The Desires of Her Heart Page 14

  Painted in colors, the fields are dressed in colors in the spring.

  Painted in colors painted in colors are the little birds, which come from the outside.

  Painted with colors, painted with colors is the rainbow that we see shining brilliantly above.

  And that is why great loves of many colors are what I like.

  The little girl was enjoying the song, swinging this way and that to the music and holding out her skirt as if she were dancing. Mrs. Anderson, Mrs. Kilbride, and Dorritt were nodding to the melody and smiling. Jewell stood beside her wagon farther down, listening. Even Ash and Dorritt’s maid were standing in the distance listening. Ash tried to put his arm around the girl and she shrugged away and wagged her finger at him. Quinn shook his head. Was Ash really interested in this girl or just flirting? Ash’s first wife had died many years ago, and Ash was nearly forty. Would he take a wife now?

  When the song ended, the two mothers applauded. “Thank you, Carlos,” Mrs. Kilbride said. “Do you have children of your own?”

  “No, señora, I have not yet taken a wife.” Carlos turned and looked boldly at Dorritt. “But I have a little sister who loves this song.”

  Quinn burned. Why did Carlos think he could get away with showing interest in Dorritt? Should a Mexican vaquero court a lady like Miss Dorritt? No. But Quinn might have to remind himself to press this point on Carlos.

  “Well, thank you,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Now, Nancy, it’s time to get you to bed.” Mrs. Anderson held out her hand.

  “Please, please, one more song?” Nancy begged.

  Carlos hunkered down beside the little girl and pinched her cheek. “You must mind your mother, Señorita Nancy. But I will sing to you tomorrow.”

  “Promise?” Nancy asked.

  “Promise,” Carlos said, and stood up, looking around.

  Quinn did the same, but Dorritt had slipped away into the shadows. Still Quinn waited until after the vaquero paused to greet Miss Jewell and then walked beside the Kilbride wagons, headed toward the end of the wagon train. Quinn moved rearward too. In light of the first touchy meeting between the newcomers, Ash, himself, and the vaqueros, he wanted to know what the Andersons and Kilbrides might be planning. So he lingered in the shadows away from the campfire by the Kilbride wagons.

  Anderson and Kilbride were drinking whiskey with Andersons’ two older sons around the campfire. The youngest son sat whittling by the fire. Quinn worried that these newcomers might egg Kilbride into doing something stupid, just to save his pride.

  Anderson was saying, “If you’re planning on farming, according to the agreement with Austin, a family can get one labor of land. But if a family is going to ranch, the man can get one sitio of land.”

  “How much are those in acres?”

  Quinn heard the greed in Kilbride’s voice. Glancing away from the fire, he saw Dorritt standing in the shadows by the nearest wagon and listening too. Yes, she would want to know what the Andersons were telling Kilbride. Warm pleasure flowed through him just from her presence. He clamped down on the feeling but he couldn’t staunch it.

  “A labor is one hundred and seventy-seven acres. A sitio is over four thousand acres,” Anderson said.

  “Four thousand acres free,” Kilbride said, sounding awed.

  “Free? The land’s not free,” Anderson said.

  “It isn’t? I heard…” Kilbride turned a dark look toward Quinn.

  Quinn ignored it and watched Dorritt step back farther into the shadows as if making certain she wouldn’t be seen. He hoped none of these men would say anything a lady shouldn’t hear. Dorritt was too fine a woman to be in this rough place with rough men.

  “It’s almost free, sir,” the eldest son, Cole, said, “The price of land in Austin’s grant is going for one-tenth of the price in the U.S. Just a dollar twenty-five an acre. And we’ll be free of taxes for at least the first decade. Thomas, my next younger brother, and I are going to form a ‘family’ together so we get a larger family grant alongside our father’s. And then we can all work it together.”

  “You can do that?” Kilbride asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the youngest boy piped up, “it’s too bad you only got girls.”

  The two older brothers laughed. “We’re not sorry. Both your daughters are mighty handsome-looking women,” Thomas the middle brother said.

