Breathless(67)

After Ruth’s departure, Kent and Portia, accompanied by Rhine, Matt, and Cal, rode out to the Blanchard place to get a feel for where they might want to build the new house and how large or small it and the outbuildings would be.

“I think I’d like the house built a bit more to the west,” Kent said. “That way the horse paddock can be larger and give us better access to the pond.”

Portia agreed. It would also allow the house to be on higher ground and less likely to be affected by flash flooding from the rains. They were discussing the placement of the barn when Matt said quietly, “We got company.”

Everyone looked up and froze. Apaches. The five riders approached almost silently, moving like specters in the shimmering heat. As they neared, Portia saw the lined brown face of a short man who could only be Geronimo. She’d seen his likeness in the newspapers. Beside him rode a woman in men’s clothing. Lozen. The sister of the great Apache chief Victorio. She was one of her people’s fiercest warriors. Her feats and exploits were the stuff of legends and she was a shaman so powerful, she could supposedly sense the location of the enemy. Her gift of prophecy was said to be one of the reasons Geronimo managed to avoid capture. Her presence sent chills up Portia’s spine.

For a long moment, the two groups assessed each other silently. Finally, Lozen spoke. “Where’s the old man?”

Rhine nodded at Portia and she knew he wanted her to respond. Keeping her voice calm, she replied, “He died of old age, but his friends were murdered and his house was burned to the ground.”

The band murmured angrily and Lozen studied her closely. “Were the killers caught?”

“No, but the leader is dead.”

Beside her, Geronimo nodded as if the answer was a satisfying one.

“He was a friend,” Lozen stated.

“Mine too.”

“We came for beef. Our people are hungry. The old man was always generous.”

Portia thought about the women and children who’d escaped with them and wished she could help. “The murderers ran off the cattle and they haven’t been found. All we can offer is water for your horses.”

There was no doubt in Portia’s mind that the woman possessed an unearthly power because it emanated from her like charged air before a storm.

Lozen’s eyes touched the faces of Rhine, Kent, and Matt before focusing again on Portia. She gave Portia a terse nod. The Apache band reined their horses around and walked them to the pond. While the horses drank, Geronimo and the others did, too. They filled their canteens, remounted, and without a backward glance rode off slowly the way they’d come. Only after they were out of sight did Portia realize she’d been holding her breath.

Cal cracked, “I don’t know about anyone else but I think that’s more than enough excitement for one day.”

Still focused on the area where Lozen and her band had disappeared, Portia agreed.

Matt asked, “Do you think they’ll be back?”

“Probably not,” Portia told him. With Mr. Blanchard gone, she doubted they’d have a reason, and with the army searching for them they couldn’t afford to spend long periods of time anywhere for fear of capture. When she and Regan were young Mr. Blanchard often told them tales about his early days in the territory and how helpful the Apache had been in showing him the best places to hunt and fish. Portia supposed by secretly providing them with beef, he’d been returning the favor.



A few days before the wedding, a man from Flagstaff stopped in. His name was Frazier Nogales. “I’m here to see Mr. Fontaine,” he told Portia, who’d answered the bell. “David Neal said he’s looking for a good carpenter to build a house?”

“Yes. Come in, Mr. Nogales. Let me get him.”

So Rhine, Portia, and Kent met with the man in Rhine’s office and were impressed with his credentials and experience. “Been building houses all my life,” he said. “My brothers and I learned the trade from our father and uncles, who learned from our grandfather and great uncles in Sonora when this territory was still part of Mexico.”

When told that the house and land would be a wedding present to Portia and Kent, he nodded approvingly. “My daughter was married last year. I built her and her husband a home up near Oracle. I’ll be a grandfather in September,” he added proudly.

Portia liked him.

He brought out some plans for them to look at and they talked about the size, shape, and orientation. He asked to see the land and a trip was arranged. Kent said, “Whatever we decide, the house will need an office on the back with a separate entrance for my wife’s business.”

Portia went still.

Mr. Nogales eyed her. “What kind of business?”

“Bookkeeping.”

He studied her for a moment then asked about her experience. When she told him she’d attended Oberlin, handled the books for the hotel, and had apprenticed at a bank in San Francisco, he appeared impressed. “My wife keeps my books, but she doesn’t like it and never has. She’s been begging me to find someone to replace her, and now with the new baby on the way, she’s putting her foot down. She doesn’t want to be doing figures when she could be up in Oracle spoiling the grandchild. Are you looking for new customers?”

Portia held on to her excitement. “I am.”

“Then let’s get your build under way and we’ll talk about your replacing my Luisa and how much it will cost me. Agreed?”