Chapter Seventy
Candice knew she still loved him.
Just as she knew he was not worthy of her love.
She had stopped crying, finally, and lay on the third bed, her face pressed against the fur of one of the hides. She didn’t know how her heart could be so stupid. Worse, even her mind was trying to betray her, thinking, What if he was telling the truth?
She couldn’t sort it out. Bringing her there against her will, where the evidence of his infidelity—or at least his virility—with another woman was before her very eyes?
It was too much for any woman to take. He had deserted her, turned against her people.
He was the enemy, and the father of her child—his bastard. She didn’t know what to do.
Get rid of Datiye, she thought viciously.
He had said that after Datiye’s baby was born he would marry her off to another man.
Had he meant it? Still, that didn’t resolve the problem of now, or all the other problems. She would not share even his name with Datiye.
She didn’t give a damn if that was the Apache way.
She would be better off at home than to be so humiliated by Datiye’s pregnant presence.
Or would she?
The thought of going home pregnant, with his child, still frightened her to no end. But now the prospect seemed infinitely preferable to biding her time until she could get to St. Louis. In fact, St. Louis had been the farthest thing from her mind since Jack had returned. God, what should she do?
What could she do?
She knew her mind could go round and round all night over her dilemma, but it wouldn’t change anything. She was stuck in this godawful Apache camp, behind enemy lines, pregnant, with a rival, and that was that. If only she could turn her love into hate—or indifference.
She started when the canvas flap swung open and someone stepped inside the gohwah.
At first she thought it was a stranger, and she stared at the gaunt, bony woman with the ragged cropped hair.
The squaw was obviously ill, and did not even look at her, but lay down on her back, staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes.
Candice stared. The woman’s face was scarred with thin pink lines from temple to jaw on either side, as if she had been clawed. There were the same kinds of scars on her forearms. Then she realized the woman had green eyes, and she cried out in shock, for it was Luz.
“Luz, what’s wrong?” Candice cried, dropping to her knees at her side. “Luz? Good God, what happened? What’s happened to you?”
Luz finally looked at her, briefly, but did not speak. Then she closed her eyes.
Candice got up and stepped outside. Datiye was at the cooking fire, and an aromatic smell of some kind of stew rose up and made her stomach grumble. Jack was sitting on the other side of the fire with a gourd by his leg, whittling a piece of wood. He looked up.
“Jack, what happened to Luz?” she said, aghast that the once-beautiful woman had turned into a haggard skeleton.
He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “Leave her be, Candice. She’s mourning.”
“Mourning? She’s dying! Jack, she needs a doctor.”
“A doctor can’t help her,” Jack said, meeting her eyes. And she saw the pain in his.
Candice’s heart turned over. She wasn’t even aware of crossing the distance that separated them and kneeling by his side. “We can’t let her die because Shozkay died.”
He looked up briefly, then returned his concentration to his stick.
Candice bit her lip. When she thought of Shozkay dying she felt not just saddened for the fact that he had been a fine, handsome man.
Her heart went out to Jack, for the grief he must feel but wouldn’t share with her.
Then she realized that Datiye had probably comforted him, and she fought her feelings of compassion.
In a cooler tone she said, “Jack, she needs to eat. I think she needs to see a doctor too.”
“Nothing will help her,” Jack said quietly. “She’s dying. She wants to die.”
“You can’t just let her starve herself to death!”
He looked at her levelly. “After much thought, I can and will. It’s better this way. She’ll join Shozkay, and their spirits will wander these mountains together—until he is avenged and can find peace in the afterworld.” He reached for the gourd and drank.
She stared. “What kind of nonsense is that? Spirits wandering … the Apaches believe in heaven?”
He was calm, but he didn’t smile. “I suppose you could say so. Hell is not being able to journey to the afterworld, but to wander the earth forever, hopelessly. Heaven is attaining the peace of the afterlife.” He shrugged.
Candice believed in heaven and hell herself, and was amazed at his interpretation.
She was even more amazed at how dissimilar the Apache concept was to the Christian one—how could he even think there was a similarity?
Everyone knew that to be in hell was to be burning forever, not wandering around the earth as some lost soul.
“So you’re letting her die so she can join her husband? ”
He nodded.
He’s a romantic, she thought, stunned. She turned away, shaken with that revelation. What else didn’t she know about this man who was her lover, her Apache husband, and the father of her child? “She still should be forced to eat. It’s not right not to try to help her live.”
“We tried that at first. She fought like an animal and had to be tied down. Then her body rejected everything we’d forced down her. She wants to die, Candice, and nothing will hold her back more than temporarily.”
Candice felt tears and hugged herself. Beautiful Luz and handsome Shozkay. It was too awful. At least there were no children. “Jack, how did it happen?”
He took a deep breath and forced his voice to be steady. “They were coming back from a raid south. They ran into troops sent from Fort Buchanan to relieve the besieged at Apache Pass. He was captured and hanged with the others.”
Candice stared at his hard, downturned face. Shozkay was one of the first casualties of this war. She knew now that Jack had even more reason than before to ride with Cochise. He was completely Apache when it came to vengeance. That horrible feeling or hopelessness rose up in her again.
Supper consisted of the stew, made from venison and chunks of vegetables that were similar to potatoes, called tule, and wild onions.
Datiye also served a dense bread that was sweet and tasted faintly of berries.
Jack told her it was made from a paste of acorns and hackberries.
Candice was famished, and even the day’s devastating events didn’t detract from her appetite.
She didn’t move to help Datiye clean up, and eventually the woman spoke softly to Jack in Apache and retired into the gohwah.
“It’s getting late,” Jack told Candice, rising. “Good night.” His eyes held hers for a second. Candice knew he had been drinking all night from that gourd, which Datiye had constantly refilled, and she knew the substance was alcoholic. She didn’t move. He seemed to want to say more.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he finally said. Then he moved past her and slipped into his bedroll by the side of the gohwah.
Candice didn’t want to sleep in the gohwah with Datiye.
But more than that, Jack’s slightly inebriated, woebegone expression pulled at her.
With her decision made, she stood and walked over to Jack, and before he could say a word, she had lain down beside him. On her side, her back to him.
Wisely, he didn’t say a word, didn’t try to touch her.
Candice didn’t think she would ever be able to sleep with his presence—so warm and compelling—just inches from her back.
But she did fall asleep—in exhaustion. Once she awoke, however, in the middle of the night, startled by some alien sound.
She found that Jack had curved his body around hers, his arm around her waist, his hand splayed protectively over her belly.