Adobe Palace Read online

  Reluctantly he mounted and kicked his horse into a gallop. His thirsty scouts gazed longingly at the saloons as they rode past.

  Samantha prayed they reached her train before the bandits came back.

  Crows Walking heard the Indian agent’s voice asking for him. His sister, Uncheedah, explained that Crows Walking sat with the Great Mystery, but Chandler, the agent for the Papago Indian Reservation, did not seem impressed.

  “When can I speak to him?” he asked.

  Crows Walking visualized his sister’s noncommittal shrug. “When he is finished,” she murmured in her soft voice.

  Crows Walking had long ago learned that white men did not care about the Great Mystery. They trampled his creation into dust. They killed his birds, animals, and men with equal disinterest. They would not be impressed that an old Indian shaman sat each morning and night to open his head, so the Great Mystery could speak to him.

  His concentration broken, Crows Walking struggled to stand. Holding on to the wall until he felt strength return to his numb feet, he called through the canvas curtain that divided the small adobe house. “I will see him.”

  Most nights he walked into the desert to sit with the Great Mystery. But last night he had fallen asleep. He’d had to ask the Great Mystery to forgive him for his lapse. I promise I will sit with Thee all night when darkness falls.

  Chandler looked robust and sturdy. Crows Walking did not begrudge Chandler the good food that had contributed to the paunch around the man’s waist, but he did not like him. He knew Chandler did not like Crows Walking, either. At the sight of him, Chandler’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. White men all looked a great deal alike to Crows Walking. They had hard eyes and thin, hairy faces. He did not trust them.

  Crows Walking stepped outside. “Arden,” he said.

  Arden Chandler had to fight his body, which wanted to shrink away from the smelly old shaman. He clamped his jaws together and refused to step back. Chandler knew Crows Walking used his given name purposefully out of disrespect. The Indians knew he wanted to be called Mr. Chandler, so they always called him Arden. He refused to give them the satisfaction of complaining, but he didn’t like it.

  “Crows Walking,” he said, nodding.

  “What brings the Great White Father’s Indian agent to this humble adobe house?”

  “A favor I would ask of you.”

  “A favor?”

  Chandler could practically feel the vibration of the old man’s distrust as he fingered the wisps of hair at the end of his long white braids. Crows Walking’s skin looked like leather that had wrinkled in spite of being stretched over a skull too large for it. His deep-set eyes, opaque as tar, hid whatever went on behind that wide Indian face.

  “I sent for your adopted son, but he has not come.”

  “Ahhhh.”

  Chandler frowned. “Is he here? I would speak to him.”

  “He is gone.”

  “He left without seeing me?”

  Chandler felt such frustration he could hardly contain it. He worked hard trying to make their lot more bearable, and they hated him for it.

  “Will he be back?”

  Although Steve had visited Crows Walking just the day before, the old man shrugged and said, “It has been five years since the last visit. As children get older…”

  He did not say that since the white Indian agent had asked for him, he might never come back. Indians “invited” to appear before the Indian agent were frequently turned over to the military. Such men disappeared or were imprisoned or killed. Indians summoned by the Indian agent often slipped away into the desert to take their chances there. His adopted son, Steve Sheridan, had refused to do that. He had wanted to call on the Indian agent, but Crows Walking had prevailed upon him to leave. His staying could have brought trouble down on all their heads. The military looked for reasons to kill them.

  “Do you know where I might find him? Where he lives?”

  Crows Walking shook his head. Chandler knew it was a wasted effort. Even if the old fool knew, he’d never tell. Indians prided themselves on what they didn’t say.

  Back at the cottage, Chandler tramped across the porch and slammed the door. Selena was at her examining table, wrapping a bandage around an Indian boy’s injured foot. She looked up from her work. “I suppose we can always get another door.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She finished with the boy. His mother stepped forward to take him. “Muchas gracias, Señora Chandler.”

