Читать книгу Sun Woman - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 7

Melissa was just coming out of her quarters in the officers’ building when she spotted Sergeant McCoy and Kuchana. This morning Clarissa had fashioned her blond hair in a cascade of curls that grazed her shoulders. With her straw bonnet decorated with brightly colored ribbons and her apple-green dress, she knew that she presented a comely picture. She’d brushed her bangs, making sure they were in place across her wing-shaped brows.

A beautiful woman was a rarity at any post, and Melissa reveled in the wishful and admiring glances the hard-bitten army men gave her. Why hadn’t the sergeant looked at her that way, too? He acted as if she didn’t exist, and that made her angry. Her gaze followed McCoy. If her eyes didn’t deceive her, he looked almost happy. And he was carrying most of the Apache’s issue for her. Envy of Kuchana rippled through her. Tapping her fan furiously in her opened palm, Melissa fixed a smile on her face as they approached.

“I declare, Sergeant, you look more like a pack animal than a man beneath that load.”

McCoy halted. Normally, he’d have tipped his hat to the wife of any man, but both arms were full. “Good morning, Mrs. Polk.”

Melissa hated the impervious look he gave her. The Indian woman halted at his side, gawking up at her like a child, obviously enthralled with the dress she wore. “Why, Kuchana—that is your name, isn’t it?”

Kuchana nodded. “Yes, it is.”

McCoy scowled, sensing the coldness behind Melissa’s smile. “Mrs. Polk, as you can see, we’re loaded down. I’ve got—”

“Nonsense, Sergeant.” She smiled warmly at Kuchana and stepped off the wooden porch. With her fan, she tapped the variety of cotton shirts Kuchana held in her arms. “My, my, what do we have here?”

Eagerly holding up the shirts for inspection, Kuchana said, “Look, the army has given me the colors of the rainbow.”

Wrinkling her nose, Melissa leaned over. “Why, I believe they have, Kuchana.” She giggled. “A rainbow of colors. First time I’ve ever heard that expression applied to army issue.”

Gib gritted his teeth. Kuchana was too trusting of others. Honesty and truth were the Apache way of life. Greed, envy and jealousy were not tolerated, because they threatened the existence of the tribe as a unit. Kuchana had no experience identifying or dealing with Melissa’s type of woman. She needed to be protected. She was being led to slaughter. “Mrs. Polk—” he began.

Melissa glared at him. “Sergeant, why don’t you just toddle on over to your favorite place, the scouting area? You seem to enjoy the savages much more than your own kind. I insist upon talking with Kuchana.”

Holding on to very real anger, Gib studied the officer’s wife. “I’m sure you’re aware that if Kuchana is caught in a restricted area without the regulation escort, she can be punished.”

“Oh, my!” Melissa shrugged delicately. “Of course, you’re right, Sergeant. Well, just a few more minutes, then. You look brawny enough to carry that load. You’re such a gentleman, after all.” She swung her attention back to Kuchana, hating McCoy for his accurate appraisal of the situation. If he had left, Melissa would have made sure Kuchana was placed on report for being in the officers’ area unescorted. Harvey didn’t stand still for such infractions by coloreds or savages. Damn McCoy, anyway!

“So, you like colors?” Melissa asked the Indian sweetly.

Kuchana nodded, not understanding the tension between McCoy and the pindah. “You also wear rainbow-colored clothes.”

Melissa tilted her head and gestured to the frock she wore. “I just knew that beneath that Apache skin of yours, there was a woman. I’m delighted to know you like dresses. But I’d use these rags to dry off my horse after a long run.”

The insult was lost on Kuchana, but Gib tensed. “Mrs. Polk, I’ve never seen you rub down a horse after you’ve run it into the ground. Matter of fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around the stabling area. Josh always brings your mount to your front door.” Melissa was known to ride hell-bent-for-leather, purposely losing her army escort to gallop freely off the post whenever she pleased. The only problem with that was that someday, if she wasn’t careful, she could get killed or captured by marauding Indians or comancheros. All that, however, was lost on Melissa, who viewed the world as one dramatic and exciting event after another.

