Authors: Madeline Baker
“Loralee—”
She ignored the warning in his voice. “Did he beat you often?”
“I do not want to talk about it,” Zuniga answered brusquely. “Some things are best left in the past and forgotten.”
“But you haven’t forgotten it,” Loralee exclaimed. “I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. Whatever it is, it’s eating you up inside.”
“You are right. I have not forgotten it.” Zuniga laughed softly, bitterly. “Nachi was right. Our wickiup was a happier place when Nakai was not there. My mother would sing when we were alone. Sometimes she would dance the old dances with Nachi. My mother loved to laugh, but she never laughed when Nakai was home. No one did. I don’t know why she loved the bastard. He never brought her anything but grief.”
“You can’t pick and choose the people you love,” Loralee remarked wistfully. “It just happens.”
“Maybe. I do not know. All I know is that my mother should never have married Nakai. He was twisted inside, never happy unless he was hitting something. And that something was usually me. He beat me when I tried to protect my mother from his cruelty, he beat me when I refused to steal whiskey for him, and sometimes he beat me just for the hell of it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No.” She chewed on her lower lip, saddened by what she had heard. Mike had told her that Zuniga had killed his father.
As if reading her mind, Zuniga turned to face her, his eyes seeking hers. “You have probably heard many rumors about me,” he said flatly. “The people at the Agency do not like me. They think I am a thief and a liar. Most of their stories are lies, but the big one is true. I killed my father, and I want you to know it.”
Loralee shook her head, not wanting to hear any more.
“Yes. He was drunk that night, but then, he was always drunk. And he was a mean drunk. I do not know what set him off that night, but it did not take much to arouse his temper. I was not at our lodge when it began, but I could hear my mother screaming for help when I rode up.
“I ran into the lodge and almost fell over Nachi, who was lying unconscious on the floor across the doorway. I learned later that he had tried to defend my mother, and Nakai had hit him over the head with a beer bottle. My father was beating my mother, hitting her in the face and throat with his fists. She was bleeding from her nose and mouth when I dragged him away from her.”
Zuniga’s face grew dark and his eyes were terrible to see as he relived the incident in his mind. He could see it all clearly: his father, short and stocky, strong as an ox, his face flushed with drink, his black eyes wild with irrational anger as he hit Nadina with his fists; Nachi, lying on the floor, his gray hair matted with blood; Nadina’s face, swollen and bleeding, her eyes damp with tears.
“My father swung at me and missed,” Zuniga said, resuming his story. He laughed softly. “That really made Nakai mad. With a scream of rage, he grabbed his knife and came after me. We fought for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he managed to cut my forearm and I guess I went a little crazy. I shouted the Apache death cry and lunged at him. I knocked him off his feet and he dropped the knife. I killed him with my bare hands.”
Loralee shuddered. She could see it all so clearly in her mind: Nadina sobbing as her husband and her son struggled on the floor, the hate in Shad’s eyes as he fought to defend his mother against Nakai’s drunken attack, the grandfather he loved lying on the floor, unconscious.
“Surely that was self-defense, not murder,” Loralee whispered.
“No. I did not have to kill him. My mother died in my arms a few minutes later. The next morning, early, I dumped my father’s body in a ravine and covered it with dirt and rocks.”
“Did it happen here, on the reservation?”
“No. In the Dragoon Mountains.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“How awful that must have been for you.”
Zuniga shrugged. “I am not sorry I killed him. I would do it again.”
Loralee looked at him, her eyes filling with compassion. What could she say? He had done a terrible thing, yet she could understand why he had done it.
“Come,” Zuniga said. “I’ll take you home.”
Loralee arrived at the schoolhouse early the next night, wondering if he would come, wondering if she would feel the same now that she had heard his story. She paced the floor in front of her desk, thinking about what Zuniga had told her. No matter how Zuniga had felt about his father, no matter what his reason for killing him might have been, it must be an awful burden to bear.
She whirled around when she heard the door swing open, felt her heart leap with gladness when he entered the room and closed the door behind him.
Wordlessly, he took his customary seat, opened his
McGuffey’s Reader
to the page she specified, and began to read:
“Charles was an honest boy, but his neighbor, Jack Pilfer, was a thief. Charles would not take anything which did not belong to him but Jack would take whatever he could get.
“Early one summer’s morning, as Charles was going to school, he met a man who had oranges to sell. The man wished to stop and get his breakfast, and asked Charles if he would hold his horse while he went into the house…”
Loralee listened as Zuniga read. His voice was deep, resonant, pleasing to the ear as he read the story of Jack and Charles.
She looked up askance as Zuniga broke off in mid-sentence.
“This is a foolish story for a grown man to read,” he declared, and closed the book with a resounding bang.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe I can find you something more thought-provoking.”
