Brides of Arizona, page 26
“Because we have different convictions. I follow what the Bible teaches. God says I shouldn’t be yoked with an unbeliever.”
“So you’re saying I’m an unbeliever and not worthy of you? Isn’t that a harsh judgment on your part?”
Kathleen drew back as if she’d been struck. Her eyes widened. “I’m not the one passing judgment. I’m only repeating what you’ve said yourself.”
Knowing he had to step carefully to convince Kathleen of his sincerity, Quinn thought a long moment before he spoke. “I was raised to go to church. I’ve read the Bible and know who God is and what He expects of His children. I do believe in God, but I also believe in the goodness of His creation, mankind. I believe God put us here on earth, and what we do with our lives is up to us. We can live right, which I think I’m doing a good job of; or we can live wrong, like a lot of folks do. I don’t see that I’m any different from you.”
He hadn’t meant to talk so long. Convincing Kathleen they were compatible in religious matters might be more difficult than he expected, considering the hesitant look on her face. Going to hear the evangelist should show her he was right with God. After all, how did God have time or energy to direct the lives of everyone on earth? Did He really care enough to do that?
“There’s another reason we can’t be more than friends.” Kathleen halted at the porch of Mrs. Monroy’s house. She touched the mark on her cheek. “I can never marry and have children. Passing on something like this to a child would be cruel beyond measure. I can’t do that.”
Sadness made Quinn’s heart break. “I have no idea who taught you such nonsense, Kathleen.” His fingers skimmed across the chocolate mark on her cheek. “There is nothing wrong with you. Besides, there is no guarantee you would pass this on. Do either of your parents have one? Do any of your sisters or brothers?” She shook her head, her eyes lowered.
“I didn’t think so. You may have a passel of children and not one of them would share that mark with you. Or, you may have one or more that do. It wouldn’t matter to me. I would love them even more if they carried that part of you.”
She stopped cold. “How can you say that? You have no idea what life is like when you’re different. People are cruel, especially children. As long as I have a choice, I will never subject a child to the kind of life I’ve lived. Never.”
Swiveling around, Kathleen jerked her hand from his arm. She pulled the veil over her face and ran to the door before he could stop her. Quinn didn’t know whether to follow her or let her think for awhile and talk to her in the morning. A rapid succession of gunshots made the decision for him. Things were heating up downtown. He’d better make an appearance and try to cool some tempers before someone got hurt.
The front door pressed against Kathleen’s back as she waited to see what Quinn would do. An overpowering longing to have him come after her, declare he could make everything right, and tell her how much he loved her weakened her knees until she thought she might collapse. Lord, why am I so attracted to this man? I tell him how I don’t ever want children and why, but that’s more to convince myself than him. I do want children, Lord. I love to hold Andrew and Angelina. You know how sometimes I pretend they’re my own. I’m so confused. I don’t know what You want me to do.
Tears dripped onto her dress, leaving dark spots in the fabric. Exhaustion claimed her. Kathleen started to push away from the door when a volley of gunshots echoed from far away. Fear stilled her. Quinn. The commotion would draw him to his job. A sudden image of Quinn facing a mob of angry, armed men made her gasp. What if he were hurt? Or worse, what if he were killed?
Whirling around, she struggled to pull open the door. Her fingers, still wet from wiping away tears, slipped on the knob. With a cry of exasperation, Kathleen wrenched the door open. She rushed onto the porch, her eyes straining to adjust to the darkness. She could hear the pounding of footsteps moving fast, far down the street toward the center of town. She knew Quinn raced headlong into danger, heedless of what might happen. He believed keeping peace in this community to be his utmost responsibility, and nothing would keep him from his job. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she prayed for his safety, but mostly for his salvation. From their troubling discussion tonight, she knew he didn’t fully comprehend God’s plan of salvation. She hadn’t felt the timing was right to share Bible teachings with him since he was so adamant about his beliefs. Now, she prayed for a softening of his heart so he would be willing to listen when God’s Spirit spoke.
