Marco and the Devil's Bargain (30 page)

She gave him that look again—
Good God, twice in one day
—then walked to Toshua. They spoke; he argued; she shook her head; he yielded.

“
Señor Gil, inoculate me again, so The People can watch it actually happening.”

“
You can't be serious,” he said. It came out louder than he intended, because everyone stared at him.

“
I have never been more serious,” she replied. “They are afraid, and I don't blame them. Inoculate me again while they watch. It can't possibly do me any harm.”

He opened his mouth to voice all kinds of objections, but couldn't think of any of them that made any sense. It wouldn't hurt her; she was already immune. Even more than that, she had such a fire in her eyes that he knew if he objected, she would probably do it to herself.

He glanced at Marco, who was paying attention now. Maybe her husband could straighten her out.

Damn the man. All he did was roll up his sleeve. “Do us both,” he said. “There is not a Comanche alive who would admit to being less brave than a white man.”

Anthony swallowed and did as they asked, Paloma first, while the women and children clustered around, and then Marco, for the benefit of the warriors. After that, they couldn't line up fast enough.

He probably should have felt a stab of envy when Paloma had more Comanches in her line that he did. The first warrior who came her way got a good ribbing from his compatriots, but she did have a knack.

“
They prefer her to me,” he remarked to Marco, with just a twinge of jealousy.

“
So do I,” he replied, which made Paloma cover her mouth with her hand and laugh.

When they finished, The People still squatted there by the fire that someone had built up again. The warmth felt good on his face. Antony watched them look over their bandages, holding their arms high, as Toshua had done weeks ago when it was his turn. He tugged on Toshua's fringed shirt and he turned around.

“
Just … just remind them that in five days or so, they won't feel so good.”

“
I will.” He nodded to Marco, who stood up and raised his hands.

“
Toshua and I will hunt tomorrow. You must know that deer are scarce. You should make snares, for I have seen rabbits. I know you are weary but we all have to do our best.”

The People nodded, looked at each other, and quietly left the campfire ground, “each to his own vine and fig tree,” as Anthony remembered from a particularly windy sermon in Savannah. He stayed where he was, pleasantly tired now, pleased in a way he had not felt in years. He and Paloma had done the work. Pray God it would take. It was time Pia Maria went home.

* * *

Trust Paloma to think she needed to apologize because she had not figured out how to get the blood and brains from her skirt. Long ago Marco had decided that was one of the many interesting things about women—sometimes they had trouble deciding what mattered and what didn't. He thought he might tell her so, but his prior experience as a husband warned him that she would not appreciate his observation.

Besides, he enjoyed just lying back against a mound of buffalo robes with Paloma's head resting against his stomach. He was full of venison, and knew she was bound to hear some disharmony as the venison meandered through his system, but she was used to him. He yawned, which made Eckapeta scold and call him ill-mannered.

Paloma laughed, a tired, satisfied laugh that told him worlds about her state of mind. His wife was oceans and mountains and deserts away from the timid woman he had first laid eyes on in Santa Fe, stuck in her uncle's house, barely more than Felix Moreno's property. Marco hoped he had also undergone some improvement since their marriage.

Eckapeta cleared her throat in that polite way that meant she wanted to talk, but only if he did, too. In a few short days, Marco had learned to recognize the language of the tipi, and how inhabitants remained civil to each other in tight quarters.

“
Yes?” he asked.

She began in such a deferential way, but he already knew that Indians took their time getting to the point, even Comanches, who had low tolerance for folly. He listened for the gist of her remarks, and realized that she was a shrewd woman, a worthy match for Toshua, who lounged beside her.

“
There is more to the little man's story,” she said. It was a statement of fact, but he could answer or not.

“
Much more.”

She took her time, coming at the matter in leisurely circumlocution. “You are a wise man.”

“
I like to think so.”

More time. “A wise man would never consent to travel to the secret canyon of the Kwahadi because he wants to do good to his enemy.”

“
No, I would never,” he said, resting his hand on Paloma's head now, because she had stiffened. Probably as long as they lived, what he had bargained away to keep her safe would be a sore spot with her, because she thought more of him than herself.

“
What did he hold over
you
, señor?”

Such a direct question. Wondrous how The People could circle around and around, then go for the artery.

“
If I wanted him to protect Paloma against the Dark Wind, I had to promise to take him into your stronghold. If I would not agree, he would not protect her.” He wasn't satisfied with that answer, but he couldn't think of how to improve a devil's bargain.

Eckapeta's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. “We should probably just kill him now,” she said, as calmly as if discussing beadwork. “Paloma can do what he does.”

“
No! He has a daughter.”

Paloma had joined the conversation. Marco couldn't help wishing she was less kind. Eckapeta's idea was sound to him.
Ay caray!
That made twice he had married sweet women.

“
He thinks he will bargain with the Kwahadi who holds this Pia Maria?” Eckapeta asked so thoughtfully.

“
I believe he does.”

A long sigh from Eckapeta. “He will probably succeed. I want my people to live, but why does a man that evil win?”

“
He is not so evil. I believe his trials have been tall mountains to him,” Paloma said softly. She lay down again, then sat up, glancing at him shyly, then at Toshua and Eckapeta across the fire.

“
My dears, you know I am a modest woman.”

They nodded.

“
It is this: could you two give us some time alone here? I want my man, but I am shy about it with others.”

Marco knew if he had false teeth like Father Francisco, he would have swallowed them.

Eckapeta did not seem even slightly surprised. She stood up and held her hand out to Toshua, who bounded lightly to his feet, his expression less inscrutable than usual.

