LaceysWay (16 page)

“Of course,” Royce Montana agreed quickly. “Come on, we’ll
go to my lodge and my woman can look after him.”

“Your woman?” Lacey echoed, stunned. “What woman?”

“I got married, too, honey,” Royce Montana said, leading the
way to a lodge near the end of the village.

Lacey stared at her father’s back. Dimly she remembered that
High Yellow Cloud had mentioned that the white man in their camp had married
one of their women.
Good Lord
, Lacey thought, aghast,
he’s married an
Apache!

Things happened in a blur after that. They followed Royce
Montana into a large wickiup and were met by an Apache woman who quickly made
them feel at home. Lacey watched, speechless, as the woman efficiently treated
Matt’s wounds, which were not as serious as Lacey had feared, then whipped up
dinner for all of them.

“This is Blue Willow,” Royce Montana said when they were all
seated around the fire.

“Pleased to meet you,” Lacey said politely, though she could
not quite comprehend the fact that her father had married an Indian.

“She doesn’t speak much English,” Royce remarked, smiling at
his wife, “and I don’t speak a whole lot of Apache, but we manage to
communicate pretty well.”

“Yes,” Lacey said dryly. “I can see that.” Indeed, it was
easy to see that Royce Montana and Blue Willow were much in love. The Indian
woman was about thirty, Lacey guessed. Her hair was long and straight and
black, her eyes were almond-shaped and beautiful, her face unlined and lovely.

During the next hour Royce Montana told how he had been
captured by the Apaches and forced to become a slave. He had endured
considerable abuse and humiliation until the day he saved an Apache child from
drowning in the river. His act of heroism had earned him a place in the tribe,
and he had planned to leave the Indians in the spring and return to his own
people. But during the long, cold winter he had fallen in love with Blue Willow
and they had been married.

“I can’t leave her,” Royce said, giving his wife an
affectionate squeeze. “She wouldn’t be happy living among the whites, and I
wouldn’t be happy without her, so…” He shrugged. “I’ve decided to stay here.”
He glanced from Lacey to Matt and frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve seen you
somewhere before, haven’t I?”

“Yeah. We were traveling companions.”

Royce nodded slowly. “I remember now. You were on your way
to Yuma. I thought the Indians got you.”

“They did, but Lacey stepped in and saved my life.”

“I see.”

“I can’t blame you for not being overjoyed to learn your
daughter’s married to a man convicted of murder,” Matt said evenly, “but I
didn’t kill that kid. I swear it.”

“You’ll excuse me if I appear a little skeptical,” Royce
Montana replied wryly, “but every man in that wagon swore he was innocent.”

“Including you?”

“No. I was guilty as hell.”

“Daddy!”

“It’s true, Lacey. I killed Lemuel Webster. The fact that I
was drunk at the time doesn’t mean a thing.” Royce Montana stroked his wife’s
arm, his eyes haunted and sad. “It’s something I’ll have to live with the rest
of my life.” He smiled wistfully. “No more sad tales tonight,” he said with
forced cheerfulness. “I’m glad you’re here, Lacey. You and Matt can bed down in
our lodge for now. Tomorrow I’ll go and have a talk with Lame Bear. He’s Blue
Willow’s father and just happens to be one of the chiefs. I’m sure he’ll agree
to let you stay for a while, if that’s what you want to do.”

Lacey glanced at Matt hopefully. “Can we stay, Matt? At
least for a few days.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“It’s settled then,” Royce Montana said. “I don’t know about
the rest of you, but I’m beat. I think I’ll turn in.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Matt agreed. “I’m going
outside for a few minutes.”

“Me, too,” Lacey said, and taking Matt’s hand, she followed
him out of the wickiup and into the trees.

“Are you happy now?” Matt asked.

“Yes. He looks well, doesn’t he? I think living with the
Indians must agree with him.”

“I reckon,” Matt allowed, “but it hasn’t done me any good.
I’m sore as hell.”

Lacey came to stand beside her husband, her eyes filled with
concern. “Does it hurt very much?” she asked, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

“Does what hurt?” Matt asked ruefully. “The burns across my
belly, or the knife wound in my side?”

“Matt, I’m serious. Are you in much pain?”

“No.” He pulled Lacey into his arms and kissed her fiercely.
“Lacey…”

“I know. I want you, too.”

