The Peacemaker (7 page)

He stood behind her, glaring. "It seems you leave me no choice," he said in a tight voice, barely moving his lips. "But from now on, you'll do exactly as I say without question, and you
will not
under any circumstances interfere in my business or Army business.
Do you understand?
"

She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I understand completely."

The dreaded confrontation was over and she would stay. Through weary eyes, she studied him. The harsh contours of his face gave him a cold, intimidating demeanor. His mouth curved down in a perpetual frown as his lips were unused to smiling. And his eyes, gray as chimney smoke, were deep-set and hooded beneath a sharp, jutting brow.

"
He's a hard man
," Prudence had said. Even harder now than before he'd left St. Louis, Indy decided, studying him covertly as he lit his cigar. She wondered if the change was the result of his assignment to Camp Bowie. He had put in for Washington. The President had hinted that there might be a position for him helping to create the new Indian policy. But when that time came, Grant called on a civilian friend instead. Her father had felt betrayed and considered his assignment to Camp Bowie a slap in the face.

The confrontation left her exhausted and brought back her headache. She was about to sit down when someone knocked at the door. "I'll get it," she offered before he could say anything. The diversion was just what she needed.

Three women greeted her with cheerful smiles. "We're the official welcoming committee," one said, taking a single step forward. The movement made Indy notice that she was pregnant—very pregnant. "I'm Ava Burroughs, Lieutenant Burroughs's wife, and this," she said, gesturing to her right, "is Aphra Sinnett and Opal Dillehay. We didn't think you'd be up to preparing meals yet, what with your injury and all, and we thought you might like some supper."

Indy had steepled her hands in front of her mouth. "Oh, yes, thank you." She could have cried she was so grateful. "Won't you please come in? You'll have to excuse the place. I'm afraid I haven't had time to do anything with my father's quarters yet." Stepping back into the parlor, the three women paraded past her with their fragrant offerings.

"Think nothing of it," Ava Burroughs said on her way to the table. "We've all been where you are now, some of us more times than we can count. Good evening, Colonel Taylor," Ava said, holding her ceramic stew pot in front of her enormous belly. "I know how much you like my beef stew, so I brought enough for you and your daughter." Turning to Indy she added, "The vegetables are from my garden behind our quarters and the beef is range beef, a little different tasting than the eastern beef I know you're used to, but I think you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will," Indy returned with a wide smile.

Aphra set her gingham-checked bundle down on the table and unwrapped it like a baby. It was a loaf of freshly baked bread with the most beautiful golden crust Indy had ever seen. She almost swooned at the aroma that wafted up from the table and filled her nostrils. The last, from Opal, was an apple pie, reminiscent of the apple pies her mother used to make.

"Everything looks absolutely wonderful. I can't tell you how grateful I am—and hungry. I haven't eaten a thing since breakfast. Thank you. All of you."

As if tied together by an invisible thread, Ava, Opal, and Aphra started for the door at the same time. Ava reached out and touched Indy's arm. "You're quite welcome. As soon as you're feeling yourself, you come by. All three of us live just up from you on Officers' Row."

Indy closed the door, then went in search of eating utensils. In a day or two, she promised herself, she would return the dishes and become acquainted with the women of Officers' Row.

The next morning, immediately after she heard her father leave, Indy set about moving his personal belongings from out of the parlor into the next largest bedroom. Among his things was the leather pouch in which he kept the letters Justice had written him from West Point. Her father prized those letters more than gold and reread them often, but had never shared them with her. Someday, when things improved between them, she would ask to read them.

Indy had just opened the front door to sweep the dust outside when the bugler blew the nine o'clock call. A moment later her father and a number of the troopers—all in full dress uniform—and a half-dozen women assembled on the parade ground in a semicircle around three wooden coffins. She leaned on her broom listening as the chaplain’s prayers. Then the coffins were lifted into the ambulance and the procession made its way down the hill to the cemetery while the trumpeter played the funeral march. They had been gone a quarter hour when Indy heard the honor guard fire off three volleys of shots.