  “You’re very welcome, Brown Deer. Keep the foot dry. If he gets it wet, bring him back and I’ll rewrap it.”

  “Sí.”

  The woman carried the boy away. Selena walked inside and stopped near her husband. “Well, did you find him?”

  “He’s gone. I scared him away by sending for him.”

  Relief flooded through her. Selena bit back the words that formed in her mind and fairly ached to come out her mouth.

  Why don’t you give up? You promised me you would give up!

  She knew he wouldn’t, though. He was obsessed. Because of a remark about a cowlick in an eyebrow, he thought Sheridan was the one he wanted. He probably wasn’t, but that wouldn’t stop Arden. He had chased flimsier figments of his imagination through good weather and bad, a raging flood, even a blizzard one time. She prayed daily that he wouldn’t find what he searched for. Maybe God had answered her prayers—

  A knock at the front door startled them both. Chandler turned, saw it was a soldier, and motioned him inside.

  “Message from the commandant,” the young soldier said, offering a leather mail pouch with one hand and wiping sweat off his face with the other.

  Selena prayed their urgent requests for more rations had been approved. The drought had severely affected the amount of food the Indians could grow. “I’ll get you a drink,” she said, going outside for the clay water bolo, kept cool by the desert breezes.

  Chandler unsnapped the flap of the pouch proffered by the soldier, opened it, and took out an envelope sealed with wax bearing the general’s stamp. He opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written in General Ashland’s hand.

  Chandler

  Be on the lookout for a Hopi Indian woman named Elunami who escaped from custody this morning. She is armed, dangerous, and wanted by the government dead or alive. She is dressed in white ceremonial buckskins, white headdress, and is young and attractive—for an Indian. This is classified information, for your eyes alone. If you find her, secure her by whatever means necessary and send word immediately. Destroy this transmittal at once.

  General R.J. Ashland, Commandant,

  Fort Thomas, Arizona Territory

  Selena Chandler watched her husband’s expression change as he read the letter.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Are they sending more food?”

  “No,” he said tiredly. “Just a letter from General Ashland.” Chandler held the letter over the table, struck a match, and set fire to it. When it had burned, he scooped the ashes into the pouch, closed it, and gave it back to the hot-faced young soldier to return to the general.

  A girl dressed that distinctively should be easy to spot. Ashland’s men had probably found her by now.

  Chapter Three

  Elunami, Samantha, and Ramon, scraped raw on his chin and left cheek, followed Sheridan into the hotel. The dimly lit lobby appeared deserted. Outside, Samantha could see Owen Parker, the hotel owner, talking to a group of men.

  “Did you recognize any of those soldiers?” Sheridan asked Elunami.

  “They wore soldier boots, but they were not the ones.”

  “I thought not.” Sheridan nodded his satisfaction. The girl walked to the window; Ramon followed her.

  On impulse, Samantha asked the question that had been on her mind since Sheridan had ridden up to her palace car.

  “Is Elunami your woman?”

  Steve looked at Samantha in surprise. He was not accustomed to such bluntness in a white woman. “I found
her a few miles before I found you. She was alone and needed help.”

  “Because of helping us, you’ve made an enemy of Ham Russell and Captain Rathwick,” Samantha pointed out.

  “Don’t feel bad about it,” Steve drawled. “I’ve been making friends and enemies for years without your help.”

  “Would you accompany us to my home? I’ll pay you well.”

  Sheridan frowned. “Where do you live?”

  “Ten miles east of here.”

  “Mr. Forrester might want to send someone out for you.”

  “Mr. Forrester died three years ago.”

  Steve wished he could see Samantha Forrester with more clarity. Her personality dazzled him; it kept him from seeing her clearly, or from recognizing what he did see. He had the feeling that her every emotion, even the slightest flicker, showed in her eyes and in her mobile face, if only he could see it through the shimmer she caused in his brain. She had the kind of beauty that made men blind and foolish. He’d seen Dart, Rathwick, and even Ham Russell responding to her. They all wanted to look good in her eyes. But he had enough worries as it was. He didn’t need another.

