Fires of Paradise (40 page)

"I'll try," Lucy said, crying. "Thank you for being such a good friend, Venida. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You's would have got yorese'f in loads mo' trouble, that's what," she said, wiping her eyes with her apron.

"Come with me," Lucy cried impulsively, grabbing her hands.

"I wish I could, Miz Lucy, but I got me two grown boys, and they's got good wives and little childs heah. I can't leave my family now."

Lucy hugged her again, weeping anew. It was Shoz who finally separated them, murmuring that they had to go. "I'll be back, I promise," Lucy said.

Venida managed to smile, waving farewell.

Once outside and mounted, Lucy was silent, sick with their impending separation. She had stopped pleading with Shoz when he had explained quietly to her why she must go. He was a survivor, and he intended to survive this war. He intended to ensure his own safety, and that of his men. What he did not need was her presence in a war-ravaged land, constantly distracting him. She would be an extra, real burden, she would preoccupy him; because of her, he might find that stray bullet. And they both knew that with the passage of the merest amount of time, no matter how dangerous the risk, he would ride the length and breadth of Cuba just for a glimpse of her.

Lucy knew Shoz, and she knew that if she managed to defy him and remain in Cuba, she would be his Achilles' heel. Silent, numb, she had resigned herself to departing. But it was happening so fast. And God, she had a feeling she just couldn't shake, the worst feeling—that it was going to be a very long time before she ever saw him again.

Their horses' hooves had been wrapped in burlap so they wouldn't make any noise as they left the city. It was a blessedly dark, starless night. Because of the destruction of the Maine the night before, Spanish patrols were everywhere. A network of alleys crisscrossed the city, and Lucy and Shoz stayed exclusively within their confines until they were out of Havana. They followed a narrow dirt track north and then turned toward the coast. A short time later, they had crested the last dunes and rode down to a sandy stretch of beach below them. In the near-black night, the breakers frothed starkly white against the purple sea and pale beach. Lucy could see a yacht bobbing at anchor, waiting for her. Her heart was shattering into tiny little pieces.

They came to a stop. The man who would take her to Key West sauntered forward with a greeting. Shoz slipped from his horse and came to her. Lucy slid down into his arms. She clung to him. She told herself she would not cry.

"It's not forever," he said gently.

"Oh God," she gasped, and she wept.

"Lucy..." He faltered, embracing her hard. The man turned away, gazing out at the sea. Lucy tore her face from his chest to stare up at him. "I love you."

"I do, too," he said gruffly.

"Get word to me," she demanded, gripping him tightly. "If you don't hear from me, it's because I couldn't get through—don't think the worst." She cried again.

"Listen to me: I'll be all right." He forced her chin up. "Don't you believe me?"

She nodded, she did, but she was so afraid, and she didn't. War made even the immortal mortal.

He kissed her. Shoz finally pulled free and took her arm, walking her down to the water until it lapped their feet.

The man held the small rubber dinghy that would take him and Lucy to the yacht. A lonely star blinked. Lucy grabbed Shoz's hand, held it like a lifeline. Gently he pried her loose, kissed her nose, and lifted her into the dinghy. He tossed in her one small bag. She watched him standing in the knee-deep water. The dinghy moved as the man pushed it into the surf, then he leaped in. He began rowing; Shoz was already ten feet from her, then fifteen. She could not, would not, take her eyes off him.

"Wait for me," he said.

She lifted her hand, watching him as the dinghy took her farther and farther away, watching him as he grew smaller and smaller, watching him until he became a speck on the shore, watching him until she couldn't see him anymore.

PART FOUR

THE FIRES OF PARADISE

PARADISE, TEXAS

Chapter 48

September 1898

Seven long months had passed since Lucy had returned to New York from Cuba. Congress had declared war on April 19, and the president had called for 125,000 volunteers to augment the small regular army. Three regiments were to be composed of frontiersmen with special qualifications as horsemen and marksmen. One of those regiments was commanded by Colonel Leonard Wood, and second in com-mand was Theodore Roosevelt.