The night’s soft breeze dried the wetness from her cheeks. She began to shiver and knew she needed to get out of the cool air. The low babble of voices in the parlor greeted her as she shut the door. Maria peered into the hall.
“There you are, Kathleen. We heard the door a few minutes ago and thought you were here, but you didn’t come in. Then we heard the latch click and were just wondering if there were haunts at work.” Maria’s smile warmed Kathleen.
“I did come in, but then I heard some gunshots and stepped outside to see if Quinn was still here.” Kathleen tried to keep the shaking from her voice. “He’d already gone.”
Harriet stepped up beside Maria. “I imagine he has to stop some revelry that’s gotten out of hand.” She shivered and crossed her arms over her bosom. “I’ll pray the Lord keeps him safe.”
“Thank you.” Warmth surrounded Kathleen, making the chill of the day’s events ease. “How is the woman Quinn and Conlon brought here? Has she regained consciousness?”
Sadness filled Maria’s eyes. “She’s still not awake. Mrs. Monroy has been sitting with her most of the evening. We were going over our lesson plans for tomorrow, then hoped to take a turn with her.”
“Don’t worry.” Kathleen held up her hand, palm outward. “I can gather some of my sewing and do my work right in her room. You get your school lessons planned.” She smiled. “Besides, you two need your rest. It’s hard to imagine being in charge of all those children when you’re refreshed, let alone when you’re tired.”
After she’d grabbed a basket from her sewing room, Kathleen filled it with the dress she was working on and all the thread and necessities. Much of the evening had passed, but she knew she couldn’t sleep now anyway. After hearing of the day’s events and thinking about the crisis Quinn faced, she might be awake for hours.
Mrs. Monroy sat in a rocking chair next to the bed, her knitting needles held motionless in her lap. Her ample chin tilted down. Soft snores vibrated in the air. The woman on the bed lay still and pale as death. Brown, wavy hair fanned out on the white pillow beneath her head. Kathleen stared for a long moment, frozen in the doorway, until she saw the slight movement of the sheet covering the woman’s chest. She still lived.
Giving herself a mental shake, Kathleen moved into the room to waken Mrs. Monroy. Quinn had told her and Glorianna that Doc Meyer had confidence the woman would be fine, but a gunshot and bleeding could never be scoffed at. This woman hadn’t received immediate attention because of the harrowing ride to town on the racing wagon. Even though the ride saved her life, the jolting must have cost blood she couldn’t spare.
“Mrs. Monroy.” Kathleen gave the woman’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Mrs. Monroy.”
The older woman snorted awake, her fingers taking up the knitting needles as if she’d never stopped working. Sleep-laden eyes gave Kathleen an uncomprehending look.
“Mrs. Monroy, I’ve come to sit for awhile. Why don’t you go on to bed?” Kathleen lifted the basket. “I’m wide awake and have some sewing to work on.”
Heaving up from the rocker, Mrs. Monroy groaned as her joints popped. “Thank you, Kathleen. I haven’t heard a peep from the lady. She seems to be resting fine. I couldn’t find any evidence of a fever.” The older woman walked with mincing steps to the door, leaned against it, and looked back at Kathleen. “If she needs something, don’t hesitate to wake me. I’ll be right down the hall. I have some broth in the warmer of the stove if she needs something to eat. Doc says not to give her regular food right away.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine.” As Mrs. Monroy shut the door behind her, Kathleen set the basket of sewing beside the rocker and crossed to the bed. She gave the woman’s forehead a light touch but found no fever. Her steady breathing sounded clear.
A jagged scar stood out in bright relief on her pale cheek. Kathleen touched the old wound with her fingertip. What had happened to make such a scar? Had she been young then or was this a more recent mishap? Her features were pretty, but Kathleen noticed the hat and veil on the dresser. Had she too hidden her shame behind a veil?