  “I’d like to help you, but I’m not going in that direction.”

  Disappointment showed clearly on Samantha’s face. Steve took some pleasure from that, even if it didn’t mean what he might prefer it meant.

  She turned toward the hotel. “Well…thank you again for saving us from those bandits.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” Steve touched the brim of his dusty hat and strode purposefully away from her. Only a few steps past the bank, Marshal Daley pried himself loose from the side of the building and fell into step with him.

  “I didn’t want to make a fuss back there, but you look to me like a man riding away from something.”

  “That’s quite an observation, Marshal. Do you mind if I ask how you came to that conclusion?”

  “I don’t mind a bit if you’re testy,” he said jovially. “I’m used to irritating folks. That’s what this town pays me for.”

  Steve grinned and shook his head. He untied his horse’s reins from the post and turned to Daley, waiting.

  Daley took a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it at Steve. “I just got a wire from the fort asking me to keep a lookout for an Indian woman, probably the one Rathwick was asking about.”

  “Did the wire say what they want her for?”

  “I haven’t seen that girl who rode in with Mrs. Forrester before today.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard for a cavalry patrol to spot an Indian woman riding around alone,” Steve said. Something odd was definitely going on around the girl, and it looked bigger than the random killing of a few Indians.

  “What are your plans, Sheridan?”

  “Headed for Waco. I’ve been hired to build a house there.”

  “That sounds like a straight answer for a change, so I guess I can give one, too. They didn’t say what they wanted her for, just told me to detain her and send them a wire.” Daley touched his hat and sauntered back toward the jail. Steve mounted and headed toward the livery stable. He would feed his mare and then himself, and be on his way.

  With Steve Sheridan gone about his own business, Samantha let Owen Parker know she was waiting to register. He left the group of men he’d been talking to and walked inside.

  Parker had a large bulbous nose and sagging jowls. His chin was weak and disappeared too quickly into his neck, which was dominated by a large Adam’s apple. Another man with his features might be ugly, but Owen was blessed with the warmth and vitality of his Greek ancestors on his mother’s side of the family. His many kindnesses to Samantha and Nicholas had started the first day she’d ridden into town and had not stopped yet. This would be the test, though.

  “I hate to put you on the spot, Owen, but I need two rooms for the night.”

  “I guess you’ve noticed the town is not exactly on its best behavior,” Owen said, rubbing his hand from his forehead to the crown of his bald head.

  “I wouldn’t ask, except Nicholas is tired…” Samantha had held up through everything else that had happened, but if he refused her request for rooms, she might humiliate herself by dissolving into tears.

  “Your two usual rooms be all right, my dear, or do you need more?”

  “Is this going to cause you trouble?”

  Owen looked up from where he was already writing her name into the register. “I may be an old man, but I still decide who I rent my rooms to.”

  The tension that had been building in her relaxed a little. “Thank you, Owen,” she said gratefully. “I won’t forget your help.”

  He passed her the keys. “I’ll carry the boy.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

  “I know.” He looked willing to do whatever he could to make up to her for the rest of the town, and she was touched by his concern.

  “Thank you, Owen.”

  “I’m stronger than I look.”

  Samantha laughed. “And stubborner. I’m not ready to go upstairs yet.”

  She walked back to where she had left Nicholas asleep on the sofa, out of the sun. His usually pale cheeks were pink with sunburn. She bent down and kissed his forehead, which was warm enough to cause her stomach to knot with fear.

  On impulse, she walked out the door and over to where Elunami stood on the sidewalk outside the hotel. The girl was not her problem, but perhaps…

  The still, humid air felt hot and muggy, the way it did before a storm. White-topped, gray-bottomed clouds had piled in, cutting off the sun.

  “Where will you go now?” Samantha asked her.

  Elunami shrugged. She looked tired and hungry, but whatever her pain, she seemed determined to endure it in silence.