His mouth closed over hers again, evoking a quick response.
Lacey’s arms twined around Matt’s neck as she pressed her body to his, loving
the hard muscular length of him, reveling in the way her whole being seemed to
come alive at his touch. She did not protest when he began to unlace the ties
that held the tunic together, nor did she offer any resistance as he lowered
her to the ground. The grass was cool beneath her naked flesh, but the gentle
caress of Matt’s hands and mouth quickly warmed her. Uttering a little cry of
contentment, she began to undress Matt, her fingers delighting in the touch of
his flesh, in his sudden intake of breath as her hands lightly stroked his
thighs and belly and then boldly caressed him.

She felt gloriously alive as Matt lowered his long body over
hers, and shuddered with pleasure as his skin touched her own. For a moment,
time seemed to stand still and she was aware of everything around her, the
smell of roasting meat and sage, the damp grass beneath her back, the twinkling
stars dancing across the darkened sky, the sound of a distant drum. Her heart
was beating rapidly, and she felt wild and primitive and free.

She sighed as Matt’s hands roamed restlessly over her flesh.
His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was long and possessive and demanding. At
first, Lacey held back, fearful of causing Matt pain, but he seemed oblivious
to his wounds, to everything but his desire for her, and for the urgent need to
join their bodies into one flesh. She cried Matt’s name as his life poured into
her, moaned softly as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, filling her
with sweet ecstasy.

Feeling weary and utterly content, Matt rolled off Lacey but
did not let her go. Loving her was like a balm to his body and soul, healing
his wounds, easing his pain. Holding her close, he fell asleep.

“Matt?” Lacey whispered his name, unable to believe he had
fallen asleep so quickly. But then, she mused, he had not had a good night’s
sleep for two days. Add to that the fact that he had been in a fight and
wounded several times, and she supposed it was little wonder that he was
exhausted. Smiling faintly, she wondered where he had found the stamina to make
love to her.

She was still smiling when she, too, drifted to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Lacey hummed softly as she gathered an armful of twigs and
branches and began walking back toward her father’s wickiup. Three weeks had
passed since they had arrived at the Apache camp. The Chiricahua chief, Lame
Bear, had agreed that Matt and Lacey could stay in the village as guests of the
white man called Pale Buffalo. Matt surmised that they were not so much guests
as prisoners, but they were allowed to come and go within the village as they
pleased, although Matt was not allowed to carry a weapon and they had been
warned not to try to leave the village.

Lacey learned a lot about the Indians in the days that
followed. She had once viewed the Apache as less than human, but now, living
with them, watching them, she discovered they were a complex and fascinating
people. They ate their dogs and their horses when meat was scarce, yet they
would not eat the fish that were plentiful in the river because they believed
that the fish was related to the snake and therefore cursed and unfit for
consumption. The warriors could be cruel, savage, but they were caring fathers,
capable of great tenderness and love as they played with their children. The
women could be as ferocious as the men, and they often fought at their husbands’
sides, yet they were loving mothers and devoted wives.

The Chiricahua were a religious people who prayed often to
their god,
Usen
, the Giver of Life. There were prayers and songs for the
sick and the dying, and for the dead. There were chants for planting and
harvesting, songs for war and for love. Despite their warlike ways, the Indians
had a great respect for life, all life. People, plants, animals, the earth
itself, all were respected and revered. Each rock, each tree, each blade of
grass was believed to have a spirit of its own. Blood ties were strong,
virtually unbreakable. Friends were treated the same as family and were
supported and protected. Tribal laws and taboos were strictly enforced;
punishment was swift.

Life among the Chiricahua was different than life with the
Mescalero. Lacey was not a slave now, and though the Apache way of life was
rigorous, she was happier than she had ever been in her life, and that
surprised her. After her last few encounters with Indians, she had never expected
to feel at ease among them, yet she was learning to appreciate them as a
people. She found herself singing as she worked, smiling with the Indian women,
laughing with the children. Life was hard, but it was good. Her father was
alive and in good health, Matt’s wounds were healing beautifully, and Blue
Willow had become a dear friend.

The only fly in the ointment was High Yellow Cloud. He had
not yet recovered from his defeat at Matt’s hands, and Lacey was sorely afraid
that, sooner or later, the Apache warrior would seek his revenge for the
humiliation he had suffered at Matt’s hands. Often she caught the warrior
staring at her, his dark eyes filled with anger and desire. He still wanted her
for his woman, and the knowledge bothered Lacey greatly.

When Lacey reached her father’s lodge, she stacked the wood
she had collected near the door, then began to help Blue Willow prepare the
morning meal. She smiled fondly at Matt, who was shaving under the amused eye
of several young Apache children. Indian men did not have much facial hair, and
what little they had, they plucked out.

Lacey laughed softly when Matt nicked himself and the Apache
children howled with delight. Oh, but it was good to be alive and in love on
such a glorious morning, she thought happily, and when Matt came to kiss her, a
wave of well-being washed over her.