Kathleen settled into a rocker and pulled the dress onto her lap as she listened to the woman’s soft, steady breathing. The lamp on the table next to the chair gave plenty of light to see for stitching seams. The finer work would have to wait until daylight. Time sped by as she went from thinking of her growing feelings for Quinn and the dangers involved with loving him to wondering how her family fared and if they missed her. She missed her younger siblings, but being out from under her mother’s negative influence had only been a relief. Guilt consumed her when she acknowledged those feelings.
Silence settled over the house as Maria and Harriet checked on Kathleen, then headed off to bed. A brisk wind rattled the windowpanes on occasion. Kathleen found herself straining to hear more gunshots as her thoughts continually strayed to Quinn. Every unusual noise set her nerves on edge.
When she pricked her finger for the fourth time because she kept drifting to sleep, Kathleen folded the dress and placed it back in the basket. She glanced a final time at the still figure on the bed, lowered the lamp wick, and rested against the rocker. Her heavy eyelids refused to stay open any longer. Peace stole over her as she drifted off to sleep.
“Water.”
The hoarse whisper startled Kathleen awake. She glanced around the darkened room, wondering where she was.
“Water.” The woman on the bed stirred and moaned as if the movement caused her great pain.
Raising the wick on the lamp, Kathleen crossed to the bed. Mrs. Monroy had set a pitcher of water and a cup on a night table. Kathleen lifted the woman’s head, helping her to get some of the precious liquid into her dry mouth. After a few sips, the woman nodded that she’d had enough. A sigh, probably of relief, escaped as Kathleen lowered her onto the bed.
“Thank you.” She sounded stronger and gave a wan smile.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Kathleen straightened the covers. Taking a damp cloth, she wiped the woman’s brow and checked her for fever even though her clear eyes denied any weakness.
“What happened?” The woman grimaced as she tried to move.
“Stay still.” Kathleen rested her hand lightly on the woman’s uninjured shoulder. “Your party was attacked by Indians. You were shot. The doctor already cleaned your wound and says you’ll be as good as new in a few days. Do you remember any of what happened? Can you tell me your name?”
Pale blue eyes gazed at Kathleen. Panic made her eyes brighten. She started to rise up off the bed, and her face paled with the effort. She fell back with a moan. “Cassie. What happened to Cassie? Where is she?”
Sorrow closed Kathleen’s throat, making speech difficult. She swallowed. “Is Cassie the girl traveling with you?” The woman nodded. Kathleen wished anyone else were here to relay the sad news. “The man who brought you in said the other woman died. You and the driver were the only ones who survived the attack.”
“No.” The cry echoed through the small room. Turning her head away, the woman wept. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
Chapter 13
Alight knock preceded Quinn poking his head around the door of Kathleen’s shop the next morning. Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Kathleen gave him what she knew had to be a tired smile. She couldn’t even muster up a giddy feeling of relief to see him alive after the uncertainty of last night. Before dawn this morning, the woman, who finally identified herself as Edith Barstow, had fallen into a fitful sleep. She’d insisted on Kathleen repeating everything she knew of the attack and of the cavalry’s plans to recover the bodies and belongings this morning. After Edith had fallen asleep, Kathleen barely managed to drag herself to her own room. She’d dropped onto her bed fully clothed and fallen asleep before she could pull up the covers.
“Morning. You look a little tired.”
“I’ve had nights with more sleep.” Kathleen rotated her shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness. “In fact, most nights have included more rest.” She gestured at a chair. “Come on in.”
Settling into the chair beside hers, Quinn reached out and took her hand. “Thank you.” His blue-gray gaze held hers.
“For what?” She couldn’t imagine what she’d done that made him want to thank her.
“For this.” He reached out and traced her bare cheek, sending a tingle through her.
“I … I guess I’m so tired, I forgot.” Kathleen glanced at the veil on the table with her sewing.
“Maybe you’re getting used to me and don’t think you need to hide anymore.” Quinn smiled. Kathleen couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think of a reply. For a moment she couldn’t even recall why she wore a veil.
Quinn blinked. The air seemed to lighten. Kathleen felt her face flush and wished she had her veil on to hide the redness. Did he know how much his presence affected her?