  “Your stepdaughter Dorritt has a great deal of presence,” the eldest Cole added, and then said something Quinn didn’t understand to the younger boy. In return, the youngest scowled as they continued to tease him. Quinn gripped his long rifle, forcing himself to remain still. If Dorritt were his, no man would be allowed to bandy her name about.

  Then Mr. Anderson interrupted the teasing in a serious voice, “No leatherstockings, no frontiersmen, are wanted. Only men who are ready to work hard and clear the land and make it profitable are going to be welcome.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Kilbride said. “We don’t want the wrong kind of people ruining such a golden opportunity for the rest of us.”

  “Exactly so,” Anderson agreed.

  Quinn moved away, disgusted. He’d already known he would never be wanted in the Austin settlement. So why did it upset him so to hear it said out loud? Then Quinn halted, listening. Was someone moving out in the darkness? Dorritt? He looked for her, but she had moved away. Still, he waited, silent and listening, for a long time. But all he could hear were the men drinking and talking by the fire.

  He stood in the shadows and watched the Anglos drinking. Their words made him blaze with anger. Austin must be in league with diablo, the devil, himself to get such easy terms to so much land. And no taxes! With that much land, these ignorant Yanquis would become gentlemen, dueños. He would remain landless—forced to steal silver from his cousin and from Kilbride’s haughty daughter—while these Anglos gained land and wealth with no effort?

  He spit on the ground in contempt of them. His father’s people were la Raza, the descendents of Rome. The Northerners, the Anglos, were invaders, barbarians. He willed himself to cool down. Even barbarians could be useful to a smart man, and he was a smart man. His main goal was in the end more important than all. He wanted his cousin disgraced or dead or both.

  An idea was coming to him, a way to use the Anglos, especially the lovely one with the whitest skin he’d ever seen, against his cousin. It might work. He could make it work for his advantage. If his cousin had found him out as a thief, he must do what he could before he had to run for it.

  The next morning at the back of the Conestoga, Mr. Kilbride slapped Jewell’s face. Dorritt, who had just stepped down from the wagon after taking tea to her mother, was so shocked she almost grabbed his hand. Before Dorritt could say a word, her stepfather said in an angry undertone, “You will not make an embarrassing scene for us. One of the servants must have taken your silver comb, and I don’t want to hear about it anymore. When we are through with the journey, we will unpack everything, and if I have to strip every slave naked in the noonday sun, I will find your brush and your comb.”

  “Why do I have to wait?” Jewell snapped, rubbing her face where he’d slapped her.

  “I don’t want to insult the Andersons—as if we suspected them,” her stepfather said. “Now go about your business.”

  Jewell grumbled but she obeyed.

  Trying to figure out if there were any significance to the loss of Jewell’s silver brush and comb, Dorritt watched her half-sister stalk away. And she wondered if any of their people might be tempted to do such a thing out of spite. Ahead, Eduardo stepped away from a wagon and Jewell stopped to talk to him. From Jewell’s gestures, Dorritt thought she must be telling the Mexican about the second theft—since no one else was available to listen to her indignation. Dorritt turned to find the vaquero Carlos once again in front of her. She gasped and pressed a hand to her throat.

  “I surprised you. I’m sorry,” he said with a slight bow, his hat in his hand.

  “Buenos días, señor. What can
I do for you?”

  “Nada. I just wished to greet you. Buenos días, señorita. And to say again, do not worry about these coarse Andersons. That kind will not prosper in the new Mexico. There are many fine people, fine families here in Tejas. You will find friends here.”

  Dorritt didn’t know how to reply to this without encouraging the man, so she merely smiled and walked on. Was he just one of those men who thought themselves a Don Juan and couldn’t let a woman go by without being charming? She’d already tagged Eduardo as that; he was always hanging around looking at her. But Carlos too? He didn’t seem the type. She shook her head.

  As she walked, she suddenly became aware of a loud commotion going on toward the rear of the caravan. Reva was running to her and calling her. “Come quick, Miss Dorritt. Amos sneaked back last night.”

  Dorritt’s heart slid cold and fearful down to her toes. As she hurried, she watched the crowd gather. This was absolutely the worst time for this to happen. The presence of the Andersons would make Mr. Kilbride react in the most extreme manner to show mastery over his slaves to impress these strangers. Dear Father, what can I do?

