“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Hadley said somewhat apologetically as he glanced between Rayna and her father. Rayna gave him a disgusted not-you-too look, and the young journalist hurried to explain, “It’s not that I doubt the peaceful intent of your Apaches, Miss Templeton. You may be entirely correct in your assessment, but not everyone in Malaventura agrees. I’ve noticed a rising tide of sentiment against them.”
“What have you heard?” Raymond asked, scowling.
“There have been no specific threats, but the community is growing increasingly uncomfortable with having a band of non-reservation Apaches in the area. Once word of Geronimo’s depredations spreads, I’m afraid the citizens of New Mexico will begin to retaliate. The history of this territory suggests that they may not care whether the Apaches they retaliate against are peaceful or not.”
A cold chill ran down Rayna’s spine. Hadley may have been scrawny, pasty-faced, and a poor horseman, but he had an excellent point. If a panic started, no Apache would be safe from attack. During Victorio’s raids several years earlier, rumors had abounded that the Rancho Verde Mescaleros were secretly aiding the renegade. Nana’s raids last year had wrought similar rumors.
For that reason, neighbors—even good ones like Ben Martinez—had been seeking the removal of the Rancho Verde Mescaleros for years, and this recent outbreak would undoubtedly fuel even more unfounded rumors.
According to Samuel Hadley, the kindling for a conflagration was already being laid.
Raymond launched into a vigorous speech about his commitment to protecting the Apaches on the ranch, then moved on to the topic of stationing lookouts at strategic passes throughout the area. Hadley and Martinez apparently felt it was wise to let the argument drop, and once they had a firm plan 16
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in mind, they took their leave. Rayna and Raymond escorted them to their horses and watched as they rode away.
“This is going to upset Skylar,” Rayna said quietly as they turned back to the hacienda.
“I know.” He shook his head. “When is this all gonna end, honey? I feel like I been fighting Apaches all my life, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. This country should be big enough for all of us.”
“But it’s not. Mankind is basically greedy, Papa. We always want what our neighbor has, and only laws and the constraints of civilization keep us from preying on one another. Unfortunately those same laws don’t apply where the Apache are concerned, and they don’t seem inclined to accept our views on the value of civilization.”
“Very nicely put, honey,” Raymond said, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he threw one arm over her shoulders. “And here I thought your sister was the philosopher in this family.”
“Don’t poke fun at me, Papa,” she said, slipping one arm around his ample waist as they strolled inside. “I’ve had enough of that for one day.”
“All right. What other views of the Apache would you care to share with me?”
“None, because you’ll only tease me about it later. I think, instead, I’ll stroll out to Consayka’s camp and fetch Skylar. Word of Geronimo’s outbreak is probably spreading all over the ranch already, and I’d rather she heard it from me.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Tell Mother I’ll be back shortly.”
It was a brisk ten-minute walk to the tiny encampment behind the hacienda. Unlike most other Apache tribes, the Mescalero lived in tall, stately lodges similar to those of the Plains Indians. The eleven homes were grouped together in a seemingly haphazard fashion, no two exactly alike except that each entrance faced the sunrise.
As Rayna approached, she saw her sister and two elderly women sitting under the brush-covered ramada the ranch hands called a squaw cooler.
Skylar’s head was bowed, and her hands were working busily on an object that rested in her lap. Rayna had always envied those delicate hands and the genteel way her sister carried herself. In fact, there were many things about her sister that she envied, not the least of which was Skylar’s gentle disposition.
But it had never occurred to Rayna to try to be more like her demure, ladylike sister. It would have pleased their parents no end, but Rayna didn’t know how to be anything but what she was.
Under the ramada, Consayka’s wife, Gatana, was facing Skylar, deep in concentration as she studied the young woman’s every move. The third woman, Tsa’kata, sat apart from them and seemed to be paying no attention to the others. Rayna knew that was not the case. Tsa’kata’s eyesight was poor and 17
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her hearing even worse, but little happened on Rancho Verde within her sight—or out of it—that she was unaware of.
Of all the Apaches on the ranch, Tsa’kata was the one Rayna knew and understood least, for she had never worked as a house servant, as her daughter Gatana had. Her face was a leathery mask of deeply cut wrinkles and sagging flesh, yet no one would have guessed her to be nearly a hundred years old. She spoke enough Spanish to make herself understood when necessary, but she had refused to learn English—or at least she refused to speak it; Rayna had always suspected she knew far more of the white man’s language than she let on.
As a child, Rayna had been secretly terrified of the old woman, and even now Tsa’kata was one of the few people in the world who had the power to intimidate her.
Though the women had undoubtedly seen her coming, no one acknowledged her presence, so she slowed her pace as she neared the ramada. If Gatana was teaching Skylar a ritual ceremony, it would be disrespectful for Rayna to interrupt, and she had no desire to incur Tsa’kata’s wrath. Instead, she moved to a nearby outcropping of boulders and sat, giving every appearance of someone who’d been out for a casual stroll and had decided to stop and rest.
Watching covertly, Rayna finally identified the object in Skylar’s lap as a necklace of some sort. Her small, graceful hands were carefully weaving beads and strands of grama grass into an intricate bib that was suspended from a beaded choker. Rayna could vaguely hear Gatana and Skylar speaking, but their voices were too soft to allow her to catch any of the words. It was just as well, she reasoned, for they were undoubtedly speaking Apache, and Rayna’s knowledge of the language was limited.
When Skylar had first come to Rancho Verde, Rayna had taken on the job of teaching her new sister English, and Skylar had tried to reciprocate. Skylar had proved to be the better pupil. Over the years, Rayna had kept trying, but whenever she used her limited vocabulary with the Mescaleros she invariably received snickers or outright laughs because she was so bad at it. She had finally given up completely after she mispronounced a phrase that had conveyed some terrible insult and had received an incomprehensible tongue-lashing from Tsa’kata. Now she left the difficult language to Skylar.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rayna studied her sister. Her simple white shirtwaist and beige skirt were a striking contrast to the loose overblouses and colorful calico skirts of her companions. Only those clothes and her age set her apart from the other women, though. Her hair, which she normally wore in a loose chignon or a braided roll at the nape of her neck, was unbound today. Jet black, it fell in gentle swirls around her shoulders and framed a face of such delicate beauty that all who saw her felt compelled to comment on it.
Hers was an exotic, intriguing face—or so it had seemed to the easterners 18
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Skylar and Rayna had encountered while they were at school in Boston.