Fire flashed in Melissa’s eyes. “That will be all, Sergeant.” She smiled coldly at him, noting the tight, angry lines in his sweaty features. “Or are you planning on running off with this helpless female, too?” She whipped the fan outward, hiding her lower face, batting her lashes, and moved with slow, measured steps toward headquarters.

“That brat,” Gib whispered under his breath after she was out of earshot. He turned to assess the damage Melissa had done to Kuchana. Her face was free of any anger or upset. Instead, he saw confusion in the depths of her eyes.

“Come on,” Gib ordered tightly.

Kuchana had long legs and was able to keep up with his striding pace. Frowning, she asked, “What does she mean, running off?”

“I’ll tell you on the trail, Kuchana. Right now, all I want to do is get away from this post.” Specifically, away from the scheming Melissa Polk. Why Melissa had him earmarked as a target for her cutting tongue was beyond him. She flirted outrageously with him whenever she got the chance. Gib knew his actions at Fort Apache had been carried here along with his transfer. He didn’t dare openly challenge Melissa, because she’d run to that spineless husband of hers and complain. And then he could be brought up on charges again. Women were definitely a problem in his life.

The mountains above the valley were sitting silent, waiting for the sun to rise over their peaks. Once she was in the rolling hills above the fort, Kuchana trotted her mare abreast of McCoy’s bay gelding. Gib had a rope in his gloved hand and two brown mules in tow behind his horse. If he and Kuchana made a kill, the mules would carry it back.

As Holos’s first rays tipped the mountains, Kuchana nudged Wind closer to Gib’s mount, not wanting her voice to carry and frighten off any wild animals in the vicinity. “You said you would speak of running off.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Kuchana rode as if born to the animal. Apaches, however, were equally at ease on foot, covering up to thirty or forty miles a day. Sometimes, when being pursued by the army, they would run their horses until they died, and then continue on foot, handily outdistancing the cavalry.

He cleared his throat, his gaze scanning the juniper and piñon coming into view as they climbed higher out of the desert.

“Juliet Harper is the wife of the commander of Fort Apache,” he began. “Her husband, Colonel Phillip Harper, drinks too much alcohol.” When he saw that Kuchana didn’t understand the term, he used the term “firewater,” instead.

Kuchana wrinkled her nose. “I saw what firewater did to our people when we were on the reservation. Men go heyoke, crazy.”

“Yes, and that’s what Harper did. Almost every day,” Gib added grimly.

“And Juliet was upset?” She knew how irritated the wives of the warriors became after their men stumbled around drunk and incoherent for days on end.

“It was worse than that, Kuchana. Harper would drink at night in his home, and then he’d beat his wife.”

Her eyes widened. “Beat her?”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “A warrior does not hurt women and children. They are bound by the laws of Usen to protect them.”

“I wish we had such laws, but we don’t,” Gib muttered. “Juliet was taking a beating almost every night. One time, she ran from her home and I happened to be out checking sentry posts. I heard someone sobbing and found her hiding in a dark corner with her hands covering her head. I held her until she quieted. That was when I found out about the beatings and Harper’s drinking problem. Anyway, after that, Juliet would confide in me. I was the only one on the post who knew that she was slowly being beaten to death.”

“If you knew, didn’t you challenge Harper?”

“Kuchana, it’s different in the army than in your world. I was a lieutenant, and Harvey was a colonel. If I tried to interfere, he’d have crucified me.” Gib laughed derisively. “A month later, Juliet came to me, begging me to help her run away. She wanted an escort to the stage line thirty miles away. She planned on running away from her husband and going back East to her parents.” He lifted his hat, wiping the sweat on his brow with the back of his sleeve, then settled it back on his head. “It would have ruined Harper’s career, but Juliet was desperate.”

“To see a woman hurt by a man must have bothered you greatly,” said Kuchana. “You’re not the kind of warrior to stand aside and allow it to happen.”