The regiment was quickly nicknamed Roosevelt's Rough Riders, and in June they engaged in their first victory in Cuba in the bloody Battle of Guasimas. A spectacular and even more bloody victory followed on July 1, when the Rough Riders led a courageous assault on the San Juan Hills, taking them and sending the Spanish fleeing. The hills commanded Santiago—thus began the siege of Santiago. Delicate negotiations ensued, and on July 17 the Santiago garrison surrendered and Spain had fallen.

The fighting had been over for two months now, but Lucy had not heard from Shoz since early June—before the Battle of Guasimas. The letter she had received had been too brief. He had written a bit about the impending war and everyone's expectations, but not much else. But he had written that he missed her, one single line that meant more to her than anything else could have, except the words "I love you". She had supposed that they, too, would come in time.

Now she did not know what to think. Lucy was tired of waiting for word that did not come. Where was he? Why hadn't she heard from him? Every day she expected him to suddenly appear on her doorstep, and every night she went to bed sick with disappointment and growing dread. What if he had been hurt? What if he had been killed?

Whenever that kind of horrible thought arose, she quenched it instantly. Shoz wasn't dead. If he were, she would know it, she would feel it, she was certain. No, he wasn't dead, but maybe he was hurt, or in trouble. Then again, the arduous peace negotiations had not yet been concluded, and American troops still remained in Cuba. Maybe he had remained behind as well, for some nefarious purposes.

Lucy cabled the American consul in Havana several times. Leon's replacement had not seen or heard from Shoz since early August. Lucy turned to her father for help.

Her parents knew nearly everything. When she had arrived in New York on the first of March, they had just found out from Marianne Claxton that Lucy was in Cuba, and that Shoz was there, too. Leon had obviously written to his mother before he had died, as Lucy had feared he would.

But now Lucy had no more secrets to keep. She bluntly reaffirmed her love for Shoz, then went on to tell them how his signature on her divorce papers was a forgery—and that they were still man and wife. "And I am going to be his wife in every sense of the word when he returns from Cuba," she ended.

Rathe was furious, so furious he disappeared for several days. When he returned, Lucy discovered that he had gone to Washington to confront Lloyd, determined to get to the truth. Because Rathe could not seem to discuss anything involving Shoz with her at all, Lucy found out from Grace that Lloyd had indeed forged Shoz's original signature onto a fresh set of divorce papers, using the artist from the Brownsville Chronicle. As Shoz had guessed, Lloyd had never thought it possible that his deception would be uncovered.

While Rathe was gone, Grace had become her confidante. Although Lucy loved her mother dearly, she had never been quite as close to her as to her father, for her mother was so fervently involved in her various political and social causes. Now they became very close. Her mother listened to the incredible tale of all her daughter's adventures. "I am so proud of the woman you have become," she said when Lucy had finished. Lucy didn't think she would ever forget those words.

After his return from Washington, Rathe never brought up the topic of Shoz again, yet Lucy knew he was by no means reconciled to her marriage to him. She was also certain that her mother was encouraging him to bend, and she could only hope that one day he would forget the past, and think of the future instead.

But now she needed his help, and boldly she turned to him. "I want to find Shoz Cooper, Daddy," she told Rathe.

They were in his oak-paneled study, and Rathe's pleasant expression faded. "This is no young girl's infatuation, is it, Lucy?" he asked quietly. He'd had a long seven months to adjust to the fact that his daughter was still married to the man who had abducted her.

"No, Daddy, it's not. The young girl you keep trying to hold on to grew up a long time ago."

Heavily he sat down. "Your mother keeps telling me to give the man a chance, that he was an innocent victim of Marianne's spite and that now he's a bloody hero."

She leaned forward on his desk eagerly. "I wish you would."

