The Wildest Heart

Could I say the same for myself?

During the week that followed, it was made clear to me that Todd had meant what he had said. He did not attempt to force his presence on me again; in that alone he was subtle. But I was reminded in countless other ways of my rather ambiguous position here, and his power.

For instance, I became suddenly aware that I was being followed wherever I went, and watched. When I went out riding now, there were always two or three men who seemed to appear from nowhere, and trailed me at a distance. If I protested angrily, they would tug at their hat-brims and apologize—and tell me that Mr. Shannon had given orders I was to be escorted wherever I wished to go. When I ordered them to stop following me, they would disappear from sight for a while, but I knew, nevertheless, that they were somewhere about—lurking behind trees or stumps of mesquite, no doubt, I would think maliciously; watching me through field glasses.

Even when I went to Santa Rita, accompanied by both Jules and Marta, to visit the post office there, I saw the familiar faces of SD men, the familiar brand on several of the horses that lined the hitching posts. And it was Jules who told me that Todd had actually posted a guard on the house at night—all this for my “protection,” of course!

I protested furiously to Mark, whom I seldom saw these days. He admitted that Todd kept him busy with various errands and business trips. Legal matters that conveniently cropped up just at this time. And he was as unhappy at the situation as I was, although he tried to be fair.

“I know how you must hate it, but after all it is for your own good in a way, Rowena. The Apaches have been getting more daring in their raids of late. They overran a small homestead less than fifty miles from here just the other day! And there seems to be a well-organized gang of rustlers operating in this area as well; didn’t Uncle Todd tell you? The SD alone has lost over a hundred head during the past two weeks. There’s been talk of all the ranchers banding together to form a vigilante committee; the soldiers are too busy chasing Indians to be of much help. So you see…”

I could not control the telltale leaping of my pulse at the mention of rustlers, and Mark’s penetrating look made me feel I had given myself away, so that I said quickly, “But I won’t put up with it! And if Todd thinks he can force me to marry him by using these tactics…”

“He cannot force you to marry him, of course,” Mark said soothingly, but I thought he frowned slightly.

“And he cannot force me to keep his men on my land.” I went on recklessly, “Suppose I hired my own cowboys? Men who would take orders from me. I’m tired of being watched over like a prisoner.”

“Rowena, please be sensible, face facts. How many men in this part of the country would take orders from a woman? Oh, I suppose that with sufficient money you could hire professional gunfighters, but remember that such men are born predators and how long do you think you’d be able to control them alone? Surely you can’t mean to start a range war, with all its attendant bloodshed, merely because my uncle insists that you must have protection? Woman or not, there won’t be a soul in the territory who would condone such an action on your part. I hate to sound so severe and uncompromising, but you must realize that for the moment, my uncle has the advantage of you. If you’ll only be patient…”

“Patient! When your uncle thinks he can wear down my resistance or drive me away? There are times when I feel I might go mad—either with rage or with boredom. What am I waiting for? Why hasn’t Montoya contacted me yet? And you for all your protestations of friendship—you let yourself be sent away like a… a…”

I stopped suddenly, my fingers pressed against my mouth; appalled at what I had almost said.

But Mark, his face white with suppressed emotion, finished my sentence for me. “Like a lackey, you mean? One day, I will prove to you that I…”

“Mark, don’t be angry with me—I’m sorry! I didn’t even know what I was saying. It’s not like me to get so emotional.” I tried to laugh, and the sound I made was more like a sob.

“It’s this heat, I suppose. And everything else. If only I knew if Mr. Bragg is really alive, and where he is—if only there was something I could do to prove I was of some use, that my coming here had some purpose!”

“But it had! Never think otherwise.” His own hurt forgotten, Mark put his hands on my shoulders and looked seriously into my face. “Listen, since it means so much to you, I’ll do what I can to contact this man Montoya

again. I have to go to Las Cruces tomorrow, and I’ll spend an extra day there if I have to. I’ll talk to him myself, if I can. If Mr. Bragg is alive, we’ll find him. And if necessary, when I return to Boston I’ll hire another Pinkerton man to discover what happened to him.”