“You’re right, I couldn’t.”

“You helped this woman?”

“I finally agreed to escort her to the stage. We worked out the plan, and one night, a week later, we made our escape. Halfway to the stage, Harvey intercepted us with a troop of cavalry. Apparently he’d overheard Juliet talking with one of the other officers’ wives. That woman turned Juliet in to her husband. He knew all along of Juliet’s plan of escape.”

Her eyes rounded. Gib was grim. “You’re a man of bravery.”

“In pindah society, you’re not rewarded for trying to help in a situation like that. I got hauled up on charges and busted from officer to enlisted status.” Gib managed a thin smile. The wind played with strands of Kuchana’s ebony hair, lifting and settling them back on her shoulder. Her red cotton shirt brought out the smooth planes of her high cheekbones.

“They punished you? How could they?” Kuchana’s indignation was impassioned. “What you did was good and right.”

“Not in the army’s eyes. Things are different between pindahs and your people, Kuchana.”

“You are more like an Apache than a pindah.”

Laughing, Gib placed his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe I am.” Her eyes widened at his gesture and he cursed himself. What the hell had gotten into him? Withdrawing his hand, he tried to break the bond of warmth that existed between them. No woman had reached inside him as she had. It was disconcerting. “Up there,” he said gruffly, pointing to the top of a hill, “is where the deer and bighorn have a trail. There’s a watering hole down on the other side where we can put your tracking skills to use.”

Kuchana nodded. She saw that Gib was embarrassed by his gesture. Trying to ease his discomfort, she asked, “Why does Melissa dislike you?”

Kuchana hadn’t missed a thing. Gib wasn’t really surprised. “Some pindah women,” he said, “think they are better than other people, Kuchana.”

“She wears very beautiful dresses.” Kuchana sighed and then smiled.

A grin edged Gib’s mouth. “Yes, she does. But be careful of her—her friendship is not sincere.”

Shrugging, Kuchana began to look for animal trails at the crest of the hill. “She wasn’t unkind to me.” The area was dotted with small, scraggly piñon, which were good food for her people, when they could get to them. In the month of Many Leaves, the sticky green cones were filled with delicious nuts. “She liked the shirts the army gave me,” she added with a smile.

Halting his horse, Gib watched her study the ground. Her mouth became pursed, her eyes hooded. “Look, Melissa wasn’t being complimentary about your shirts,” he warned.

Looking in his direction, Kuchana said, “She was smiling.”

Uncomfortable, Gib chose not to pursue the topic. Kuchana was naive to the wiles of women like Melissa. “Well,” he muttered, “just try and stay as far away from her as you can.” He knew from experience that the backbiting that went on among white females did not exist within the Apache community. And if it did occur, the guilty woman was pressured to resume a more humble demeanor in order to get along with the other people of the tribe.

Kuchana had no idea how wicked Melissa could be. Gib realized that the colonel’s wife was going to continue to snub and insult her. He didn’t care if she went after him, but Kuchana was innocent. As Gib studied the fresh tracks on the ground, he realized that Juliet Harper had been innocent, too. Damn. Kuchana was too trusting. She had no reason not to be. Pindah women hadn’t made war on her, the men had.

“Come,” Kuchana said, moving Wind down the ridge line, “I see bighorn tracks.” She flashed him a triumphant look. “They are nearby. Four of them. I think young bucks.”

Rousing himself from his worry, McCoy nodded. “You lead the way, and I’ll bring the mules.”

* * *

Dodd Carter’s day got worse when he saw the female scout and Sergeant McCoy return late in the afternoon with the mules laden with bighorn kills. He stood on the porch of headquarters, hands on his hips, watching as they slowly rode by in the direction of the chow tents.

He fumed and raised his arm. “Halt, Sergeant.” Stepping off the porch, he hurried out and intercepted them. Dodd was sure that McCoy had shot all the bighorn with a rifle. This female savage was worthless. No woman could track, much less scout.