The troopers were the first to return, marching at quick time back to their quarters. The women followed at a slow walk. Indy didn't have to be told which one was the new widow; she was the one walking between Opal and Ava. She was the one crying.

Indy's heart went out to her. She didn't envy the choices the young woman would have to make. If she didn't have family or money, none of them would be easy. And what with it being so dangerous to travel now…. The choices, Indy realized were even more limited than she had thought.

The very thought of packing up and leaving sent Indy into a panic. She clung to the broom handle and stared at the flagpole in the center of the parade ground. If not for Shatto coming to the detachment's rescue, where would she be now? The army reports had not censored the horrors the Apaches inflicted on their captives. Slavery. Repeated beatings. Starvation.

Thank God Shatto had come along when he had.

Shatto.

His name was becoming a habit in her mind— just thinking his name triggered an image of him—an image that would take her away from the present and put her right back in the ambulance, watching him bring the team to a stop, feeling his weight on top of her and his hands on her body.

Closing her eyes she imagined she could
feel
them now. Warm and strong. Demanding, but not hurting. They touched and explored, frightened her, and, she had to admit it, excited her.

Beginning in her shoulders, a tremor moved with excruciating slowness down her body, radiating into her breast, her stomach, then moving straight to her abdomen where it lingered and ignited a soft, sweet fire. A sensation like none she'd ever known took root deep inside her and blossomed like a summer rose. The feeling stayed with her only a moment, then disappeared leaving her breathless and wanting.

Wanting what?

Her eyes flew open at the unexpected question and she began sweeping with a vengeance, taking her frustration out on the broom, as if it were to blame. It was just a daydream, she told herself. A silly daydream. There was no harm in it, and it didn't mean anything. So why did her face feel so hot, and why did she feel as if she'd done something naughty?

Thundering hoof beats put an end to her discomfiture. Picking up the broom she stepped outside. A horseman galloped through the center of the parade ground. Pulling a tight rein he slid his horse to a halt right in front of her.

"I need Colonel Taylor!" he shouted.

"He isn't here, Private. He's at the adjutant's office. What's the matter?"

The soldier wasted no time on polite chatter. "Apaches ridin' in," he shouted as he reined sharply to the left and spurred his horse into a gallop.

A cloud of dust engulfed her, filling her nose and mouth. She tried to wave it away but was forced to  retreat coughing and choking back inside her quarters. What did he mean that Apaches were riding in? Were they attacking the camp? Biting down on her thumbnail, she perched herself on a chair in front of the window, hoping to get a glimpse of something or someone. As the dust began to settle, she saw the riders. There were six of them—naked but for their breechclouts, cartridge belts, and moccasins. They were walking their horses through the camp, and though they looked frighteningly dangerous and menacing.

Shatto rode in front of the small party, a head taller than the others. Slung facedown in front of him, over his horse's withers, was a body—an Apache. Even from where she sat she could see the blood covering the dead Indian's back. With an effort, she switched her gaze to the others and was horrified to see that each of the riders had an Apache prisoner that they were towing behind them.

What was going on here? Why would Shatto make prisoners of his own people? And why would he bring them to Bowie?

From every direction troopers ran from whatever task they had been doing to the parade ground. There was chaos and commotion the likes of which Indy had never seen at any fort. Her father emerged from his office, pulling on his gauntlets. He was wearing his revolver. Four soldiers followed close behind him, their rifles at the ready. She heard him shout at an orderly to find Captain Nolan and bring him to the parade ground on the double.

Curious, Indy went back outside and stood directly in front of her door where she had an unobstructed view of the parade ground and Shatto.

Shatto hadn't seen her, and even if he had, she doubted he would bother to take a second look. He probably thought of her as some namby-pamby, high-minded white woman who got frightened at the least little thing. Prudence would be more to his liking, she thought. Besides being tall and slender as a reed, Prudence exemplified the frontier spirit. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she failed to notice Prudence had come up beside her.

"What is it? What's going on?"

Indy gave a start. When she saw who it was she blanched even as she breathed a sigh of relief. "You caught me off guard," she accused. She took Pru's arm and pulled her back against the door. "I'm not sure what's going on, but Shatto and his band just rode in and it appears they have prisoners."