  She arrived near Amos. The boy’s clothing was ripped and shredded already. Sitting slumped against the wagon, his face looked swollen, as if he had been stung by insects. He looked weak and hungry.

  Mr. Kilbride, approached, looking belligerent and carrying his rolled whip in one hand. “Tie him to the wagon wheel.”

  This was what she’d feared he’d say. Even a strong young male would have a hard time surviving a severe whipping. And then he’d have to ride in one of the wagons or die in his tracks.

  Dorritt stepped close to Mr. Kilbride. “I’m afraid if you whip him, at the very least, he’ll be feverish and useless for two weeks or more.”

  “He should have thought of that before he ran away.” Mr. Kilbride bellowed, “I said, tie him to the wagon wheel! Now!”

  The two ox drivers moved forward reluctantly, turned Amos to face the wagon, and with leather thongs, began to tie Amos’s wrists to the top of the wagon wheel. Amos sagged, half kneeling, half standing.

  “Mr. Kilbride,” Dorritt pleaded softly, “be kind. When we reach our new land, we will need Amos.”

  “Go to your mother, girl,” he ordered. “This is none of your business.”

  Dorritt stiffened as if an iron rod had been shoved up her spine. I won’t let you scar, torture, and maybe kill Amos just because you want to look like a man to these Andersons. She inhaled breath for strength and moved to stand between her stepfather and Amos. Drawing the battle line. She folded her arms in front of her, trembling with an intermingling of fear and outrage. “This is my business.” Her low voice corroded her throat like acid. “The welfare of our people has always been my business.” Mine, not yours. Never yours.

  Kilbride glared at her and all the while darting surreptitious glances at the Andersons. “Step aside, girl.”

  “No.” She stared into his eyes. Implacable.

  Her defiance turned her stepfather’s jowly face red. “You are meddling in affairs that don’t concern you. Now step aside before I have to discipline you too.”

  “Mr. Kilbride,” one of the ox drivers spoke up in a servile tone, “why don’t you let me take Amos’s place? He just a boy without sense.”

  “No,” Dorritt answered. “There are no slaves in Mexico. And indentured servants may not be whipped.” She didn’t know if this was law or not, but it was the only justification that came to her seething mind.

  “Step aside,” Mr. Kilbride said, his voice thick with rage. “Now.”

  “No.” Dorritt was shaking, but she was not going to back down.

  His face twisted with rage, Mr. Kilbride began to loose his bullwhip.

  “You would use your whip, on your own daughter?” Carlos spoke up from the circle surrounding them, sounding astounded, outraged. “It is not even to be considered.”

  “Shut up and go back to the cattle, Mexican,” Kilbride commanded.

  “Fool,” Carlos growled, reaching for his gun.

  Fear like needles prickled down Dorritt’s spine. Had she pushed Mr. Kilbride too far? It doesn’t matter. I’m not moving. Her hands fisted. Her chin lifted.

  “Look around you, Kilbride,” Ash said.

  Kilbride went on, moving into place to use the whip. Ash repeated himself. Kilbride ignored him. But then Mr. Anderson cursed in surprise, making both Kilbride and Dorritt look around them.

  All of Kilbride’s slaves—male and female, plus the vaqueros, Quinn, and Ash—had circled Kilbride, Amos, Dorritt, and the Anderson men. The vaqueros, Quinn, and Ash all had their weapons drawn. And all looked ready to fire.

  Dorritt inhaled, tingling with shock. What have I done? Father, tell me what to do to avoid bloodshed.

  “It looks like we’re going to have to make an example of this boy,” Mr. Anderson said, drawing his pistol from his belt and aiming it at Amos. “Don’t you agree, Kilbride?”

  “Yes,” Kilbride said with a pugnacious glare.

  Amos sobbed, quaking.

  White-hot anger gushed through Dorritt’s core. She swallowed down the wordless rage, shaking with its force. She backed up farther until her body covered Amos. “No one is going to shoot this boy.”

  Anderson made a sound of derision and lifted his pistol.

  “The first man to shoot will be the first man to die,” Quinn’s voice came low, menacing. And absolutely determined.

  “That is right,” Carlos agreed. “I will allow no man to hurt the boy or the señorita.”