In the days that followed, Matt began to wear buckskins and
moccasins. His skin, already brown, grew even darker. His hair, as black and
straight as any Indian’s, hung almost to his shoulders. Indeed, Lacey mused, he
looked almost like an Apache himself.

Others in the village thought the same, and when High Yellow
Cloud remarked that the white man had claimed to be the son of Hummingbird, the
news spread quickly through the village. One warrior, Red Knife, was
particularly interested in Matt’s claim. Hummingbird had been his cousin. Her
father had sold her to a white man for a new rifle and a jug of corn liquor, to
the everlasting shame of his family.

Matt and Lacey were sitting outside late one afternoon when
Red Knife and his entire family approached the lodge. Lacey looked at Matt, her
heart in her throat. Something was wrong. Why else would so many Indians be
coming toward them, their faces grave?

Matt stood up as Red Knife approached him. “Welcome to our
lodge,” Matt said formally. “Will you eat?”

Red Knife nodded. He sat down on Matt’s right, and the rest
of his family sat down behind him.

Rising, Lacey quickly prepared a plate of food and offered
it to the Indians. They each took a helping, nodding their thanks.

They would have accepted whatever she offered, Lacey knew.
To refuse would be impolite. She had quickly learned that the rules of behavior
in an Apache camp were just as strictly adhered to as were those in the East.
When the Indians had finished eating, Red Knife and Matt discussed the
possibilities of hunting together, and then Red Knife brought up the real
reason for his visit.

“High Yellow Cloud tells me your mother was of the
Dineh
,”
the warrior said, his eyes locked on Matt’s.

“Yes. Her name was Hummingbird.” Red Knife nodded. Turning
to those gathered behind him, he repeated what Matt had said in his own
language. There was a brief flurry of excited chatter, and then all eyes
focused on Matt. Their expressions were no longer sober, but warm with welcome.
“We are your family,” Red Knife said, his voice thick with emotion. “Your
mother was my cousin.”

Matt nodded, his heart swelling with emotion as he gazed at
the men, women, and children clustered in the lodge. These people were his kin,
blood of his blood.

Lacey stared up at Matt, trying to comprehend what Red Knife
had said. Matt was an Indian. These people were all related to him. She was
married to a man who was half Apache.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The next day, Matt’s female relatives erected a lodge for
Matt and Lacey to live in. Other members of the tribe brought gifts, blankets
and robes, eating utensils, cooking pots, a drying rack, a pair of willow
backrests.

Matt was touched by the generosity of his new-found family,
and with the help of Blue Willow and Royce Montana, he put on a feast for the
whole tribe. The Apache were pleased with his gesture of friendship, and Matt
and Lacey became members of the tribe instead of unwelcome guests.

In the weeks that followed, Matt spent a lot of time with
Red Knife, and when Lacey asked, somewhat jealously, what they were doing, Matt
replied, a little sheepishly, that Red Knife was teaching him to be a warrior.

“A warrior!” Lacey exclaimed. “Whatever for?”

Matt shrugged. “If my father had stayed here, I would have
been raised as an Apache. I’ve always been curious about that part of my
heritage, always wondered what it would have been like to grow up among the
Indians. This may be the only chance I have to find out.”

Lacey nodded. She supposed she couldn’t blame Matt for
wanting to learn more about his mother’s people, about the way they lived and
what their beliefs were.

In a short time, Lacey saw changes in Matt. He began to pick
up the Apache language with an ease that was astonishing. He learned to shoot a
bow and arrow and throw a lance. He participated in many of the warrior
activities, like hunting and wrestling, gambling and horse racing.

Lacey resented the time he spent away from her. They were
newlyweds, after all, and his place was with her. But Matt was too caught up in
the newness of belonging to be aware of her feelings, too eager to be accepted
as a warrior.

Blue Willow shrugged when Lacey complained. “It is our way
of life,” the Indian woman said serenely. “The men do not seem to work very
hard, but their games of skill and strength are a way of honing their hunting
and fighting skills. They must always be ready to protect the village. A man
who is burdened with gathering wood or drawing water becomes soft and lazy. We
have a few men in the village who do not care for manly things.” Blue Willow
gestured toward a nearby lodge where a man sat near a fire. He had a baby on
his lap and was grinding corn into flour. “That one never cared for hunting or
fighting. He would rather spend his time with the women, caring for children,
or cooking. He is a good man, a kind man, but he is not a warrior.” Blue Willow
threw Lacey a probing glance. “Would you prefer a man like that to the one you
have?”

