Dorothy Garlock (14 page)

Johanna went through the door and closed it behind her. She could still hear his voice through the closed door.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a goddamn bitch, hear?”

She stood in the hall, her hands pressed tightly over her ears. Humiliation surpassed her anger and almost crushed her determination to withstand whatever came in order to keep a roof over her and Jacy’s heads. How could she face Ben and Burr now? They most certainly had heard the old man’s insults.

Burr came through the kitchen door. The light was behind him so she couldn’t see his expression, but she thought he was smirking. Her features clearly showed the strain of the encounter with the old man.

“If you’re going to get the honey you must expect to get stung by the bee,” he said softly as he passed her.

“You . . . you shut up!” she hissed at him, and the soft chuckle that followed infuriated her.

“Damn him!” she muttered as she entered the kitchen.

Ben sat puffing on his pipe. Johanna knew he and Burr had heard every word old Mack had said to her, but she decided not to mention it. In all her life she had never been subjected to the kind of abuse she had received since she’d come to this valley. She could never even have imagined such behavior, nor did she know how to deal with it. Dear, dear Ben! Maybe his calm assurance would help her to survive in this house of evil. She had regained her composure by the time he spoke.

“You’ll never get used to such talk, lass, but don’t let it touch you.”

“I won’t, Ben. The problems here have nothing to do with me.”

Johanna worked swiftly and when the last clean dish was put away she smiled down at Bucko, who sat in the chair Burr had occupied.

“I’ll run up and get my shawl and the instruments and we’ll go.” At the door she said, “Ben, will you come with us?”

“No, girl, but I may come down later. I’d like to hear the music.”

*   *   *

Bucko was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Johanna came down. She handed him the violin case, because it was the lighter and less bulky of the two instruments. They went out and across the front of the house.

From the rooms at the end of the porch a path of light shone out onto the stone patio. Johanna glanced into the room as they walked past. Burr was sitting in a chair facing the door. He looked up and then jerked down onto his lap a young Mexican girl who had been standing beside him. Her pleased laughter rang out as her arms circled his neck possessively. Stung by unexplained anger, Johanna quickened her steps.

The night was dark, the moon not yet high enough to provide much light. Bucko led her down the smooth, well-worn path that started at the back of the bunkhouse.

“Can you read, Bucko?”

“
Sí.
Burr teach me . . . and Ben.”

“Good. Would you like to learn to play my guitar?”

Although they were walking slowly, he stumbled. His affirmative answer came clear and strong, with more emphasis than she had heard from him before.

“I’ll teach you, then. We’ll start next week.”

A large fire burned in the center of the semicircle of adobe houses. People lounged around the fire laughing and talking, and the children ran about, shouting to one another. The scene caused Johanna to feel a pang of homesickness for the happy home she’d had before her parents were killed. The children, seeing Bucko with the strange light-haired woman, stared in awe. Bucko lifted his head proudly and clutched the handle of the violin case.

Jacy came to meet them. Johanna noticed at once the lightness of her step and the eagerness in her voice.

“Johanna, we’ve been waiting for you. Come, I want you to meet Rosita, Red’s wife.”

Jacy pulled her toward the fire. She seemed happy. Actually happy. Johanna was delighted, and a large part of the heaviness she had carried for so long lifted from her heart.

A small, plump woman with shiny black hair and large expressive eyes came toward them. She smiled her welcome, her bright eyes moving from Johanna’s striking blond hair to Jacy’s dark coloring.

Jacy laughed. “I told you she had hair like a silver cloud.”

“
Sí,
Jaceta. You were right.”

“Good evening,” Johanna said. “Thank you for allowing Jacy to spend the day with you.”

“Ah . . . her
español,
it is good like yours, Jaceta.” Rosita rolled her eyes at Jacy and laughed.

Rosita’s friendly, lighthearted disposition had affected Jacy, and Johanna could hardly take her eyes from her sister’s smiling face.
It’s worth it all . . . it’s worth it all.
The words kept repeating themselves in her mind.

“Are you a-makin’ out, Johanner?” Mooney appeared beside her.

“Just barely, Mooney.” She laughed, and then said seriously, “I’m glad you prepared me, or I’d have been struck dumb.”

“I figured ya was in fer a jolt.”