“I have learned to read, and I have learned to write. It is enough.”
“What do you want to do, then?”
Zuniga rose to his feet. He towered over her, making her feel small and helpless, vulnerable in a way that was both frightening and titillating.
“I want to make love to you,” Zuniga replied evenly.
Loralee swallowed hard. Seven little words, yet they affected her whole body. Her heart began to beat faster, her cheeks grew hot, her knees grew weak as a sudden warmth started within her and heated her whole body.
“What did you say?” she stammered.
“I want to make love to you,” Zuniga repeated. “Here. Now.”
“Here?” Her voice was weak.
He nodded, his eyes watching her face. What he saw reflected there pleased him. Going to the lamp, he extinguished the flame, then gathered Loralee into his arms and kissed her, his mouth crushing hers as he claimed the kiss he had hungered for since he entered the schoolhouse that night. She yielded without a struggle, her eyelids fluttering down as her mouth opened to the invasion of his tongue. Her arms twined around his shoulders for support, her fingers digging into his back as she drew him closer still. She was hardly aware of it when he lowered her to the floor behind her desk. The planks were cool against her flesh as he expertly removed her clothing and then his own before he stretched out beside her. His body was warm, hard, eager, and she urged him on, wanting him to make love to her, to enter her and make her whole. Her hands moved restlessly over his broad back and shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning softly as he thrust into her again and again until, at the last, she cried his name.
Seconds later, Zuniga shuddered to a halt. With a sigh of satisfaction, he rolled onto his side, drawing Loralee with him so they lay face to face, arms and legs entwined. He kissed her cheek and neck as he whispered her name, and Loralee closed her eyes, utterly content, utterly happy.
She was dozing off when she heard a knock at the door. With a gasp, she started to sit up, but Zuniga held her down, motioning for her to be silent.
“Loralee?” It was Mike’s voice.
Panic made Loralee’s heart pound in her breast as she heard the door swing open, heard Mike call her name a second time. Tears of shame welled in her eyes. What would Mike think of her if he found her lying on the floor in Shad Zuniga’s arms? How could she ever explain? What could she possibly say?
She held her breath, grateful for the darkness. Then an overwhelming sense of relief came over her when she heard the door close.
She was suddenly aware of Zuniga beside her. His arm was like iron beneath her neck, his whole body was taut with anger as he stood up and pulled on his pants.
“What’s the matter?” she asked in a small voice.
“You were ashamed, were you not? Ashamed to think he might find you with an Indian.”
Loralee scrambled to her feet, wanting to make him understand, but it was too late. He was already gone.
Loralee stared at Zuniga’s shirt and moccasins piled beside her dress and shoes, and she began to laugh. He had been so anxious to get away from her, he had not even taken the time to finish dressing.
She laughed and laughed and it was only when she felt the wetness on her cheeks that she realized her laughter had turned to tears.
“I stopped by your house last night,” Mike was saying, “but you weren’t there, so I went over to the schoolhouse. You weren’t there either.” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Where were you?” he asked when Loralee offered no explanation.
Loralee looked down at her hands. “We finished the lesson early and I went for a walk.”
“A walk? At night? Alone?”
“Yes. I…I needed some time by myself. To think.”
“About what?”
“Different things. Teaching, mostly. I…I’m having trouble with Short Bear in class. He’s causing trouble, and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“Tell him to leave.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. He’s a very bright boy. I know he could learn if he would just apply himself.”
Mike nodded slowly. Loralee seemed sincere, yet her words did not quite ring true. “Is Zuniga still coming to school?”
“Yes. No.”
“Well, which is it? Yes or no?”
“I’m not sure. He…he said he’s tired of reading children’s books. I don’t think he’ll be coming back for any more lessons.”
“Good.” Mike smiled at Loralee, wondering why she looked so pale. “If you fix a nice lunch, I’ll take you on a picnic tomorrow morning.”
“All right.”
“Loralee, is anything troubling you? Besides Short Bear, I mean? You’re not mad at me for coming by the school last night, are you?”
“No. Everything’s fine.”
“You’d tell me if something was wrong?”
“Of course. I’m fine, Mike, really.”
“Good.” Taking her hands in his, he drew her close and kissed her. His moustache tickled her upper lip, his mouth was warm and firm, insistent. Loralee kissed him back eagerly, almost desperately, wanting to love this kind, gentle man, wanting to feel the same passion she felt when Zuniga took her in his arms. She was disappointed when nothing happened.
“Loralee, you’re driving me crazy,” Mike said huskily. “I think about you all the time.” He kissed her again, his mouth demanding a response she could not give.
Mike groaned low in his throat as he released her. “I love you, Loralee. How would you feel about being an Army wife?”