“
Well, then,” Paloma said when the tipi flap closed, her fingers on the clasp to that skirt she couldn't get clean.

M
arco and Toshua ranged even farther afield for deer the next day, returning with only two scrawny ones, ripe for winter-kill with almost no fat on them. Marco should not have worried. Newly energized, The People had been busy with snares and presented rabbits and mice to their tired hunters. It was all worth it to watch how Paloma eyed with vast suspicion a stew of mouse, then downed it with nothing beyond one heave of her belly.

She carried the Kwahadi baby everywhere, claiming that Kahúu needed rest from tending two infants. He knew it was true, having been through twins, even with a hacienda full of servants. He wanted to warn Paloma, remind her that the Kwahadi would never let her take one of their own. He didn't, because he enjoyed holding the infant when he could pry her from Paloma. Maybe baby smells were universal, because the memories flooded back and made him happy in ways that even Paloma could not touch.

When they weren't hunting, Marco worked on his rawhide lacing for the travois poles. One afternoon he came back discouraged from the hunt, with only one deer, and noticed that the lacing was nearly done. He looked around. The only Comanche in sight was the old man that Paloma and Eckapeta had fed from their own mouths. If not warm, the last two days had been less frigid, and he had seen the old man in front of his tipi, his ravaged face to the sun. Knowing the man spoke no Spanish, Marco just pointed to the lacing. With a dip of his thumb and forefinger, the Indian signed
yes
.
Thank you
, Marco signed back, his heart full.

They endured ten days of cold and hunger as the sickness took hold, worsened, and then passed. The sweetest moment came when Kahúu—her breasts showing evidence that even rabbit and mouse stew brought milk—asked him if he would allow Paloma to wear the cradleboard her sister had made, instead of just carrying her tiny niece.

Dios mio, are we part of The People now?
he asked himself as he gave his consent. To his surprise—although why it should have surprised him, he couldn't say—Paloma agreed, apparently without even a thought or a backward glance at the great horror of her childhood.

She must have known what he was thinking. That evening before they slept, she whispered to him that she had let go of that terrible sorrow. “This is my adventure, my life,” she said, her lips close to his ear. “Would I change things if I could? I honestly do not know. If those other Comanches had not destroyed my family, which left me at the mercy of my relatives in Santa Fe, would I have met you?”

He pulled her to him as the last, stubborn callus of his own loss sloughed away. Would he always love Felicia and twins? He knew he would, but he also knew that this life with Paloma was his adventure, too.

With a certain dogged determination, he and Toshua hunted large game and small, leaving early and returning at dark. Kahúu's husband suffered now from the inoculation, so he had remained behind. They drank water from streams as winter released its harsh grip, and ate the little bit of hardtack that resourceful Eckapeta had squirreled away for them. Marco knew his expectations were lower than ever, the day he tracked and shot a turkey that looked ready to fall over from starvation all on its own. The bird practically begged him to end its misery, flopping on one side so the shooting was even simpler. He could have just walked up and wrung its neck, except that he was tired. Toshua did a little dance. When he stopped, they stared at each other and burst into laughter.

While he did not think Antonio Gil took any pleasure in the days of sickness—why in God's holy name was the man a
médico
?—he had one moment of pride given to him by Paloma and Ayasha, who were generous with good will.

A complaint preceded the matter; perhaps it was jealousy. One of the women in camp had taken Paloma's leather medical bag and added beadwork. Paloma had been waiting for Marco at the head of their well-worn trail when he and Toshua returned with the single turkey. She fairly danced with the pleasure of showing off the exquisite circles and what looked like mountains. “Eckapeta tells me they represent The People's homeland to the north, have you ever seen anything more lovely?” she said in one breath.

Antonio had been waiting, too, with a complaint about the camp's general untidiness, as though he, Marco Mondragón, had any standing whatsoever in this Comanche village. Antonio looked at the beadwork. “Venetian beads,” he told Paloma, eyeing them with something close to envy.

“
How do you know?” she asked.

“
When we traveled with the traders, beads very like these were in great demand.”

Paloma had looked at him, puzzled. “ ‘We?' ”

Antonio just shrugged, embarrassment increasing his ill humor. “You know how poor my Spanish is.” His expression turned sour. “Even the savages laugh at my Spanish.
When I traveled
,” he said, correcting himself and mocking her in the bargain. “Satisfied?”

I would thrash that man, if I weren't so tired
, Marco thought. Some of what he felt must have communicated itself to Paloma, because she put her hand on his arm and shook her head. Still, he could not resist; well, he didn't try. “Antonio, I can't deal with your complaints right now,” he said, probably with more force that he needed to exert. The doctor stalked away.

Ayasha had watched the unpleasant exchange, her brow furrowed. After Antonio left, she touched Paloma's arm lightly, the Indian way. “Antonio might become sweeter if I steal his bag and ask Owl Woman to bead it.” Her frown returned. “I have nothing to trade her to do this work.”

Marco watched, amused, as Paloma considered the matter, pursing her lips in that thoughtful way that would have led to a kiss and probably more, if they had been alone. A census of her belongings on this journey took little time, and she brightened. “I have it, Ayasha. Tell her that the big man's woman will trade her magic beads for the work.”

Ayasha nodded and hurried to Owl Woman's tipi.

“
Magic beads? Your rosary?” Marco asked. “Really, Paloma?”

She nodded. “I can tell the Rosary on my fingers. And … and the Virgin knows my needs.” She gave him her sunniest smile. “When we return to Santa Maria, you can get me a new one.”

“
And what will you trade me for that?” he asked, after looking around and patting her backside.