His response was to open the drawer of his desk. He handed her a slip of paper containing Lloyd's name, a telephone number, and an address in Washington, D.C. Tears in her eyes, Lucy hugged him.

Grace wished her well, and Lucy left for Washington immediately upon making an appointment to see Lloyd. Her excitement at having found him turned to anger over how he had duped Shoz into signing away his half of their marriage. She reminded herself that that was the past, and locating Shoz was her utmost goal; there was no point in bringing up his treachery at all.

Lloyd told her that Shoz had left Cuba in July, finally released from his duties there—and he did not know where he had gone.

Lucy was momentarily crushed. If he had left in July, why hadn't he come to her? She sat in his office fighting not to show her torn emotions, while Lloyd rose to his feet, impatient and obviously wanting her to go.

But Lucy didn't move. Shoz hadn't come for her, and she didn't know why. She couldn't accept that. He had told her to wait for him, and even if he hadn't, she would have. Why hadn't he come?

Lucy organized her thoughts. She knew what she wanted—she wanted him. He was all right, unhurt, he was not in Cuba. She would find him. Oh, she would find him. If he thought he could leave her behind, he was wrong. She would hunt his miserable hide down.

"Miss Bragg," Lloyd prodded. "I'm afraid I have another appointment.''

Lucy looked up, eyes wide as an idea struck her. "Do you know now where his old hideout in Mexico is? Death Valley?" Shoz had gone to Roberto—she knew it!

"Yes," Lloyd said slowly. "It was always understood that we could reach him there if he wasn't in Cuba, and besides, a part of our deal was to send supplies there on a monthly basis to provide for the woman and child."

Lucy froze, her excitement replaced by a sickening fear. All the time he had been in Cuba, he had provided for Carmen and her son through U.S. auspices. She told herself that of course he had to make sure they were cared for when he was gone, but the sick feeling remained. "I'd like the exact directions," she said. "You see, I'm going to Death Valley."

He shrugged and told her how a man named Foster in San Antonio had packed the supplies into Death Valley every month, and he told her how to contact him. Lucy finally rose to her feet, but she did not thank him.

"It's not Miss Bragg," she said coolly, "or have you forgotten your little deception in Brownsville? It's Mrs. Cooper."

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but Lucy was already sailing out the door.

Death Valley.

The feeling of deja vu was strong for Lucy as, two weeks later, she and the guide named Foster made the final, treacherous descent into the hellhole where once she had beer Shoz's prisoner. As her mount picked his way down the steep, rocky trail, Lucy was a bundle of taut nerves. She could already feel the valley closing in on her, like some mythical monster, could feel its desire to swallow her up— and never let her out again. But that was just fantasy, she reminded herself, gazing up at those pale, soaring yellow walls. They spanned the trail overhead, blocking out the sky. Lucy wondered if one day those walls wouldn't decide to just come crashing down on whoever dared to enter here.

There was no winter in Death Valley. It was hot, so hot, airless, arid. They left the descent and reached the flat basin. Blazing yellow sand stretched away from her, low scrubs fought viciously for a hold on life. And all around her were those familiar, overpowering walls, blocking out the sky, the sun, all sense of reality.

The valley struck her as a living thing that was, at the same time, dead. She stared at Foster's back. He, too, seemed affected by the valley—usually he was quite garrulous, and he had entertained her frequently with amusing anecdotes of his well-worn life. But this past hour he had been uncharacteristically silent. He must feel the valley's eerie spirit too.

The valley suddenly opened, and the sky appeared above them. Lucy breathed again. She was sweating heavily, and she blotted her face with a handkerchief. Was Shoz here? Would they finally be reunited?

Deja vu. They rode past a scene that was identical to the one she had witnessed the first time she had entered the valley as Shoz's prisoner. Women paused in their tasks by the flat, sluggish creek, staring. Children who had been racing in games of tag turned to gaze at them. Even the toddlers making sand pies in the earth stopped, regarding them.