Loralee stared up at him, flustered by his unexpected proposal. Marry Mike? The idea had occurred to her, of course, but that had been before she met Shad Zuniga. She had been attracted to Zuniga the first moment she saw him stepping from his lodge—deeply attracted even though he was an Indian and could not be for her. But she could not deny her feelings. His nearness had aroused her in a way that was different from anything she had ever experienced. No other man had ever affected her in such a way.
She studied Mike. He was young and handsome, with a brilliant career ahead of him. He was sweet and gentle, thoughtful, the type of man every girl dreamed of. Why couldn’t she return his love? Why did she feel nothing more than friendly affection for him?
“Loralee?” His hand stroked her cheek as he waited for her answer.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Think about it, will you?”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good. Don’t forget about the picnic. I’ll pick you up about ten and we’ll make a day of it.”
Loralee smiled and waved as he swung into the saddle and rode toward the fort.
Mike arrived promptly at ten Saturday morning, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.
“Ready?” he asked.
Loralee nodded. Picking up a large wicker basket, she followed Mike outside, and smiled as he lifted her into the shiny black buggy he had borrowed for the day.
They chatted about the weather and the people at the fort as they rode toward a shady spot beside the stream. Mike helped Loralee from the buggy and tethered the horse to an overhanging tree branch while Loralee spread a blanket on the ground.
“It’s pretty here, isn’t it?” Mike mused.
“Yes, lovely.”
“Shall we take a walk before lunch?”
“If you like.”
Hand in hand, they walked along the stream, stopping now and then to admire a wildflower or plant. Mike couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman beside him. She was an enchanting creature, as charmed by the antics of a prairie dog as any young child. She stopped at an ant hill to watch dozens of red ants scurry back and forth in search of food, and smiled with pleasure when a tiny yellow butterfly perched on her shoulder.
Back at the blanket, she removed her shoes and stockings and dangled her feet in the water.
“How long have you been stationed out here, Mike?” she asked.
“Two years.”
“Did you request a Western post?”
“Yes. The fastest promotions still come to those who serve on the frontier.”
Loralee laughed softly. “I didn’t think there were any frontiers left.”
“It’s still pretty uncivilized out here,” Mike remarked. He plucked a long blade of grass and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “It wasn’t all that long ago that Geronimo was running wild in these parts, you know.”
“That’s true. Why did you join the Army?”
“Just following in my father’s footsteps, I guess,” Mike answered with a grin. “I was born at Fort Lincoln while my father was off campaigning against Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull at the Little Big Horn.”
“Your father rode with Custer?”
“Yes. My old man said it was a hell of a fight.”
“But all the men who rode with Custer were killed.”
“They were,” Mike said, his face grave. “But Custer split his forces into three groups, you know. My father was with Reno’s platoon.”
Loralee nodded. General George Armstrong Custer had been a brash, arrogant, headstrong man. His men had called him “Hard Ass” behind his back. It was rumored that he had abandoned Major Joel Elliott and nineteen men on the banks of the Washita River back in 1868 while campaigning against the Cheyenne Indians. Some said it was an error in judgment, and some said it was an act of cowardice.
Custer had made another error in judgment the day he rode into the valley of the Little Big Horn. He had refused to believe his own scouts when they warned him there were many Indians camped in the valley. He had refused to wait for Terry and Gibbon, who were to be part of a three-pronged attack against the Sioux and Cheyenne. Ignoring his orders, Custer had split his forces and attacked the Indians two days early. His men, badly outnumbered, had been slaughtered.
Captain Frederick Benteen and Major Marcus Reno, the two officers left in charge of Custer’s remaining men, had also engaged in heavy fighting that fateful day, suffering heavy losses. The Sioux and Cheyenne had ridden against the soldiers with a vengeance, evening out old scores, avenging the men, women, and children who had been massacred at Sand Creek and the Washita.
Custer’s defeat at the battle of the Little Big Horn was still talked about whenever Army men got together. Few battles in American history had been fought and refought so many times. The Custer family had lost five men that day. In addition to the general, his two brothers, Boston Custer and Tom Custer, had been killed, as had the general’s favorite nephew, Henry Armstrong Reed, affectionately known as Autie, and Custer’s brother-in-law, Lieutenant James Calhoun. The sole survivor of Custer’s battalion had been Captain Myles Keogh’s horse, Comanche. The horse died in 1891, fifteen years after the battle.
Loralee shivered as she imagined the battle at Little Big Horn, the Seventh Cavalry fighting valiantly against overwhelming odds, the war cries of the Sioux and Cheyenne, the dust churned up by the hooves of hundreds of Indian ponies, the screams of pain as feathered arrows pierced human flesh, the smell of blood and fear as the ground turned red with blood. Thank God those days were gone.
