The Peacemaker (12 page)

Luga stood, fire in his eyes. "You say we should not fight the white eyes—that we should be herded like cattle and live on their reservation, where they will treat us like dogs." He spat into the fire. "I say no! I say it is better to fight and die than to live on the white man's reservation!"

"Luga!" Toriano rolled to his feet. "Your tongue is quick like the snake but your eyes do not see what is before you. We are here in this valley because we chose not to fight the white man as Cochise wanted us to do. We are here because we chose not to die. Cochise, Juh, Victorio, Chie—they will never agree to the white man's peace. Shatto is right in what he has agreed to do. Helping the white man will save Apache lives. Now, go from this council and ask the Great Spirit to take the blindness from your eyes."

Shatto knew that Luga would never understand and neither would he humble himself by coming back to the fire. "My heart is sad for Luga, for me, and for all Apache."

Much later, when the moon was high, Shatto left the council fire and went to his wickiup where he laid down among the animal skins that made his bed. He didn't want to think about the days and weeks ahead. It was all he could do to make himself believe that he had not made a devil's bargain—that what he had agreed to do was for the good of the People—that he was not betraying them, but helping them by bringing a quicker end to the fighting.

Even if Grant didn't initiate his Peace Policy and the reservation system never came about, it was still only a matter of time before the white man ran the Apache from their homes and off their land. A few years at the most, he thought. Regardless, the great Apache nation was destined to become a memory—a notation in the annals of history.

He clasped his hands together beneath his head and stared up at the sky through the smoke hole in the wickiup's center. There was much about the Apache way of life he had come to love, but he had to admit, there were a few things from his old life that he missed and looked forward to enjoying again, even though he knew it would only be temporary, for he was sure that he would want to live out his days within these mountains.

Independence Taylor reminded him of the good times before the war, before he'd been accused of murder and gone into exile. Her scented hair and velvet soft skin brought to mind fancy military balls and lavish midnight suppers. Her soft touch and hazel eyes made him think of long carriage rides around the square with Tess. Tess, who had sweet-talked him into getting engaged when marriage was the furthest thing from his mind. Tess, who had professed her undying love, then turned her back on him when he asked her to visit him one last time before they hanged him.

Tess was as unlike Independence Taylor as Camp Bowie was to West Point. Tess had known exactly what she wanted and how to get it. She had seen him as a means to wealth and position. Her sexual appetite had been voracious and he'd been willing to accommodate her every wish because they were his wishes too.

As far as he could tell, Independence Taylor wasn't looking for wealth and position; she was looking for love—from her father. Having met the colonel, Jim was certain she would never find it. The man was incapable of that particular emotion—the man was a fool. As to Independence's sexual appetite—he'd bet his skinning knife that she had never experienced a man. He knew by the way she reacted to him whenever he got close or touched her—an odd mixture of fear, curiosity, and desire.

He found the combination interestingly arousing.

He laughed at himself for entertaining such a thought. He'd been celibate since the last time he'd been with Tess. He hadn't thought all that much about it until he'd met Independence; there had been other things to keep his interest and give him contentment. Now, however, he couldn't seem to get his celibacy or Independence Taylor out of his mind.

Her name came to him on the wind that moved the light flap covering the entry. He imagined he was back there in Indy's bedroom holding her small delicately boned hands in his. He could feel her trembling and it made his blood race through his body down into his groin. He swore softly when he felt the involuntary quickening, the kindling. It had been so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like—that surge of excitement for a special woman.

The trouble was—he was here and she was tucked in her bed at Camp Bowie. Not since his youth had he succumbed to bringing about his own relief and he wouldn't do so now.

"Damn you, Independence Taylor," he muttered raggedly. "I knew you'd be trouble the minute I laid eyes on you!"

Outside, the wind eddied around his wickiup, whispering a different name, a name he’d heard before but refused to acknowledge.

“Peacemaker.”