Captain Nolan came out of his quarters, moving slowly and cautiously. He kept his left arm close to his side as he made his way toward the colonel.

"Captain Nolan," said the colonel. His voice carried to where Pru and Indy stood. "You speak Apache. I want you to find out what they're doing here."

"This is Shatto, Colonel," the captain offered as if it would make a difference.

It did make a difference. The colonel's demeanor changed to a so-this-is-the-infamous-Shatto look.

Nolan began speaking in that same guttural language Indy had heard before. There were a lot of hard d's and double vowels making it a harsh-sounding language with none of the flow of the European languages.

As he spoke, Shatto yanked up on the dead Indian's cartridge belt, lifted him off the pinto's withers, and let him drop to the ground at his horse's hooves. His reply to Nolan's question was short, his voice deep and resonant just as Indy remembered.

"What did he say?" the colonel asked impatiently.

Not taking his eyes off Shatto, Nolan translated. "He says these are some of Chie's warriors—part of the band who attacked the mail detachment. He says he has brought them to you to punish as you see fit."

The colonel's expression became suspicious. Scowling, he asked, "What does he want in return?"

Though she couldn't understand a word, Indy listened intently as the captain related the question and Shatto replied.

"He says he wants you to know that not all Apaches want to fight and kill the bluecoats. He says that Chie is an enemy to bluecoats and Apaches alike—that he makes much trouble."

"So these are Chie's bucks." The colonel moved off to the side to have a better look. "Sergeant Moseley, untie those prisoners and take them to the guardhouse and take this body away and have it buried. Outside the camp's cemetery," he added pointedly.

"Yes, sir," said Moseley, saluting.

Shatto said something else to the captain who nodded but didn't translate.

Loudly, Prudence sucked in her breath and squeezed Indy's arm. "He's something of a puzzle, isn't he?"

Indy swung her head around. "What do you mean?"

"They say that he's been given a special power that protects him against his enemies."

"Surely you don't believe in Indian superstition. He's just a man." Indy had guessed Prudence to be several years her elder, but looking at her now, with her face flushed a becoming pink and her china-blue eyes bright with excitement, she looked like a schoolgirl—a very smitten schoolgirl.

Prudence smiled, her smooth cheeks dimpling prettily. "Yes, isn't he though? A rather magnificent man, don't you think?" She dipped her head and looked at Indy from beneath her dark, spidery lashes. "Look at him, Indy. How many Apaches have you seen who look like that? For that matter how many white men have you seen who look like that?"

"I— Well—"

"My point exactly. I'll tell you what, Shatto can attack me anytime and I won't so much as lift a finger in protest!"

Indy gasped in shock. "Prudence Stallard. That's a shameless, unladylike thing to say."

Prudence gave a low, throaty laugh. "Yes, I know, but that still doesn't change how I feel."

Indy decided not to comment, hoping her silence would be disapproval enough. Because of Prudence, Indy missed the ending of the conversation between Shatto and Captain Nolan.

Next thing she knew the Apaches had turned their horses around and were moving across the parade ground, heading toward Officers' Row.

Prudence broke away from Indy's side and moved out into the track where the horses would have to pass. It would serve her right if she got her foot stepped on or got shoved aside, Indy thought meanly. She considered turning around and going back inside but changed her mind at the last moment, afraid that such an action might be taken as an affront. So she stayed where she was, trying to look like a normal spectator, hoping that Shatto's purported
powers
didn't extend to knowing what she was thinking . . . and feeling.

The riders approached. With an air of proud reserve impressed upon his hard, handsome face, Shatto rode slightly ahead of the others. If she were a superstitious person, she might actually believe that he possessed some magical power that made him impervious to bullets and arrows. When he saw Prudence standing in the middle of the track, hands on hips, smiling at him invitingly, his mouth quirked up at the corners, an almost imperceptible movement that Indy wouldn't have caught had she not been watching him so closely. Her temper flared and she felt a sudden, fierce resentment toward Prudence Stallard that prompted her to step forward and grab Prudence's arm. "If you don't get out of the way, they'll run over you."