While no one had feared the Indian named Templeton, her appearance had set her apart from the other girls, making her an outsider.
In this territory, however, Skylar’s square jaw, high cheekbones, deep-set black eyes, and light bronze skin labeled her an Apache. No amount of culture, grace, education—not even the considerable influence of Raymond Templeton—could overcome the prejudice that kept Skylar from being totally accepted. She was still an outsider.
Was it any wonder that Skylar felt such a bond with the Rancho Verde Apaches? Rayna wondered, remembering the pain she’d seen in her mother’s eyes earlier. As much as Collie loved Skylar, she couldn’t understand her daughter’s need for a connection with her past. But Rayna understood. Skylar was a beautiful, demure young lady trapped squarely between her vague memories of life as an Apache and the Anglo world she had been raised in. The tragedy was that she could never truly belong to either.
Even the Rancho Verde Mescaleros, who had accepted Skylar and indoc-trinated her in their ways, were not really her people. She had been stolen from a band of White Mountain Apaches, whose culture was in many ways different from that of the Mescalero. Over time, Skylar’s memories of her first family had fused with the beliefs of the Mescalero and the legends Consayka told around the fire on winter evenings.
Rayna ached at the sadness she often saw in her sister, but she didn’t pity her. Skylar would never have stood for that, and Rayna loved her far too much to demean their relationship with pity.
Never one to enjoy being inactive, Rayna soon grew tired of pretending to admire the scenery. She kept still, trying not to fidget, but by the time the ceremony was complete, Rayna had exhausted her meager supply of patience.
She sighed with relief when Skylar wrapped the necklace in a cloth and placed it along with several other bundles in a beaded buckskin pouch. As she rose, she spoke quietly with Gatana and Tsa’kata, then slipped out from beneath the ramada.
“Hello, sister. What brings you back to the ranch so early today? Did Samson throw another shoe?” Her dark eyes were twinkling merrily, and though Rayna didn’t know how it was possible, she suspected that Skylar already knew the answer to her question.
She stood and stretched her legs. “Yes, he did, and if you’re going to tease me about it, too, you can walk back to the house by yourself.”
Skylar stopped in front of her. “You’ve had a difficult day,” she said sympathetically.
“That is something of an understatement,” she replied, all hints of teasing gone. For the sake of courtesy, she moved to the ramada and greeted Gatana 19
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and her mother. Tsa’kata did not deign to acknowledge her, but Rayna spent a moment conversing with the old woman’s daughter, who had long since stopped working at the hacienda because of her advanced age.
“What brought you out here?” Skylar asked when she and Rayna finally started for home.
Dreading having to tell her about Geronimo’s outbreak, Rayna stalled for time. “Mother said that you were learning a ceremony, and I thought I’d better see what you were up to. What is Gatana teaching you?”
Skylar’s eyes danced with excitement. “You won’t believe it, Rayna. I’ve been asked to participate in Mary Long Horn’s maiden ceremony. Gatana is teaching me the ritual prayers for making the necklace of the sons-ee-a-ray.”
Rayna gave her a sidelong glance. “Would you care to translate that for me? You know how good my Apache is.”
“It’s the symbol of the morning star, one of many that will decorate Mary’s dress. Once I have learned the prayers, I’ll make the actual necklace that she’ll wear in the ceremony. The one I was working on today is only an imitation.
We use several different necklaces for practice so that none will be invested with the power of White Painted Woman.”
Rayna needed no explanation of that. White Painted Woman was the deity revered by the Apaches as the mother of their race. Apparently the symbol of the morning star belonged to her. “When is the ceremony?”
“In July, four days before the full moon. I suppose that would make it somewhere around the eighteenth.”
“Hmmm . . . That doesn’t give you much time to learn the ritual and complete the necklace.”
“I know,” Skylar answered, growing pensive. “And there’s more, Rayna. I have been asked to attend Mary on each of the four days of the ceremony.”
She paused a moment. “Will Mother be upset, do you think?”
Rayna couldn’t lie to her. “It’s possible, but she won’t try to stop you from participating.”
“I know that. I hate to cause her pain, though.”
Rayna slipped her arm around her sister. It made walking difficult, since Rayna was several inches taller, but Skylar needed the comfort. “You’re a grown woman, Skylar. You have to do what you think is best.”
“Even if it hurts someone I love?”
“Mother understands.”
Skylar shook her head sadly. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Then we’ll find a way to make her understand how important this is to you.”
Skylar glanced up at her, grateful for her support. For nearly as long as she could remember, this sister had been her buffer against disappointment, frustration, and anyone or anything that tried to harm her. Skylar 20
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had vague memories of another sister, older than Rayna, who had also watched over her—who had, in fact, died while trying to protect her from the Indians who had kidnapped her. The memory saddened her, but she couldn’t imagine loving that sister in the shadows any more than she loved this one.
“It is important to me, Rayna, but I don’t think I could make anyone understand why—not even you.”
“But I do understand,” Rayna insisted.
“No, you don’t.” Skylar stopped suddenly and glanced at the high blue sky near the horizon to the east. She seemed lost in thought, as though looking for something that wasn’t there.
Rayna stopped, too, facing her. “Then explain it to me.”
Skylar did not look away from the horizon as she spoke. “It’s the necklace,”
she said softly.
Now Rayna really did understand. Or thought she did. Years ago Consayka had told Skylar the romantic tale of a young Apache brave who had married a maiden from an enemy clan and united both their peoples. The brave had defied custom and given his bride a magnificent necklace of turquoise and silver with a medallion carved in the image of the Thunder Eagle.
Consayka told the story often, and not always in the same fashion. In one version the brave had been from the Jicarilla Apache tribe; in another, he was White Mountain. Depending on Consayka’s mood, the handsome brave and his wife had many children and lived to a ripe old age, or died tragically at the hands of a Chiricahua renegade. Rayna had heard so many versions of the story that she found it virtually meaningless.
Skylar, on the other hand, believed the story was true. What was more, she believed that somehow she had been a part of it. When she was fifteen, she had even made a replica of the necklace Consayka had described. She kept it hidden, and no one but Rayna and a few of the Mescaleros even knew of its existence.
“Making this necklace has reminded you of the Thunder Eagle legend, hasn’t it?” Rayna asked.
“Yes, but that’s not all.” She looked at her sister. “It’s sons-ee-a-ray.”
“Morning star? What has that got to do with the legend of . . .” She searched her memory for the names of the couple in Consayka’s story, but drew a blank. “Oh, what were they called?” she muttered impatiently.
“He Stalks the Gray Wolf and She Sings by the Willow,” Skylar supplied, her voice almost reverent as she spoke the names.