Chapter Fifty-Eight
She was angry.
Her back hurt. She had a fierce headache. It was cold out, too cold to be outside doing laundry. She’d taken on more wash. Jack had left her with a brood of chickens, true, and a milk cow, and plenty of smoked game, but she had the baby to think of. The baby and their future.
And right now she wasn’t sure that Jack Savage was a part of it.
And forty dollars wasn’t going to take her as far as she intended to go.
This was not the future she wanted for her child.
As soon as the baby was old enough to travel, they would leave.
She couldn’t go to her family. She would make sure she had saved enough to rent a place for herself and the child while she looked for work.
If she had to, she’d clean floors—but one day her baby was going to have everything he needed.
She stirred the laundry angrily. Her breath made vapors in the air.
Her nose was red, and she sneezed. Her hands were frozen and redder than her nose.
She needed to bring in wood before nightfall if Louis Santana failed to show up again today.
She needed to feed the stock. She needed to bring a side of venison in from the smokehouse Jack had built. And she wanted to bake a loaf of bread.
His declaration of love for her had come a little bit late, she thought angrily, tucking wisps of hair back into her kerchief.
What man loved a woman then left her pregnant and alone?
Damn him. She had the insane urge to weep—something that was quite common these days.
If he really loved her he wouldn’t have left her to go to war.
To go to war on the wrong side. Even now, as she was thinking, was he scalping whites, torturing them?
Dear God, what kind of man had she married?
How could he talk of honor and loyalty in the same breath with the Apache?
What about her? What about her and her baby?
“Howdy, Candice.”
Candice straightened and turned eagerly, to face Corporal Lewis. “Henry—is there any news? From Apache Pass?”
His eyes moved over her. They were laced with a combination of admiration—she knew he found her attractive despite how she was looking—and pity.
It had only been two weeks, but everyone in town knew her husband had disappeared.
Candice had not confided in anyone. It was all she needed—to be lynched by the Apache-hating townsfolk now that emotions were running so high.
Henry pitied her, she thought, because she was working so hard, living in poverty, deserted by her husband.
He admired her because he was hoping she would let him in her bed—just like all the other soldiers.
It was why she always carried the derringer Jack had given her—even when she locked the door at night and went to bed.
Thank God her pregnancy wasn’t showing yet, and that Doc Harris was a decent man and not a gossip.
“Lots of news. You look tired, Candice. How about inviting me in for a cup of coffee?”
She smiled wearily. “Of course. I see you’ve brought me some laundry.”
He smiled too. “Sure thing.”
Candice wasn’t afraid of Henry Lewis, not like some of the other soldiers who brought her laundry.
He was from New York, the third son of an upper-class merchant family.
He was young, well educated, but just plain starved for a white woman.
She knew he hated the army and would leave the instant his tour was over. She didn’t blame him.
As she poured coffee, Henry unfolded a square of linen, revealing fresh, still-warm pastries.
Candice began to salivate. She was always hungry these days, and never had time to make something sweet.
He saw her expression and laughed. “Oh, Henry,” she said, turning away to get some plates. She had the insane urge to cry again.
“You work too hard,” he said when she sat, taking one of her callused hands in his.
Candice gently withdrew it. She smiled slightly but didn’t answer. “Tell me about Apache Pass.”
“Good news,” Henry told her, his face lightening. “Cochise’s rancheria has been burned to the ground.”
Candice went white and felt faint. Jack.
“Candice? Are you all right?”
She closed her eyes and hung on to the table. Please, God, no. I love him, I do, let him be all right. She opened her eyes and blinked through tears. “What happened?
“Troops from Fort Breckenridge made it through. Two companies of dragoons under the command of Lieutenant Morris. It was real quiet. Turns out the ranchería had been abandoned …”
Candice didn’t hear any more. Abandoned. Thank God. “Abandoned? They were gone? The Apaches were gone?”
“Every last one. What we did find was three badly mutilated bodies. Poor bastards,” he said, his face darkening.
Candice was too relieved that the Apaches had deserted the rancheria before it was burned to think of the American prisoners who’d been murdered.
Henry continued. “Oury identified one of the corpses as the Stationkeeper, Wallace, from his gold teeth. They hanged all the Indian prisoners, including three Coyoteros they’d run into on their way to the pass.
Except for the squaw and the boy, who were taken to Fort Buchanan.
They hanged them over the graves of the dead men.
” He paused, sipping. “Three of the hanged Apaches were related to Cochise, or so it’s said.
They also say the squaw and boy are his. ”
Candice couldn’t eat, and she couldn’t drink. The enormity of what had happened sank in. She raised her eyes to Henry’s. “There won’t be any turning back now, will there?”
I doubt it,” Henry said. “Looks like we’re in the middle of a damn war with the Apaches.”
Later, at the door, Henry took her hand and squeezed it, looking into her eyes with unmistakable urgency. “Candice,” he said, his tone too hoarse.
“Thank you for bringing me the news,” Candice said politely. He didn’t release her hand.
“Candice—he’s gone.” It was a statement and question all at once.
Instantly Candice froze and removed her hand from his. “I’m tired, Henry, it’s been a long day and I’ve still got a dozen things to do before dark.”
He stared at her for one more moment with obvious longing. “You deserve better,” he finally said. “Better than a husband who’d leave you here, like this, alone. Better than a ha—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Candice warned. “Good-bye, Henry. Your laundry will be ready in three days, if the weather holds.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it.
Candice closed the door and leaned against it, waiting until she heard him riding out.
All she could think of was Jack. It was all she could think of the entire time Henry had been there, and the visit had seemed interminable.
Jack was riding with the Apaches. Was he holed up in some secret canyon, preparing for another strike against the white man?
Or was he ambushing some innocent wagon train, right now?
Was he all right? Even if he wanted to come see her, how could he do so now?
God only knew where he was—and how far away.
She closed her eyes and prayed for his safety.
Then she went out to finish the laundry.