“How many?” Carter demanded.

“Four bighorn, sir.” Gib saw the displeasure in Carter’s red face. The officer glared up at Kuchana.

“Who killed them?”

Gib settled in a comfortable slouch on the saddle. “Kuchana not only tracked the herd, but killed two with arrows. I got the other two with my rifle.”

Scowling, Carter muttered, “Impossible,” and walked up to the mules.

Sure enough, there were arrows in two of the bighorn. Angrily, Carter strode back, noting that Kuchana seemed unconcerned about his fury. She was just like the rest of those savages: no emotion registered on her face. As he rounded the horses, he saw laughter in McCoy’s eyes, although the man’s face was like granite.

“Get this meat over to the officers’ mess, Sergeant,” he snapped, spinning on his heel and making his way back to headquarters.

Gib clucked to his horse, chuckling to himself. Word of Kuchana’s ability would spread quickly through the post, and that was good. He aimed his horse between the city of tents. The laundresses looked up, smiling and greeting him. Their eyes widened with envy when they saw the fresh meat on the mules. Only the officers got such food.

Kuchana followed Gib as he led them from the officers’ area toward the enlisted men’s chow tent. Stopping behind the largest tent, Gib ordered two of the cooks to untie the largest bighorn from the mules. Eagerly, the men took the carcass into the tent. Then Gib continued toward the officers’ mess.

Kuchana waited patiently as the other three bucks were delivered. They were heading back to the stabling area before she spoke.

“You said only officers got the meat. Why did you give a buck to the dark-skinned ones?”

“Just between you and me, Kuchana, I’ve always sneaked some of the fresh kills I’ve made to the Negro families. They don’t get any fresh meat otherwise.”

Her brows arched. “A giveaway.” That she understood. Giveaways were always a sign of generosity on the part of those who had much to those who had little. “I will give away every time I make kills.”

He threw her a warning glance. “Don’t get caught doing it, Kuchana. You’d lose your scout status and have to go back to the reservation. Understand?”

Frowning, Kuchana pulled her mare to a halt in front of the stable. It was a busy place in midafternoon. A large group of horses waited to be shod by Kelly McManus. The huge farrier worked beneath an open shed, his anvil ringing with the sound of the striking hammer clenched in his massive fist.

“Then why do you do it if you will get in trouble?” she asked, dismounting.

Gib got off his own horse and strode around to face Kuchana. She stood there, hands on her hips. “I do it,” he said, “because those people deserve better food than what they’re given. They aren’t animals. They’re human beings.”

Kuchana admired him for taking such a risk. “I will do the same.” When she saw Gib’s darkening expression, she added, “I will not get caught.”

That worried him. “The enlisted people will never tell on you, but if an officer or one of their wives catches you, you’ll be in more trouble than you ever thought possible.”

Her smile was wry. “No one is as clever as an Apache, Gib. No one.”

The challenging fire in her eyes made him ache. There was such courage in her tall, proud body. “I know that better than most. Let’s unsaddle our horses, rub them down, and get back to work. Colonel Polk wants you to study the maps we have in headquarters so we can track Geronimo down.”

Kuchana’s triumph over the bighorn kills ebbed. For a few hours, she’d forgotten about Geronimo and the plight of her people. She went about unsaddling Wind, feeling the pain of separation from those she loved.

“What’s wrong?” Gib prompted. He had seen darkness cloud her eyes at the mention of Geronimo’s name.

With a sigh, Kuchana rested her hands on Wind’s back and looked at Gib. “My heart is breaking,” she admitted softly.

“You’ve a right to feel that way,” Gib said. “Leaving your tribe to become a scout wasn’t easy for you.”

His understanding made tears rush to Kuchana’s eyes. She forced back the reaction, managing a shrug. “I—yes, I miss them.”

“One of these days, you’ll be reunited,” Gib told her, wishing he could comfort her. The tears in Kuchana’s eyes tore at him.

“No,” she whispered, “that will never be.”