An unnatural peace filled the parlor that evening in the wake of Shatto and Captain Nolan's visit. Indy sat at the table by the window, watching the parade ground as two troopers lowered the flag and folded it while the bugler blew taps. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her father sitting in a wooden rocker, making notations in his journal. He looked content as a cat in a creamery.

Considering all the pressure her father had been under from the soldiers' petition and the impending visit from the Indian commissioner, Indy thought his look of contentedness odd, but obviously he was confident that the bargain he'd struck with Major Garrity would resolve everything. The soldiers' complaints had been shelved once word had gotten around, and when the Indian commissioner arrived, her father would tell him he had reestablished the military escorts through Apache Pass and was sending out details to check on local ranchers. He seemed confident that those things would convince the commissioner that Camp Bowie was in fact in good hands.

Turning back and looking down at her hands, Indy thought about Shatto. She had felt all along there was something different about him— something that set him apart. And now she knew what that something was. He wasn't an Apache. Prudence had felt it as well, she recalled, and by now would have heard the news. Indy could imagine Pru's elation upon learning that Shatto was indeed a white man and not an Indian.

"Independence. In-de-pendence!" The colonel's autocratic voice broke into her thoughts. She looked over at him. "I want you to put together some sort of welcome reception for Major Garrity. Do you think four days will give you ample time?"

She stared at him, surprised by his request. "A welcome reception?"

"Yes. You know. Like the one we attended at Fort Montgomery last year. Only on a much smaller scale and without all the formality—since that would be impossible anyway."

Indy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Well, y-yes, of course I can," she stammered.

"What about your burns? Won't they be a significant hindrance?"

"Not to any major degree. I won't be able to lift and carry things for a few days, but I can do all the planning and arranging." Seeing his dubious expression, she quickly offered, "I could ask some of the officers' wives to help me. I know they would be delighted. It would give them something fun to do for a change. That is, if you're agreeable."

"Yes, of course. Ask whomever you think would be of help."

Indy was afraid to show her delight. It wasn't just the planning of the reception that excited her so much, but that her father was entrusting her to do it. It had been years since he had asked anything of her. That he had now gave her hope that the day of forgiveness was forthcoming. Maybe the trip to Bowie wasn't a mistake after all.

"Everyone is to be invited," the colonel proceeded with uncommon enthusiasm. "The officers, enlisted men, and all the women and children. Make certain there's plenty of food and drink, and not just lemonade if you get my meaning. Put somebody in charge of that who knows what they're doing." He stood up. "And music and dancing," he added. "The men haven't had any entertainment since before I arrived here. It will be good for them. Boost their morale." He threw his head back and chuckled. "Yes. God, yes, that's exactly what it will do. Boost their morale!"

Indy had never seen him so exuberant. "I'm sure it will," she agreed, somewhat bewildered by his peculiar behavior but pleased by it as well. It was a rare occasion, not one to be scrutinized or questioned.

"Then I'll leave it to you," he said, again implying trust, but when Indy started to get up he called her back. "Independence." He waited until she was looking at him before speaking. "You won't let me down, will you, daughter? This is extremely important to me . . . and to my career."

"No, Father. I won't let you down. I know exactly what needs to be done. It'll be a grand reception. Don't worry. I'll make you proud."

Indy started out early the next morning, going first to the auction, where she accidentally outbid herself by fifty cents on a chair she wanted.

Ava, Opal, and Aphra were there, and after the auction, Indy drew them aside and asked if they'd like to help work on the reception. Ava declined, her advanced state of pregnancy being her excuse. Aphra and Opal were, much to her surprise, anything but eager to lend a helping hand, but they did agree, which eliminated having to ask for Prudence's help.

On the morning of the reception, the bugler sounded the nine o'clock drill. Soldiers came running from all directions to line up, two deep, within their own companies around the perimeter of the parade ground. They stood straight as broom sticks, arms close and stiff against their sides, awaiting orders.