Bucko stood shyly beside her, and Johanna gently took his hand. A bench had been cleared for her, and as she sat down she pulled the boy down beside her. Jacy took her violin from the case and plucked the strings to be sure they were in tune.

“Let’s play some Spanish music.”

“You lead off, as Papa used to do, and I’ll follow.” Immediately Johanna wished she hadn’t mentioned Papa, but a quick look at Jacy’s face reassured her that she hadn’t upset her.

Jacy struck up a lively Spanish tune and Johanna played the accompaniment. Exhilarated, she soon had her fingers flying over the strings of the guitar. Bucko, sitting beside her, watched intently, his eyes bright and the corners of his mouth turned up. Johanna was surprised by his interest in the music and how the changing tempos affected his expression.

After several numbers the audience began to clap their hands and sing. Some of them were calling out,
“Bueno, bueno!”

Johanna watched her sister carefully for signs of fatigue, but Jacy was totally carried away by the vibrant music she played and the utter joy and freedom of the moment. To the delight of everyone, she swung into a fiery, rousing piece, and a shout went up: “Isabella, Isabella, come dance for us.”

A girl stepped out of the darkness and raised her arms over her head. It was the girl who had been reclining so languorously on Burr’s lap. With animallike grace she poised on tiptoe, then pivoted and twirled. Around and around the circle she went, pirouetting and posturing, her movements inviting attention to her lovely body. Hands clapped in unison, keeping perfect time with the throbbing beat of the music. The girl’s feet were bare, and as she stamped out the rhythm of the music she whirled before each group, arms raised, boldly provocative. She halted briefly before Johanna, her flashing black eyes sending forth a challenge to the woman she thought her rival. Then with an insolent flick of her lashes she dismissed her. Johanna’s intuition told her that this girl resented her and her action was a warning that she didn’t intend to be cast aside. Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later when the girl’s searching eyes settled on the face of the man standing out of the circle of light.

Isabella, her dark hair whipping around her, whirled and swayed her body sensuously as she dance toward Burr, displaying every seductive curve of her body before his smiling gaze. Her hard eyes beckoned, invited. She wriggled her hips in wild abandon, and her full skirt billowed and flounced with every move. Her dance became wilder and more intense. The tempo rose and the clapping was so fast that Isabella’s whirling skirt showed flashes of bare thigh.

Johanna felt embarrassment, tinged with pity, for the girl. Obviously she had been intimate with Burr or she wouldn’t have been in his room. No doubt he found her an amusing plaything, and Johanna conjectured that he more than likely used her in the same way he had used and discarded Bucko’s mother.

She caught Burr watching her with a glint of mockery in his eyes that said her thoughts were plainly written on her face. Angry with herself and with him, she gave all her attention to the guitar.

Waves of laughter and applause followed the end of the dance. Jacy swung into the less feverish “Greensleeves,” and when Johanna looked up again neither the dancer nor Burr was there.

Jacy finally put down the violin and sat down. She had been playing for an hour, and although she was tired her eyes were bright and she was still smiling.

“It’s almost like it used to be, isn’t it, Johanna?”

Before Johanna could answer, a voice drawled, “Sing us one of them songs of yourn, ma’am.”

“Sing us a ballad, Johanner,” Mooney called.

“All right. I’ll sing first in English, then in Spanish.”

Her fingers stroked the strings of the guitar, and then she sang, her voice sweet and clear. The song was a sad story about a small boy who wanted to ride on the train but didn’t have money to pay his fare. Her audience listened attentively, and she sang the chorus.

“Oh please, Mr. Conductor, don’t put me off of
the train.

The best friend I have in this world is waiting for
me in pain.

Expecting to die any moment, she may not live
through the day.

I want to kiss Mama goodbye, sir, before God takes
her away.”

Her next song was about a young cowboy killed during a stampede and his sweetheart who waited for him in vain. The tragic lyrics were popular with young men who spent many lonely hours on the prairie. She also sang the touching war ballads “Lorena” and “Just Before the Battle, Mother,” and the best-known of all the songs to come out of the War Between the States, “Dixie.”

Her eyes roamed over the faces before her. Luis was there, standing quietly beside Ben. Red, Mooney, Codger, Paco, and Carlos: all there. The only person who hadn’t put in an appearance was the old man who had discovered the valley, fought for it, developed it, and become bitter because of it.