“I heard the gunshots last night.” Kathleen picked up her sewing from her lap, concentrating on the stitches. “Is everyone all right?”
“There was a little trouble down at the saloon. Some of the boys got to arguing about who should do what to the renegades, and shots were exchanged. No one got hurt. I guess it was their way of letting off steam.” He crossed his legs at the ankles. From the corner of her eye, Kathleen could see him watching her with a smug sort of smile on his face.
“Were you worried?”
She pricked her finger. Yanking the injured digit away from the needle, she stalled for time. “I thought maybe the men would try to take vengeance themselves. Remember, you once told me about the lynchings that happened a year ago or so? I didn’t know how they would take to the news of what happened yesterday.” She found herself reluctant to say anything about the actual attacks. The horror, relived with Edith last night, lay fresh on her mind.
“William Oury is the main one I’m worried about.” Quinn’s eyes turned hard. “That man is good at organizing and getting people to do what they wouldn’t normally do.”
“I don’t believe I’ve met him.”
“He was at the dance the other night.” Quinn seemed almost angry at the thought. “He’s a big man, with a long, dour face. William always looks like he’s just sucked on an early lemon.”
“I take it this William is not one of your favorite people.”
Quinn sighed. “I know my parents used to preach forgive and forget, but sometimes the wrongs people do shouldn’t be forgotten. If you forget the evil, then you may not be ready to stop them from doing the same again.”
Surprise made Kathleen pause in her work. She’d never seen Quinn so angry. Although he still looked relaxed, he was actually as tense as a cat ready to pounce. What had Oury done to warrant this kind of dislike? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“Back in ’70 and ’71, the Apaches were causing a lot of trouble.” Although Quinn spoke, his eyes had such a faraway look, Kathleen didn’t think he was in the room with her. She stitched while he continued. “There were a lot of raids. Ranchers and farmers outside of Tucson were hit the hardest. The townsfolk didn’t get attacked because of the number of people here.
“William Oury led a party to Florence to see General Stoneman about getting help. The general said there weren’t enough people in the Santa Cruz valley to warrant a cavalry troop coming down here.”
Kathleen gasped. “You mean he didn’t even try to help out?”
“Nope.” Quinn frowned. “The raids continued. People died. Oury and some of his friends were angry. I can’t fault them for that.” He stopped and met her eyes. “I don’t agree that the Indians were right to do the raiding and killing, but what Oury did was worse than that.”
“What could be worse than killing innocent people?”
“In the spring of ’71, Oury led a party of men, mostly Papagos, up to Aravaipa Canyon near Camp Grant. A group of Apaches had come to the camp, seeking refuge. The camp commander vouched for them and said they weren’t responsible for the trouble.”
“Mr. Oury wouldn’t believe the commander?”
“I don’t know why, but he decided these were the Indians responsible for all the troubles of the people in this valley. He led almost one hundred and fifty men on a dawn raid of the village.”
“Didn’t the cavalry troops at Camp Grant try to stop them?”
Quinn shook his head. His eyes sparked with anger. “The Apaches set up camp several miles up the creek from Camp Grant. The commander had no idea of the raid until it was over.” He rubbed his eyes. Kathleen clutched the material, her sewing all but forgotten.
“All the young men were gone on a hunting expedition. Oury and his men waged war on women, children, and a few old men.”
“Surely they stopped when they realized the men they thought responsible weren’t there.” Ice raced up Kathleen’s arms. She shivered and wished for something to take the chill away.
“I told you what they did was worse than anything the Indians did. Oury and his men killed and mutilated most of the tribe. What they did to the women isn’t something I can tell.” He stopped, a pained expression making him look sick. “The children who weren’t killed were taken captive so the Papagos could sell them as slaves.”
“No.” Kathleen’s hand flew to her throat. “We fought a war against slavery. How could that happen?”
“That war was in the States. Arizona is a territory, and slavery among captives has been a part of Indian life for generations. Before anyone knew what happened, those twenty-eight children were already sold and taken to other places.”