“No, of course not,” Lacey answered quickly.

“Do not think your man loves you less because he spends so
much time with Red Knife. Matt is learning who he is. I am sure he will be more
attentive once he has discovered who he is and what he is.”

“Thank you, Blue Willow. I’ve been behaving foolishly.”

Walking back to her own lodge, Lacey paused to watch Matt
and a handful of other warriors engaged in a lively tussle. Matt wore only a
brief deerskin clout and moccasins, and she could not help noticing that he was
far and away the strongest, the most surefooted, and the handsomest man in the
group. He wrestled four warriors, one after the other, and won each time.

Lacey could not help feeling a thrill of pride as he bested
the last man. He was a joy to watch. His deep blue eyes sparkled with
excitement, his muscles rippled like quicksilver under his tawny skin as he
wrestled the last man to the ground, then good-naturedly offered the warrior a
hand up.

The Apache men were impressed with Matt’s skill. Bravery,
cunning, strength, and endurance were qualities that were much admired, and
Matt possessed them all. Of course, there were a few Indians, High Yellow Cloud
foremost among them, who hated Matt simply because he was half white. For them,
that was reason enough, and nothing Matt could say or do would change it.

There were women who felt that way, too. They shunned Lacey,
refusing to speak to her or acknowledge her presence. They made nasty remarks
about her behind her back, gesturing and pointing in a most impolite manner.
Lacey ignored them as best she could, but it hurt to know they hated her simply
because of the color of her skin.

Surprisingly, she quickly fell into the routine of the
village. Food was always available in an Apache camp, and the warriors ate
whenever they were hungry rather than at set times during the day. Lacey kept
their lodge tidy, cooked the meals, gathered wood and water, and bathed each
morning after breakfast, usually with Blue Willow. She learned to make ash
cakes out of ground mesquite beans, tallow, and honey. She became adept at
skinning the game Matt brought home, and she learned where to find the acorns,
sunflower seeds, pine nuts, juniper berries, and mesquite beans that made up a
good part of the Apache diet.

The men spent much of their time hunting. Deer was the most
sought-after game, and there were specific thoughts and ceremonies that
preceded a hunt. The men fasted, and they were not to wash or put on anything
aromatic that the deer might smell. A hunter was to be reverent and generous.
The kill must be shared with others.

In addition to deer, the warriors hunted opossum, cougars,
skunks, wood rats, raccoons, and cottontail rabbits. Jackrabbits were not used
for food. Wild hogs and prairie dogs were not eaten because they ate snakes,
which were taboo. The Chiricahua also had a strong dislike for pork, fish, and
frogs, the latter two being classed with snakes. Lacey thought it strange that
the Indians would eat skunks and wood rats, but not pork or fish. The badger,
beaver, and otter were hunted for their fur.

As the days passed, Lacey absorbed many of the Apache
beliefs and customs. The Chiricahua did not speak the names of the dead. A man
did not speak to his mother-in-law. The only things a warrior owned were his
horse and his weapons. Everything else, including the lodge, belonged to his
wife. The Chiricahua believed that everything was alive. The trees, the
mountains, the rocks and the grass, the earth and the water, all possessed a
spirit. Life Giver was given credit for the creation of the universe. Feminine
qualities were attributed to the earth, and in all ceremonial chants, the earth
was referred to as Earth Woman. Lightning and thunder were believed to be
persons from whom power could be obtained. Lightning was the arrow of the
Thunder People, the flash being the flight of the arrow across the sky.
According to Apache belief, the Thunder People had once acted as hunters for
the People and their arrows had killed all the game the tribe could use. But,
according to legend, the People had been ungrateful for the bounty they had
received. The Thunder People had been offended by their lack of appreciation
and had stopped hunting for the People.

Lacey especially enjoyed tales of Coyote. Often, late at
night around the campfire, the old ones told stories of Coyote, who was a
trickster with few redeeming qualities. Coyote opened a bag he was told not to
touch, thereby bringing darkness to the world. It was Coyote who introduced
wickedness to the People, gluttony, lying, stealing, adultery, and all other
evil practices were first done by Coyote. Warriors who were guilty of such
crimes were said to be following Coyote’s trail.

Child of the Waters was the Apache hero. His mother was
Ihsta-nedleheh
,
or White Painted Woman, who existed from the beginning and was impregnated by
Water. Another hero was Killer of Enemies. It was believed that White Painted
Woman and Killer of Enemies had once shared the earth with humans.

Matt and Lacey had been in the village for almost two months
when one of the young girls started her menses, thereby becoming a woman in the
eyes of the tribe. There was a puberty ritual the following night.