Chapter Seventy-Four
After they returned from the woods, Jack disappeared.
It was not unusual. The men were always preparing for war.
The cleaning, replenishing, and mending of weapons were constant duties.
Hunting was even more important. Game was always being supplied to the camp, and what was not consumed was dried and stored.
Jack had told Candice that the Apaches had hidden caches of food throughout the Territory in caves, for emergency purposes.
But it was even more important that the ranchería be adequately supplied.
“The women and children of the Apaches are the future,” he had said.
Jack often kept counsel with Cochise and the other leaders of the Chiricahua. Candice could not believe that all the time he spent with the great chief was in deliberations over war.
Now she carried with her the pleasant aftermath of their exquisite lovemaking.
It had been too long. And it was more than that.
The intimacy between them had been something that she had missed sorely before.
She needed the reassurance of his need for her, even if only expressed in the physical act of union.
She remembered his declaration of love. It had taken her completely by surprise, and had thrilled her.
Candice, however, could not forget easily.
Jack’s words did not wipe everything out between them and expunge him of the wrongs he had done.
But she knew that he had meant it, and his words left a tingling warmth wrapped around her heart.
That night was the first of four nights of ceremonial dances by the masked men who, Candice was told, impersonated the gans.
“Would you like to attend?” Jack asked.
Some or the tension was back, Candice could see it in the cautiously formal manner he used to address her. “I suppose so. Who are these gans again?”
“Mountain People, Savage said easily, as they walked toward a huge clearing in the center of the camp, already surrounded with Apaches clad in their best buckskins, which were painted and beaded heavily.
“The gans are very, very powerful. They can move mountains if they wish. Some are more dangerous than others. There are regular gans. But the clown is dangerous, and the Black One very dangerous.”
She gave a snort.
“If you see the Black One tonight, do not touch him or talk to him, Candice. I mean it.”
She laughed. “What will he do—strike me dead?”
“Just obey me,” he muttered in exasperation.
“But these are Apaches impersonating the so-called Mountain People,” Candice objected later.
Four men wearing blackened buckskin masks with slits for their eyes, woven floor-length skirts, and elaborate headdresses made of wood slats with pointed ends, some two feet wide and high, were dancing in what to her was a typically Indian fashion.
Drums beat, and there was a strange whistling noise.
Savage frowned. “The gans come and join in their human forms—if they feel like it.”
“Jack, be honest, do you believe in the gans?” He smiled slightly. “Mountain spirits exist.”
The dance was interesting, and it was entertainment, Candice decided.
She was enjoying Jack’s company, though, even more than the dance.
His shoulder pressed against hers in the throng of Indians surrounding the dancers.
She remembered the afternoon. After that first, frantic joining, he had taken her gently and tenderly, as if to prove there was substance behind his unexpected declaration.
She glanced at his handsome profile out of the corner of her eyes.
He was so handsome, his presence so commanding.
Her heart swelled with love, even if her mind tried—unsuccessfully—to rebel.
He glanced at her, saw her regard, and smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it.
When he released it, she clung to it, felt his surprise, and then his large warm hand closed over hers again.
They stood that way, hand in hand, watching the dancers for close to an hour.
“What is this dance for?” Candice asked, leaning against him.
He hesitated, and she felt it clearly. “One of the shaman had a powerful dream last night. The time for the Apaches is now. These four nights we pray for strength and victory.”
She pulled away. “You’re going on the warpath.”
“Yes.”
The delight of the evening crumbled into shreds around them. “When? After the fourth night of dancing?”
He nodded, watching her closely, if not a bit grimly.
She looked at the gans dancers without seeing them.
She had been there almost two weeks, wondering, but afraid to ask when they would finally take to the warpath again.
In four days Jack was going to ride away, into battle, against her people.
It was too incredible, too distasteful to believe.
Why? Why did it have to be this way? Would he attack her home?
Fight her family? Kill someone she loved?
“Look, Candice, there’s the Black One,” Jack said, trying to distract her.
She didn’t care, automatically glancing at the figure ominously garbed in black buckskin who stood apart, forbiddingly. Where are you riding? Who are you attacking?”
“Lower your voice,” he said. “The High C will not be attacked.”
She felt an immense relief. “Are you sure?”
“Cochise knows it’s your home, and I married into your family.”
She was confused and he saw it. “Candice, typically a man marries into his wife’s family, and not the other way around.
Cochise has promised the High C will not be touched.
Besides, it could never be taken, not unless it was besieged until the inhabitants were starved out. That is not the Apache way.”
Her relief was short-lived. “Then who?”
“I do not know,” he said tersely.
She had the feeling he did but would not tell her.
She turned away. She was almost glad this had happened to remind her of where she was and what he had done.
This afternoon had made her forget and forgive too easily.
Nothing had changed. If anything, she realized something now that she had not realized before.
He was her enemy. Her husband was her enemy, and this was war.