Indy had gotten up at reveille to prepare her father's breakfast. The burns on her hands were healing nicely but she had to take care with everything she did and that made her slow at performing her tasks. She heard the clip-clop of a horses’ hooves and ran to open the front door, instinct telling her it was Shatto’s big pinto.

The early morning air seemed to crackle with excitement as the high-stepping horse came trotting along the western boundary of the parade ground, then slowed to a walk in front of Officers' Row. Today, Shatto--she had to start thinking of him as Major Garrity--was to be introduced to the entire garrison, look over the facilities and the men. Tonight, he would be the guest of honor at the welcome reception. Tomorrow, he would make his choices among the men and begin the training.

As in the past, he had a galvanizing effect on Indy, throwing all her emotions into chaos so that she felt like she had been turned inside out. Emotions, for the most part, could be hidden, she thought. She hoped.

The pinto tossed his head with impatience and played with his bit, but kept to the walking pace his rider had set. The major nodded, acknowledging her presence. His dark eyes flickered with some secret thought and the side of his mouth lifted impudently as he gazed down at her.

Indy had no idea what could have provoked such a look but it made her feel susceptible, like he knew something about her that she didn't even know. She stayed where she was until he passed by, then she dropped her hands and was about to turn around and go back inside when Prudence came around the corner.

"What in heaven's name was all that about?" Prudence asked.

"All what?" Indy had avoided Prudence these last four days, knowing she would be confronted with a gamut of questions.

"That
look
he gave you."

"Look? I don't know what you mean," she said impatiently. "You'll have to excuse me, Prudence. I have to—"

"Independence Taylor! If I was a suspicious sort, which I am not, I'd think you and Shatto—I mean Major Garrity—had something to hide. Really now, tell me what's going on between you two. No man looks at a woman like he looked at you unless. . . ." Her voice trailed off suggestively and she gave Indy a speculative look.

Indy had had about all the strange looks and innuendo she could stand from the officers' wives. "Unless what?" she demanded, wanting to know what Prudence had seen that she had not.

Prudence's eyelashes fluttered as she laughed. "Well, if you don't know, then you obviously aren't hiding anything. I must have imagined it."

"Imagined what?" Indy was at the end of her patience. She searched Prudence's face for the answer but found nothing to tell her what she wanted to know.

Without warning Prudence changed the subject. "I should have known all along he wasn't an Apache," she said with a wistful sigh as she watched the major ride into the parade ground. "There was just something about him that didn't fit with the other Apache bucks I've seen." She placed her right hand over her heart. "But what a surprise to find out that he's not only a white man but an Army major. That changes things considerably, if you know what I mean."

"No. I don't know what you mean. Suppose you tell me," said Indy, bristling now with indignation.

Seemingly oblivious to Indy's ire, Prudence explained, "Well—you know. It's like I said before. About what would happen if he wasn't an Apache— how all the women would dream about him."

Indy had lied. She had known exactly what Pru meant though she had pretended not to. Abruptly, and without thinking, she asked, "Have you considered the possibility that he might be married? He's lived with the Apaches for six years. He probably has a wife and a whole passel of kids." It was a mean-spirited thing to say since she had no idea if it was true or not, but she wanted to give Pru something to think about—to worry about. Prudence's mouth dropped open just as Indy had hoped it would, and before Pru had a chance to question her, to find out exactly what she knew, Indy twirled around like a dancer and dashed away.

Everything for the welcome reception was as ready as it would ever be. For all that she'd had only four days to plan and prepare, Indy could not have been more pleased at the way it had all come together. Aphra and Opal had taken charge of the food and drink, soliciting a dish of some kind from every woman at Bowie. The result was a long, gingham-covered mess table laden with an assortment of tempting dishes and a large punch bowl full of lemonade.

Captain Nolan had been put in charge of the men's punch, and Indy had set the bowl a good distance away from the lemonade so there would be no mistake. God forbid that some poor, unsuspecting female should drink the men's punch— she would be shocked senseless.