“When you go back to Boston?” Dismayed, I stared into Mark’s face. “But you never mentioned… surely you’re not going to leave me here alone?”

I sounded like a spoiled, selfish child. I realized it soon after I had spoken, and tried to make amends.

“I’m sorry. I should have realized that this is not yet your home, and you have a law practice which you love. How self-centered you must think me!”

“Rowena.” Mark’s fingers tightened, pressing into my flesh. “I have wanted to say this to you for a long time, but I wasn’t certain. You sounded as if you might miss me. Is it possible? Listen to me, and don’t interrupt me until I have finished, or I will never find the courage to say it again. You know I love you—you don’t know yet how much. Let me prove it to you. Come back East with me, please! This is no place for you—or for me either. Remember when you called us both misfits? Marry me, Rowena. Let my uncle keep his empire, what does it matter? You can have nothing but unpleasant memories of this place; you need to put them behind you. You know how your father died, and you know what his last wishes were. You can see to everything without having to be here yourself, and to suffer any longer. Even if you will not marry me, at least agree to come back with me to Boston. Call it a holiday if you will. My mother would love to have you live with her until you make up your mind. Rowena! Can’t you see how impossible it has become for you to live here any longer?”

I looked into Mark’s pleading face, and I could think of nothing to say except, feebly: “But your uncle! He would never forgive you.”

“And if I have you my uncle can go hang, and so can the inheritance he holds over my head!” Mark’s voice was impassioned. “My God! Sometimes it’s more like a yoke about my neck! If not for you, I wouldn’t have stayed here this long. Rowena, before I go, and I must leave you soon, will you promise that you’ll think about what I have said? I don’t want an answer now. I want you to be sure in your own mind.”

And that was how things stood until the day before Mark was due to return from Las Cruces… and Lucas came back into my life.

Thirty-Seven

I had had time to think, since Mark had been gone. He was later than he had estimated he would be in getting back from Las Cruces, and while I wondered whether his delay had any significance, I was glad to have some time to myself. I realized that I had begun to cling to Mark, and to depend on the strength and comfort he offered me.

I had too many things on my mind. There was Mark, and the answer he would expect from me when he returned. What could I tell him? And there was Todd, who in a twisted way both hated and desired me; he had given me a month’s grace in which to make up my mind whether I would marry him or run away. Whenever I thought of Todd I felt angry. Did he really think he could compel me to marry him? I tried to tell myself that Todd was an egotist, too much obsessed with a sense of his own power, too used to trampling over the feelings of others. And yet I persisted in feeling uneasy. It was strange that he should continue to stay away from me, especially with Mark gone. I was positive he knew of every movement I made; his men continued to follow me everywhere. What did he hope to achieve?

I attempted to set a pattern to my days, a certain routine that I could follow automatically. I went riding as usual, pretending to ignore my distant escorts. In the afternoon, when it grew too hot to stay outdoors, I read my father’s journals, hoping to understand him better.

There was another reason why I tried to keep myself busy, and so tired that I would fall into bed every night, almost too exhausted to think. A reason I was not yet ready to face—a nagging suspicion I tried to avoid I had always resented certain inescapable physical proofs that I was a woman, and subject to all the weaknesses and infirmity of my sex. There were times when I wished fiercely that I had been born a man. But now it was too late for wishing. I had learned to avoid Marta’s worried eyes when she insisted upon bringing me my hot chocolate each morning, and I shook my head just as stubbornly, or pushed my cup away after taking a single sip. No, I told myself. It was the heat, nothing else. And the fact that I slept only fitfully and uneasily of late, tossing and turning; waking from strange, haunted nightmares to thoughts that were even more painful.

Since Mark had left, all days seemed the same. Until that particular day that I began to write of earlier, and still recall in every detail.