  Dorritt’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst out through her skin. But she remained absolutely still, poised in front of Amos. Ready for whatever came.

  “You’re getting above yourself, half-breed,” Kilbride snarled, completely ignoring Carlos. “This does not concern you.”

  Quinn ignored Kilbride. “Put down the whip, Kilbride. And, Anderson, put your pistol back in its holster.”

  “We don’t take orders from the likes of you,” Anderson growled.

  “Then I guess today is the day you and your sons die,” Ash said conversationally.

  “Sí,” Carlos agreed, but in a voice dark with fury. “Mexico would be better off without your kind, men without respect or honor.” He spat into the dust, further goading the white men.

  Then there was silence. But not a passive silence; it was a festering, expanding hot-air silence which threatened to combust at any moment. Dorritt felt light-headed. Father, give me the words to say. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt today. But she did not back down, could not.

  Everyone remained frozen in place. The minutes ticked by. Why were they all standing here? What actually had started this? Dorritt rubbed her forehead as if clearing her mind. Father, please. And then Dorritt knew what to say. This is all about nothing.

  “This has gone far enough,” she said, keeping her voice completely neutral. “No one is going to be whipped. No one is going to be shot. And no one is going to die. We need every hand we have to make a go of this. I’ve had enough.” She turned and began to untie Amos’s wrists, though her fingers jerked clumsily with nerves.

  Kilbride cursed her.

  From the corner of her eyes, Dorritt saw Quinn’s jaw tighten and knew one more word might be her stepfather’s last. “We’re in the middle of the wilderness.” She spoke as if she hadn’t heard Mr. Kilbride. “We need our guide and our vaqueros. And we can’t afford to lose any of our people. Amos ran away but he came back. He is just a foolish boy.” She raised her voice. “And he’s found out he cannot survive in the wilderness, so neither he nor any of our other people are going to try to run away from now on. Amos has suffered hunger, insects, and thirst. And probably sheer terror at times. That’s punishment enough. There is absolutely no reason anyone has to lift a whip or point a gun.”

  “Señorita Dorritt is wise, as well as beautiful,” Carlos said with warm approval.

  “I must agree,” Ash said in a mild t
one. “Now, gents, are we going to get started? Or are we just going to stand here all day with our guns pointed each other?”

  Eleven

  Though her knees felt crushed like storm-flattened grass, Dorritt managed to finish untying Amos’s wrists. Then she stood taller while her strength was draining from her limbs. She shivered with weakness. Please, Father, don’t let me faint. Don’t let violence break out.

  “Reva, please help me get Amos near the fire. I may need to cauterize some of his bites and cuts.” Just speaking these few mundane words, Dorritt found herself panting as if she had been racing.

  With cautious steps as if crossing a brook, stone by stone, Reva left the circle around the scene and moved toward Dorritt. “We better get some coffee into him. He look pretty done in.”

  Dorritt glimpsed the terror in Reva’s eyes, which belied her friend’s matter-of-fact tone. Dorritt drew a quick breath and continued behaving as if only she, Reva, and Amos were present. “Yes, and I think we better let him ride today in the back of one of the wagons. Let’s be quick. The sun is getting higher. We need to get on the trail for the day.”

  Eyes downcast, Dorritt and Reva half carried Amos toward the nearest fire. No one fired. But the hardest test faced them now. Approaching the circle of people, they came to the Andersons. She and Reva did not look up and did not pause. They just pushed through. Forcing the newcomers to give way.

  The Andersons swung away with audible disgust. Their disdain strained Dorritt’s nerves like cloth stretched in an embroidery frame. Still, she kept her head down as she and Reva laid Amos down near the fire. Dorritt went on caring for Amos with Reva’s help. Staring at the ground, she heard the Andersons getting ready to leave for the day. And was glad. She took a cautious breath.

  Muttering hot words, Kilbride stalked over to her. He leaned down and said with palpable menace, “You have ruined our reputation here in Texas. You will pay for this day. I will not forget it.”

  Dorritt looked up, intense dislike and disrespect gushing through her. You have ruined our reputation here in Texas. You will pay for this day. “I will not forget it either.”