Mr. Bragg’s voice, as he told me the story, held almost a grudging respect.
“Wouldn’t budge from his story, no matter how they tried to get under his skin with all the taunts and the innuendos about his being part Indian, out to prove somethin’ with a white woman. He all but told them to their faces they’d have to take his story or leave it, though I think he knew by then that the crowd in the courtroom was out for blood. They’d been hoping he’d show up scared and begging for his life, and they didn’t like his attitude. Only thing saved him from a hangrope, I think, was that your pa was so well thought of in the territory, and although he didn’t flaunt his powerful connections and his wealth like Todd Shannon, he did have a reputation for bein’ both fair and honest. God knows both commodities are only too rare in New Mexico!”
“So?”
“Your pa was a friend of the territorial governor, and the judge didn’t exactly want to go up against him, ’specially when he gave evidence that Luke Cord could have gotten away if he’d wanted to, that he’d given himself up willingly, to prove his innocence. But you see, Lady Rowena, there were those other killings, too, and Todd Shannon sitting there glowering. The jury came back with a guilty verdict. They were all local men, farmers and ranchers and merchants, none of them daring to go against Todd Shannon, even if they’d wanted to. Luke Cord is half Apache, brought up by them, and not a man but didn’t hate the Injuns.
“Your pa hoped for an acquittal, and Todd Shannon wanted a hanging. The judge compromised. He sentenced Luke Cord to imprisonment for life, and I guess that to a young man used to the freedom of the mountains, that must have been worse than hanging. Men have been known to go berserk, hearin’ a sentence like that passed on them. I remember that everyone in that courtroom was watchin’ his face, hoping he’d crack. But he went as still as stone, not a muscle moving to show what he was really feeling inside.”
“So he did go to jail? But I thought…”
“You’ve heard he’s loose now?” Mr. Bragg nodded sagely. “Yes, that’s right, he is. They sent him to Alcatraz federal prison, in California, an island hellhole. But then, a year or so after, the War Between the States broke out. And that’s how Luke Cord got out of jail. He was a free man, pardoned on condition he’d act as scout for the Union armies in the Southwest. The irony of it all was that Todd Shannon had joined Terry’s Rangers, and was fightin’ for the South, while your father managed the SD.”
I had felt myself caught up in all the violence and action of the past, a past that I had to understand if I was to cope with the present. Todd Shannon had intrigued me, and now I found myself wondering about Lucas Cord. A wild young man, a murderer, and perhaps a rapist as well. But my father had believed in him, and I found myself wondering why. Because he was Elena’s son, or because my father had actually felt that Lucas was the victim of injustice?
It was easy to ask myself questions, but I would find no answers until I took possession of my new home. What would I find when I arrived there? Not too much of a welcome, I was sure, for Todd Shannon, who was now forced into partnership with me, resented my intrusion even before he had met me. Mark Shannon, his nephew, the son of the same Mrs. Shannon who had been so kind to me during my sojourn in Boston, was an unknown quantity. But what of Flo Jeffords, formerly Flo Shannon, who had left her rich old husband to return to New Mexico? What kind of woman had she turned out to be, and how would she react to my presence?
I was intrigued. Challenged, if you will. All these people that I had heard so much about, their lives inextricably bound together. Would my coming act as a catalyst? Was that what my father had hoped for?
Five
As occupied by my thoughts and plans as I was, the journey to New Mexico still seemed to take an almost interminable time. I was fortunate enough to travel by rail as far as Colorado, but from there the journey became rough, for I had to travel by stagecoach. At that point, I was glad that I had chosen to travel in what Corinne had despairingly called my “disguise,” for the shabby clothes I had chosen to wear were far better suited for this kind of travel than my expensive garments would have been. The trunks containing my finery were to follow me later. For the moment I had only one trunk and a portmanteau, a fact for which I was thankful when I realized how many stops we would have to make, and how many times I would have to change coaches.
We arrived in Santa Rita just before noon, and by this time my black traveling dress felt uncomfortably damp. High-necked and long-sleeved, it seemed hardly suited to this hot climate, although I reminded myself that I had dressed just so in India, where it had been even hotter and more humid.
The fact remained that I had been traveling since early morning, and I suppose I looked just as wilted as I felt. The tinted spectacles I wore protected my eyes from the blinding glare, but made me look almost as I had done on that day I had arrived in England. The only change was within myself.
A fat drummer, who had been sitting opposite me all the way from Santa Fe, and had eyed me curiously from time to time, thought to help me out of the coach. As I waited with the others for my trunk to be unloaded, I had the opportunity to look around.
Santa Rita was a small, rowdy mining town, much like others I had passed through. The streets were dusty and unpaved, the buildings either wooden, false-fronted structures or made from adobe, Spanish-style. I saw nothing to recommend either it or the usual crowd of hangers-on who waited for the arrival of the stage.
I noticed as many
Mexicans as there were white men, a few soldiers in their blue uniforms, and even some Indians, with blankets around their shoulders.
It was only when I heard one of my fellow passengers mutter to another, “Hey, will you lookit that welcoming committee? Darned if that ain’t Todd Shannon hisself,” that I realized that Mrs. Shannon must have done as she had threatened and telegraphed her son.
I had the advantage, though, of being able to study them before they discovered who I was.
I thought I recognized Mark Shannon, a blond, handsome young man who had his mother’s nose and coloring. Beside him, in the buckboard, sat an extremely pretty blonde woman, holding a parasol over her head. Flo Jeffords? She had a voluptuously curved figure which her gown showed off to advantage, but her mouth had a petulant droop to it. Obviously, she was not happy at being forced to sit here, waiting in the blazing sunlight. I saw her turn to a man who sat on horseback beside the buggy and say something, her face looking sulkier than ever.
But once my eyes had found him, it was this man who held my attention. He was the kind of man who would have held anyone’s attention. What had Corinne called him? “A big, blond giant of a man.”
Yes, but I had imagined he would be different, after all the years that had passed. He had been my father’s partner, yet he looked so untouched by time that he still appeared a comparatively young man! His reddish blond hair was only slightly touched by gray at the temples. He had harsh, craggy features and a wide, thin-lipped mouth under an arrogant beak of a nose. I could understand, unwillingly, why Corinne had once told me her uncle was the kind of man women would turn around in the street to look at a second time. He had a certain assurance of manner, an arrogance that I resented, even while I could not help admiring it. So this was the man who was my partner!
Todd Shannon’s gun belt hung low on his hip, and he wore plain range clothes. I saw his narrow lips curve under his drooping blond moustache as he turned his head to speak to his nephew. Predictably, he had a voice that carried, too.
“Thought you said she’d be here for sure, Mark! What in hell are we waiting for? Gettin’ mighty tired of meeting these damn stagecoaches, too!”
Mark Shannon, poor young man, looked embarrassed. “Now, Uncle Todd! All Mama said was that Lady Rowena had left Boston and expected to arrive here around today. We don’t know if she decided to stop off somewhere else.”
“She could have let us know, couldn’t she?”
“Pa, couldn’t we get out of the sun now? We’ve watched everyone get out…”
I decided that Flo Jeffords was a female who was used to getting her way.
It was at that moment that the driver, a grizzled, obliging man who swore quite ferociously as the coach slewed around curves, handed me down my trunk.