“Loralee? Are you all right?”
“What? Oh, yes. I was just thinking how awful the battle must have been.”
“Yes. My father said it was the worst two days of his life. He said they fully expected to die on the ridge where they had holed up. The Indians had a big celebration that night. My father said they could see the Indian campfires and hear their victory shouts. The soldiers spent the night digging trenches while the Indians danced and sang. In the morning, the Indians attacked their position for a short time and then, for no apparent reason, they broke away and left the valley. One of the scouts said the Indians just got tired of fighting and called the whole thing off.”
“Do you like the Army?”
“Most of the time. Now and then I get a little tired of taking orders, but if everything goes as planned, I’ll soon be giving them instead.”
“A promotion, Mike? That’s wonderful.”
“I can sure use the money that goes with it,” Mike remarked, “what with the prices going up the way they are. Last time I got a haircut in town, it cost me two bits.”
Loralee nodded. Prices were going up at an alarming rate. Beef was ten cents a pound, potatoes were two cents each, and a man’s suit cost five dollars.
“You’ll make a wonderful officer, Mike,” Loralee said.
“I hope so. Of course, it isn’t definite yet. But Colonel Freeman likes me, and he thinks I’m doing a good job. Heaven knows I’ve put in enough extra hours and licked his boots enough times to earn those lieutenant’s bars.”
“Mike!”
“Well, it’s true. Sometimes I’d like to bury my fist in Freeman’s face. The man is a stickler for rules and regulations, all spit and polish and playing by the book.” Mike laughed. “Hey, I brought you out here to have a good time, not listen to a bunch of complaints.”
“I am having a good time. Where are your folks, Mike? They must be proud of you.”
“They live in Virginia,” Mike grinned at Loralee, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m twenty-nine years old,” he said, executing a snappy salute. “My father raises thoroughbred horses. My mother is an excellent cook and housekeeper, and raises the most beautiful roses in the world. I have three older brothers, all gainfully employed and happily married, and a younger sister who dreams of being an actress, much to the consternation of my parents. I don’t smoke, and I only drink at parties.”
Loralee laughed merrily. “How did you know I was going to ask all those things?”
“Male intuition,” Mike answered, grinning hugely. “Now, what about you?”
“I’m twenty-three,” Loralee said in the same businesslike tone of voice that Mike had used. “I’m an only child, though I have several cousins back in Philadelphia. My parents were killed when I was thirteen. I don’t sing or dance, but I can play ‘
Silent Night
’ on the piano. I’m in excellent health and have all my own teeth.”
Mike roared with laughter. “You’re hired,” he declared, still laughing. “How’s your cooking?”
For an answer, Loralee opened the picnic basket and served him a lunch of cold fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, freshly baked buttermilk biscuits spread with homemade jam, and chocolate cake for dessert.
Mike sighed with contentment as he polished off a second slice of cake. “I didn’t think anybody in this world could make a better cake than Mom’s,” he remarked, “until now.”
“Why, thank you,” Loralee said, smiling. “That’s high praise indeed.”
They were packing the leftovers into the basket when Loralee glanced up. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Zuniga in the distance. He was mounted on the big dun stallion, riding toward the hills. He was naked save for clout and moccasins, and as she looked at him, she imagined that was how he must have looked while riding to war, his hair flowing down his back, his handsome face streaked with paint.
“What is it?” Mike asked, noticing her intense gaze. “Oh. Zuniga. Damn! I knew he had a rifle.”
Loralee nodded absently. She could see the sunlight glinting off the barrel of the Winchester that Shad held in his right hand.
“I’d give a month’s pay to know where he hides that rifle,” Mike muttered.
“I don’t understand what difference it makes if he has a rifle or not. He only uses it for hunting.”
“It’s not the rifle,” Mike explained. “He isn’t supposed to have a gun, and as long as he does, it’s like a slap in the face, it’s always putting himself outside the reservation laws. He comes and goes pretty much as he pleases. I know he’s slipped into the reservation several times in the past six months, and someday, by damn, I’ll catch him.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll throw him in jail, that’s what.”
Loralee nodded, her eyes still on Zuniga. She watched him until he was out of sight, her heart beating fast with the memory of the night they had shared.
Later, at home, Loralee wandered aimlessly through her small house, her mind skipping back and forth between Mike and Zuniga. Both men were still in her thoughts when she finally went to sleep.
On Sunday she went to church with Mike as usual, but all through the day she was counting the hours until Monday, wondering if Zuniga would come to the school to see her. Hoping with all her heart that he would give her a chance to explain.
But he did not show up at the schoolhouse on Monday night, or any other night.