The outline of the adobe structures ahead grew clearer. Lucy's heart was pounding fiercely now. On the one hand there was such joy—on the other, if he had been living here with Carmen, she would kill him.

They rode up to the front of the house. Deja vu. With a screech, Carmen came flying out of the house and down the porch steps in a blur of rainbow colors, just as she had a year and a half ago.

And Lucy knew he wasn't here.

Carmen halted; Lucy stopped her mount. Carmen's eyes went wide; Lucy stared back. The two women regarded each other. Lucy's heart was thundering. Carmen, her enemy, once her rival—still her rival? The woman was as stunning as ever; she would turn any man's head. "Is Shoz here?"

Carmen's fists found her hips. "His puta returns. No." "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Carmen. I'm not his whore—you're his whore. I'm his wife." Carmen reeled back, shocked. "Liar! Liar!" "Was he here?" "Yes!"

Her heart clenched. "Is he coming back?" Carmen's chin lifted. "Yes."

"Then I'll wait," Lucy said, slipping off her mount. He hadn't come for her, she thought in terrible distress, and he had been here, he was returning here.

"You will not." Carmen strode to her, took her shoulder, and spun her roughly around.

Anger ignited. Lucy knocked the other woman's hand away, hard. ''Don't touch me."

Carmen's smile was a nasty baring of her teeth. "You can leave now."

"I'm not leaving. Where is Roberto? In his room?" She didn't wait for an answer, she pushed past Carmen, but every instinct she had was attuned to the other woman's response.

It came. Carmen shrieked in hatred and grabbed Lucy's elbow, wrenching her back. Lucy doubled up her arm and socked Carmen with all her might, a powerful blow to her nose. With a cry of pain, Carmen fell into the dust on her backside, holding her bleeding nose.

Panting, Lucy stood over her. "If you touch me again, I will really hurt you." The words were hard and flat.

"Now, wait a minute," Foster cried. "You gals—"

"Stay out of this, Mr. Foster," Lucy warned. Carmen still sat sprawled in the dust, her palm covering her nose. "Do you understand me, Carmen?"

The look of hatred Carmen sent her was intense.

Lucy turned and walked into the house, feeling no sense of triumph, sober at having done what she'd had to do. Deja vu. Everything was so familiar, the cool white walls, the stone floors, Carmen's things scattered around the living room. "Roberto?" she called softly. The house was so quiet, so lifeless, like some sleeping, brooding giant. "Roberto?" She pushed open the door to his room. She gasped.

The room was empty, abandoned, a sterile shell of what it had been. Roberto was obviously gone and not coming back. Suddenly Lucy lunged into Shoz's room across the hall. All of his heavy law books were gone—not a volume remained on the shelves. She threw open the armoire and pushed through the clothes within. All Carmen's—not a single item of man's clothing. She ran back outside.

Carmen sat on the steps of the porch, holding a wet rag to her nose. Foster stood over her. "He's not coming back!" Lucy cried, powerful joy surging through her. "He's taken Roberto and he's not coming back!"

Carmen stood. "He'll come back," she spat. "He always comes back to me."

Lucy suddenly felt sorry for her. "There's no reason for you to stay now, Carmen; we both know he's not coming back. You can leave with us tomorrow morning."

Carmen raised her chin proudly. "I'm not leaving. And he will come back."

They left Death Valley at daybreak: Lucy and Foster. As they rode away, Lucy turned to look back at Carmen's colorful figure standing in front of the house, glaring after them. Tremendous pity welled up within her for the other woman, her onetime rival for the man she loved. Carmen refused to leave the valley. But she was not alone. The outlaws still lived here, and there was the lost village with its inhabitants. Last night Carmen had danced passionately in front of a bonfire for the applauding men, their gypsy queen. Queen of the valley and all within.

Did Carmen really believe that Shoz would come back?

Lucy hoped not. Yet an image would not leave her, a terrible, poignant image of an old, gray woman running from the house every time a visitor came to the valley—expecting a man who never came.