“Sure it will. Geronimo can’t keep running forever. There’re just too many people after him.”

“You do not understand,” Kuchana said, pausing to gather her emotions. “Before I left, Geronimo pronounced me dead.” Her voice cracked. “I no longer exist to them—not even to my sister, Ealae.”

“What?” Gib stared at her suffering features. Kuchana couldn’t be more than eighteen, her skin was so flawless and unlined. Yet, he knew her life had been a harsh one. To be an outcast was worse than being killed. Without thinking, Gib gripped her arm and gently pulled her around to face him.

Tears beaded her thick lashes. “Look at me,” he whispered thickly. When she bowed her head, he placed a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. As her lashes lifted, he saw for the first time the full extent of the terrible pain she carried.

“I can never go back,” she murmured. “I am dead. No one will ever speak to me again, Gib. I am a ghost…” A sob caught in her throat, and with a little cry, she turned away from him burying her face in her hands.

Gib stood there helplessly. He didn’t dare touch Kuchana again or take her into his arms to comfort her as he wanted to. Searching, he tried to find words that would heal her, but it was impossible. “I didn’t realize any of this.” Kuchana would never fit into white society, either. Once Geronimo surrendered, he’d be sent back to the reservation. And most probably, so would Kuchana. Her own people would ignore her. That would gradually kill her. Gib had seen it happen before.

“You’ve paid a hell of a price to come here.”

Kuchana turned toward him. She longed to lean against Gib, instinctively realizing that she would find solace in his arms. The fierce blue fire in his eyes told her he understood. “I believe in what I did, Gib. I have watched my family dying for the past two years. I have only one sister left. What else could I do? Geronimo has filled the heads of my people with impossible dreams.” With a trembling hand, she touched her brow. “I had no choice but to offer myself to the army. Geronimo must be brought in to save those who blindly follow him.”

Studying Kuchana in the silence that followed, Gib held her softened gaze. She was incredibly vulnerable in ways that most women would never be. The desire to slide his fingers across her smooth cheeks, frame her face and kiss away the pain he saw there was unbearable. “Such courage,” he whispered, managing an unsteady smile. “You’ve got more than any ten men I know.”

Kuchana took a ragged breath. “I do not see myself as courageous. I see only my people slowly dying of starvation.”

The urge to comfort Kuchana was overwhelming. If Gib didn’t move to break the spell between them, he’d do something he’d regret. She confronted too much adversity to be humiliated by him in front of all these men. Knowing the truth of her decision to become a scout only served to make him that much more protective of her.

“Somehow, things will work out for you,” he told her. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ve got a feeling they will.” When he saw her rally, he smiled. “Come on, let’s get to work. First things first. Let’s go study those maps. Afterward, I need to go over to Laundry and pick up my clothes.”

Never had a woman held his heart as gently in her hands as Kuchana. Gib wrestled with his feelings toward her. He’d been in love before, but never had such an intense or all-consuming emotion taken him so completely. He studied her closely. Love? Impossible. Forcing himself to shove his discovery aside until later, when he could think straight, Gib headed toward headquarters with Kuchana at his side.

Grateful for his unspoken support, she looked up at him. “I want to see your maps. Geronimo must be caught soon.”

* * *

“Look, she’s coming!” Nettie squealed, up to her skinny elbows in hot water and suds. She stood just outside one of the many laundry tents, washing clothes. “Mama!”

“I’m coming,” Poppy grunted, bent over a pot in the tent. One of the cooks had just made a delivery of fresh bighorn meat to the rear of their tent. Poppy had thanked the soldier and promptly dropped the meat into a large black kettle with onions and beans. She rubbed her hands together and straightened.

“Mama!” Nettie’s high, excited voice warbled again.

Wiping her hands on a worn towel, Poppy trundled forward. She saw Sergeant McCoy and Kuchana walking her way. Beaming, she stepped outside and into their path.