  “I’ve already told everyone you’re Ramon’s sister. It would look odd if you just rode away. Would you like to stop with us for a while? I need help with Nicholas. You wouldn’t have to do much. And I’d like another woman around.”

  Elunami stared at Samantha for a moment, sifting through her words to confirm their sincerity. The kind words weakened her, seemed to remove the barrier that kept her apart from her pain. Now her soul felt weary. So much sadness waited within for her attention. It pressed down on her.

  “I…know not.”

  “Then come home with me. You’ll be safe there. I need your help, Elu—Tristera. You don’t have to stay long, if you don’t want to. But if you ride into the desert alone, the cavalry patrol might suspect you’re the girl they’re looking for.”

  Elunami nodded. She had no place to go back to.

  “Good. It is important now that we call you Tristera. We mustn’t forget.”

  “I will remember,” she said, thinking that perhaps a new name would give her a new beginning.

  “Ramon, please take Tristera’s horse to the livery stable and have them care for it. Then you get some rest.”

  “Sí, señora.” Ramon stood up, took the pony’s reins, and limped away.

  “Come, I’ll take you up to your room,” Samantha said, feeling more hopeful than she had in weeks.

  “They will let me stay here?” Elunami asked, frowning.

  “Owen has never questioned who I bring with me.”

  Inside the hotel, Samantha picked up the small bag she had packed, and Owen Parker carried Nicholas upstairs.

  In their bedroom, Samantha undressed Nicholas and covered him with a thin sheet. Then she turned to Elunami. “You can take the next room.” She walked to the connecting door and unlocked it. “Nicholas will sleep for a while. Would you like to go downstairs and have dinner with me?”

  “No…thank you.”

  Samantha leaned down to kiss her son’s sleeping face. Dirt smudged his cheek, which was hot to the touch. Sand from his dark hair fell onto the clean bed sheet. Except for his thinness, he looked so much like Lance her heart constricted.

  “I’ll get us some clean clothes and send supper up for you and Nicholas.”

  E
lunami nodded. Apparently it was important for the señora to distribute food. It would do no harm. Perhaps the boy would eat it.

  Chila got off the bed and walked to the mirror. She scrutinized herself carefully, patted her hair, lifted her shoulders, and tried to carry herself in such a way that the loose, sagging skin of her throat was minimized. The skin had wrinkled as if it had somehow come loose from whatever was underneath it. If not for that unfortunate condition, she might easily pass for thirty-five.

  She had decided to buy a gun, so she wouldn’t have to depend on Joe being around or not missing his.

  Chila walked through the lobby, smiling and nodding to folks who spoke to her. She was proud of her ability to carry on as if nothing untoward had happened to her. Most women, if they’d seen the devil, would be laid up for a month. But not her. Still, just the thought of seeing that monster rattled her insides.

  The sun hid behind thin clouds, but its brightness shone through with such intensity that her eyes hurt and her head ached dully. At the general store, clutching her reticule and fan in one hand, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  “Chila!”

  Chila recognized Samantha’s voice and looked quickly around the dimly lit general store.

  “Aftahnoon, darlin’,” she called out to her. Samantha put down an undergarment she’d been examining and stepped around the display table to greet Chila.

  “Afternoon. I’m glad I ran into you, Chila. I’m sure you weren’t aware of this, but Ham Russell insulted Ramon’s sister and almost killed Ramon.”

  “He did? Why, darlin’, Ah didn’t know that.”

  “I was hoping you might have a talk with him…”

  “Well, of course. Mr. Russell knows better than that.”

  “Otherwise someone is going to get hurt.”

  “Ah don’t know what could have gotten into him. Ah declare, there is so much meanness in the world,” she said, fanning herself rapidly and looking out the window at the darkening sky. “Looks like one of them nasty old blue northers coming up, too,” she said, fanning herself. “You’ve been away, haven’t you, darlin’? Somewhere with better weather, Ah hope.”