Johanna finished singing and handed her guitar to Bucko. She was tired, the weariness of her flesh equal to the weariness of her spirit.

“Señorita?” Luis spoke from behind her. She turned and saw him standing beside Burr. Suddenly she was angry that Burr was there when she thought he had gone. Ignoring him, she smiled up at Luis.

“Your sister say I must ask your permission to walk with her.”

There was no hesitancy in his voice, nor did he seem reluctant to speak in Burr’s presence. He was an extraordinarily handsome man whose face showed not only strength but character. Had it not been for his deep-blue eyes, she would have thought it impossible that he had been sired by old Mack. However, looking at the brothers standing together, she could see that their features were somewhat similar, yet the chiseled lips that in Luis curved easily in a smile in Burr became an almost malevolent sneer that engendered a lack of trust. Both men were tall, but Burr was taller and more heavily built.

Johanna’s eyes found Jacy, standing slightly to the right and behind Luis, her eyes anxious.

“Jacy?” she questioned. Then she addressed Luis: “It is the custom to ask permission and I thank you for the courtesy, but Jacy is a grown woman and the decision is hers.”

Luis turned toward Jacy and held out his hand for her violin case. She smiled up into his face, and they walked off into the darkness together. A sharp feeling of apprehension struck Johanna as she watched them.

Burr was watching her. His eyes rested on her face for a long time without movement, without any discernible emotion; his expression was calm and confident. She felt hot, uncomfortable, and unsure of herself. She cursed him under her breath. Reading her thoughts, he tilted his head toward her.

“Galls you, don’t it, to see your sister enjoys my brother’s company,” he taunted softly.

She had thought the extent of her dislike for this man had reached its peak, until now. She had to fight the impulse to slap him again, to mar that handsome countenance with her nails. She struggled with the primitive desire to hurt. The murderous impulse increased as his blue eyes, with more than a hint of malicious amusement in their depths, looked into hers.

“I’ll thank you to keep your observations to yourself!” she said frigidly. She was surprised and pleased that her voice was so calm. She braced herself for another mocking jibe, but when he spoke it was to Bucko.

“How about a piggyback ride, cowboy?” He lifted the boy to his shoulders and walked away.

Anger flared anew in Johanna at his rudeness, before she dismissed him as mannerless, overbearing, ignorant, and completely self-serving.

“You two really
do
strike sparks off each other.” Ben moved up beside her.

“Yes, we do,” Johanna admitted.

As she and Ben walked down the path, Johanna adjusted her stride to his slower pace. The shimmering glow of the moon illuminated the landscape, and the night sounds took over. Somewhere an owl hooted, and the crickets sounded loud in the darkness. The faint murmur of voices came from behind them as families separated to go to their homes.

“Ben,” Johanna said when she was sure they were out of hearing of others. “Tell me about Luis. Is he a gunman?”

“Are you bothered that Luis wants to court your sister?”

Now the suspicion that she had been pushing to the back of her mind was out in the open. She laughed nervously, unwilling to voice her thoughts.

“I doubt that he’s courting her, Ben,” she said lightly. “I’m just curious to know what kind of man he is.”

“Luis isn’t a killer,” Ben said after a while. “He’s killed, as most of the men in the valley have at one time or another, but never without just cause. I consider Luis a good man. Not a perfect man, none of us is, but a good man.”

“With Mr. Macklin’s dislike for Mexicans, it hardly seemed likely that he would have . . . would have . . .” She fumbled for the words needed to phrase the question.

“I understand what you’re saying. Mack took his pleasure and didn’t consider it any more than his due. It was the same with any woman.”

“And his son is following in his footsteps.”

“You mean Luis, or Burr?”

“It’s obvious.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge Burr. He bought Bucko from the Apaches; gave six ponies for him. I don’t know how he managed it, because the Indians almost never give up a child, even a malformed one. The boy was nothing but a bag of bones when Burr brought him here about four years ago. They told him the boy was six summers at the time. He was so weak he couldn’t walk and so cowed he cringed every time he heard a human voice. That’s probably the only reason they let him go. They’re very intolerant of the old and the weak.”