Kuchana had never seen such a huge woman in all her life. There was warmth in the woman’s big brown eyes and an even warmer smile on her thick lips. She heard Gib chuckle.

“Poppy, you look like a sly fox.”

“Sergeant McCoy, I just wanted to thank you.”

Gib glanced at Kuchana who was politely trying not to stare at the Negro woman. “Better thank Kuchana, then. That was her kill we dropped off.”

Picking up her blue calico skirts, Poppy barreled toward the Apache woman. She grinned broadly and gripped Kuchana’s hand. “My name is Poppy, chile. We just got the meat and wanted to thank you.”

Kuchana was overwhelmed by Poppy’s gushing warmth. She stared down at the woman’s ebony skin, amazed at how pink her palms were in comparison. “The food is for all,” she said. Poppy’s callused palms dwarfed her own slender hands.

“And we’ll use it, chile.” Poppy released her hands and grinned at her. “You’re a purty thing. Isn’t she, Sergeant McCoy?”

“Yes she is,” he agreed.

Poppy saw a dull red color creep into Kuchana’s cheeks. “The girl’s blushing.”

Gib grinned. “She’s not used to such personal remarks from strangers, Poppy. Her people are very reserved in comparison to us.”

Nettie leaned forward then, gingerly touching Kuchana’s outstretched hand.

“And I thought Apaches were tough as nails,” Nettie said.

“They’re people just like us,” Gib said with a chuckle.

“They’ve got heart,” Poppy corrected her daughter, relinquishing Kuchana’s hand. “They ain’t got thick skin, Nettie.” A rumbling laugh erupted from her. “I know some officers that are thick-headed as mules, though.”

Gib laughed as he watched the rapport between the three women grow. He saw the glow in Kuchana’s features and her eyes sparkling with new life. Poppy’s motherly nature was making her feel at ease for the first time.

“Nettie, fetch Sergeant McCoy’s pressed clothes. And Kuchana, you come with me, chile.” She grabbed her hand again and led her into the tent.

Poppy opened one of the large, battered leather trunks. “Now, you just stand there, chile. I’ve got something for you.”

Kuchana strained to look over Poppy’s shoulder—difficult, for the woman was as large as a mountain. And Poppy’s friendliness was genuine. She came from the heart.

Poppy threw several pieces of clothing to one side, digging deeper in the trunk. “Now, I know I’ve got them here. Unless Nettie gave them away to the children…”

Kuchana saw Gib saunter to the front of the tent. Nettie came rushing back from another tent, his pressed and folded clothes in her arms. Gib took them and thanked her. He dug out some coins from his pocket and gave them to her.

“Sergeant McCoy, you always pay us too much.”

“Keep it, Nettie.” Ten cents was a lot of money. It could buy a pound of food, and Gib knew that Poppy would put it to good use. The woman was forever feeding the scouts and the other enlisted men who couldn’t afford to buy enough food for themselves. Malnutrition was a real problem within the cavalry. Poppy was always making deals with men who hawked fresh food at the post. She kept it on hand in her large trunks to dole out to the men.

“I found it!” Poppy crowed. She brandished a stick of candy she’d pulled from the trunk. Turning, she gave it to Kuchana. “Here, chile, you suck on this. I bet you never had peppermint before.” Her eyes danced as she watched Kuchana stare at the candy. “Go on, now, eat it.”

Sniffing it cautiously, Kuchana noted it smelled wonderful. Poppy stood there, grinning, as Kuchana put the stick in her mouth. It was pleasantly minty and sweet. Surprised, Kuchana took it out of her mouth and studied it more closely.

“It is sweet, but it is not honey.”

Chuckling, Poppy clapped her on the back. “Chile, you just come around once a day, and Poppy here will fatten you up.”

Kuchana needed some care, Gib thought. And he couldn’t give it to her without being accused of favoritism. Poppy gave him a knowing look, and Gib breathed a sigh of relief. Kuchana might not have a place among the Apaches or the white world, but if he was any judge of the situation, Poppy had just adopted her as part of her own family.