky originally and had all the self-reliance of that state's original settlers. He was known for his prowess as a hunter, and for his ability to rope and ride wild horses. No matter how tough the circumstances, he knew how to survive and even laughed in the face of danger.

“With the buffalo rapidly disappearing, the Navaho are finding it easier to raid ranches than to hunt game on the land the settlers don't want,” Harold offered in support of Kit's ideas about taking over full control of the Navaho. “The settlements and ranches are being raided. Caravans are being plundered, travelers killed. Kit, whatever you decide is best to stop this devastation will suit me fine.”

Kit rose to his feet and began pacing, as everyone watched him. “For years I've been writing the Department of Indian Affairs about these problems, and now they are worsening,” he said, kneading his chin, watching his feet as he paced. “I believe it would be best for the Indians and the white population alike if all Indians were placed on reservations and taught modern farming.”

He stopped and began looking every man in the eye as he continued. “I've learned the language of the Navaho people and their legends, which have been handed down through hundreds of Indian generations,” he said solemnly. “I've learned how the Navaho think and reason, and of their resentment against the white man's taking the game which they say has been put on the earth for the red man. I've always sympathized with the Navaho. I've even found friendship easy with them. But nevertheless, I now see the need to deal firmly with them. I've been sent to take control of all Navaho. As I see it, I have no other choice but to force them to join the Mescalero Indians at Fort Sumner.”

Stunned, Leonida was seized by a surge of dizziness. She gripped the arms of her chair and stared up at the scout, disbelieving what he had just said.

Without thinking, she stood up and looked Kit square in the eye. “What you are planning to do is wrong,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “My acquaintance with many of the Navaho in this region has proven they are not a warring band. Why must they pay for the evil others do?”

There was a sudden hush in the room. The soldiers' stares attested to what they thought of women who boldly spoke their mind, especially to a man such as Kit Carson.

He started to speak, but Leonida did not give him the chance, knowing if she did not have her say now, she never would be given the chance again.

“Even the Indian agents have always been political appointees and know nothing of the Navahos' true needs,” she said, her voice rising in anger. “And now, because the cavalry has not been able to track down the true marauders, you will take your spite out on the innocent?”

Not giving anyone a chance to say anything back to her, Leonida spun around and left the drawing room. She wished now she hadn't allowed these men to congregate in her house. Since she had heard so much about the famous frontiersman who had done so much for their country, she had been honored to have him as her guest.

Upon her arrival at Fort Defiance two years ago to live with her father, he had built her this beautiful adobe hacienda with gardens and terraces, all of the comforts that she had been forced to leave behind in San Francisco upon the death of her mother. Her bedroom was all lace and flower designs, with carpets her bare feet sank into.

She had shared this lovely house with her father until his untimely death, caused by a scorpion's sting. And now Harold expected to share it with her. That she would never allow!

Almost blinded with rage, Leonida started to run from the house, but was stopped when Harold grabbed her by a wrist.

“What's got into you tonight?” he said, turning her to face him. “What's Kit Carson to think? You behaved like some wild thing someone might find lost in the desert. You've got to go back in there and apologize, Leonida, for me to keep face. Kit knows you and I are betrothed.”

She wrenched herself free and placed her hands on her hips. “Now, isn't that a pity?” she said, her voice taunting. “You have to suffer a mite of humiliation while the Indians are going to have to lose all of their dignity.”

“Damn it, Leonida, what you know about Indians could be put in the palm of your hand,” he argued. “Just because you've been protected here at the fort and haven't seen what the Indians can do, you stand up for them? Or has that handsome Navaho chief turned your head, making you behave so unlike yourself tonight?”

“What justifies you and those men in there making decisions for the Navaho that will take their pride, dignity, and their freedom away?” Leonida said, her voice breaking. “You know you're wrong, Harold.”

“It is the only way to stop the marauding,” he said, his voice calmer. “Reservation life is not as bad as you think. The Indians are given a decent life—”

Leonida did not give him a chance to finish his sentence. “If you agree to this unfair treatment of the Navaho, I won't marry you,” she said icily. “I'll return to San Francisco. I've friends there. I'll live among them and be much happier than living here with the likes of you.”

“I don't like being threatened,” he growled, glaring at her.

“It is not a threat,” she said, glaring back at him. “It's a fact, Harold. A damn fact.”

His eyes wavered. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “You're being foolish,” he said thickly. “Your future is with me. My God, woman, I am offering you a life of leisure. You can't turn your back on it.”

A hint of smugness crossed his face. “And besides,” he said, laughing sarcastically, “you can't travel anywhere. The country is being torn apart by war.”

“Harold, the war between us could—” she began stiffly. Then her tone softened. “Harold, how can you ask that Navaho woman to make that blanket for me as a wedding gift in one breath, and then with your next, condemn her and her people to a reservation?”

She did not wait for any more of his excuses. She opened the door and stormed out of the house into a moonless night.

Her heart beating furiously, relieved that Harold had not followed her, Leonida saw a saddled horse reined to a nearby hitching post. She knew the horse was Harold's, a large, very swift black mare. And that was what she needed now. A horse that would carry her far from the men who were planning the Navahos' fate. She would ride until she was exhausted, and then perhaps she could return to bed and sleep.

Not caring that traveling on horseback would ruin her beautiful dress, Leonida swung herself into the saddle. Ignoring the warning shouts of the sentries, she rode through the wide gate of the fort. At this moment she hated the sight of blue-coated soldiers.

Tears streamed from her eyes when she thought of her father and how handsome he had been in his uniform, and how he had ruled with such gentleness and caring toward the Indians. Surely he would turn over in his grave tonight if he knew what Kit Carson and the others were planning.

With the night air brushing her face in a warm caress, Leonida urged the black steed to a trot, occasionally broken by a short lope. She rode past the spot where the tents had been and onward toward the river, sad at the thought that she might never see Sage again. She flinched at the notion that he might be seized on his way back to the mountains and forced toward New Mexico, where he would live penned up like an animal.

When Leonida saw a fire throwing light into the sky up ahead, her fingers tightened involuntarily on the horse's reins, causing the horse to jerk sidewise. Then she reined her mount to a halt. This fire could mean many things. It could indicate white travelers, marauders, or . . . where Sage's tribe had stopped for the night before heading on toward the mountains.

The thought of Sage made her heartbeat quicken and her knees weaken strangely. She slid out of the saddle and walked the horse slowly toward the fire, where junipers and pines began thickening on all sides of her.

Suddenly something rustled to her right. She did not have time to think before Sage stepped out in front of her, his hands quickly taking her reins.

Time stood still. Leonida's heart did not seem to beat, nor was she aware of breathing. She was numb to everything but Sage's dark, penetrating eyes gazing into hers. At this moment she did not know whether to be afraid or entranced.