Under the Desert Sky Page 7

  “My Lord, Phoebe!”

  Phoebe laughed again, then took Gwen inside and led her into the bedroom. She pointed to the hole in the ceiling. “Evidently his boots were sitting just over where the bullet came through.”

  At that moment, there was a knock at the door. “Senora Sloan?”

  “That must be the boys.” Phoebe went to the front door. “Good morning, Cornello, I’m glad you’re back. Where’s Trinidad? Did he go to check the incubator?”

  Cornello lowered his head and removed his hat. “No, ma’am, that is why I am here.”

  “Oh, dear, has something happened?”

  Cornello cleared his throat and looked away before he spoke. “Sí, he is in la cárcel.”

  “He’s in jail?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Judge Johnstone put him in jail when he not pay his fine.”

  “What did he do, Cornello? Tell me, no matter how bad it is.”

  “He had his gun with him, but he did not show it.”

  “You mean he had a concealed weapon,” Gwen said, overhearing the conversation. “Everybody knows you can’t do that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cornello nodded. “He needs fifty dollars to get out of la cárcel. He say to get it from you, senora.”

  “Fifty dollars! I don’t have fifty dollars. Trinidad will have to stay in jail if he thinks I can come up with that kind of money. How long has he been there?”

  “This his second day.”

  “His second day? Cornello, do you know if either you or Trinidad has seen Rojas Montoya?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I see him at the fiesta.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Bad things. He say lots of damage. He say we go.”

  Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “What kind of bad things?”

  “Lots of people die. Rojas brother . . . my sister—they both live in Galveston. We go see if hurricane”—Cornello made a swirling motion with his hand—“blow them away.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cornello. Of course you should go. I have five dollars. Will that help you?” Phoebe turned to go back in the house before Cornello could answer. When she returned, she handed him the money. “If you see Trinidad, tell him I can’t help him.”

  “But who will help you, senora? The eggs—don’t forget to turn them.”

  “I will.” Phoebe didn’t want to tell Cornello what had happened because she thought it was important for him to go to his sister in Galveston. The papers had been full of accounts of the mounting death toll, now numbered in the thousands, and by comparison twenty-five eggs was a small loss. Phoebe hugged Cornello. “I hope you find your sister well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cornello put on his hat and turned to go.

  Phoebe and Gwen watched the old man walk away. “He won’t be back,” Gwen said.

  “I think not. Did you hear him remind me to turn the eggs? That proves he knows nothing about what happened, so he couldn’t possibly have told Rojas, which means Rojas couldn’t possibly have told Frank. The only way Frank could’ve known about the broken eggs is if he’s the one responsible.”

  “From the moment I first heard, there was no doubt in my mind as to who broke them. But what are you going to do now? With Cornello gone and Trinidad in jail, who’s going to help you?”

  “Christian suggested he might bring over a friend who came with him from South Africa. Maybe I should take him up on his offer.”

  “That would be July.”

  “It seems like a strange nickname.”

  “I don’t think it’s a nickname. I think it’s the only name he has—not even a last name.”

  “No last name? How can that be?”

  “He’s a Zulu.”

  “Oh?” Phoebe’s eyes opened wide.

  Gwen laughed. “He’s a most endearing man, and I’ll say this. If July comes to take care of you, no one, not even Frank Sloan, will dare cross you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s a big man—practically a giant. July will make an excellent bodyguard for you, and besides, Buck says he knows a lot about ostriches.”

  “That’s good. I hope Christian was serious, because it sounds like July is just the person I need right now.”

  • • •

  “Yhomas said you could keep the horse over at Mrs. Sloan’s place for as long as you need it,” Christian said as he and July saddled their mounts. “You’re sure you don’t mind doing this?”

  “Does Mrs. Sloan know that I’m . . .”

  “A black man?” Christian chuckled. “Now that you bring it up, I don’t think I mentioned it. What I said was that you’re a good man. And right now I’ll feel better knowing there’s a good man over at her place to look out for her.”

  “Why don’t you stay there, then?”

  “I thought about that, but I don’t think it’d look right.”

  Now it was July’s turn to laugh. “You think in America, where you and I couldn’t stay in the same hotel, it’ll look better if a black man stays with this woman than it will if you stay with her?”

  “You won’t be there by yourself. She has two men who work for her, but I don’t expect they know too much about raising ostriches. Maybe you can teach them a thing or two.”

  “Maybe, if they’ll listen to me.”

  • • •

  When they arrived at Phoebe’s place, Will came running out to meet them. “Wet! You’ve come back!”

  “Yes, but I can’t stay very long.” Christian and July dismounted.

  Will looked up at July in awe. “Are you a giant?”

  Christian smiled, pleased that what Will had noticed first about July was his size.

  “Will, this is my friend July. And if July is my friend, and I am your friend, that means July must also be your friend.”

  Will smiled. “Do you want to see my pet ostrich?”

  “Would that be Wapi?” July asked.

  Will’s eyes opened wide. “How do you know his name?”

  “Well, when we rode by, Wapi told me his name.” July smiled. Christian had told July all about Will and Wapi.

  “Wapi can talk to you, too?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Let’s go find your mother, then you can take July on a tour of the place,” Christian said.

  • • •

  When the two men entered her home, Phoebe was overwhelmed by July’s size.

  “I take it you agree that July will be welcomed here.”

  Phoebe extended her hand to July. “I’m Phoebe Sloan, and of course you’re welcome here. I’m sorry for staring, but I do believe you may be the tallest man I’ve ever seen.”

  “My people are tall.”

  • • •

  On the ride back to the Prinsens, Christian felt better knowing July would be overseeing Phoebe’s operation. He knew she’d be safe as well, because July’s size could intimidate her brother-in-law or anyone else who tried to bother her.

  Phoebe had said that Frank Sloan was married, and yet he’d openly said he wanted her in his bed. What kind of man would insinuate such a thing, especially to his brother’s wife? If Phoebe were his sister-in-law, he’d do everything he could to take care of her. If Phoebe were his wife . . .

  Christian quickly put the thought out of his mind. Women were an enigma to him. He was soon to be thirty years old, and while he wasn’t a virgin, he’d never before met a woman who excited him. But he’d be lying if he didn’t confess that last night when he held Phoebe, she in her thin nightgown and he in his underwear, the close contact between them had generated prurient ideas.

  He thought of Ina Claire Woodson, and wondered if, by having such thoughts of Phoebe, he was being untrue to Ina Claire. He and Ina Claire had grown quite close during their time together while Kimberley was under siege.

  He’d never had such thoughts about Ina Claire; he’d thought of her more as a good friend than anything else. But, to be fair, the time he’d spent with Ina Claire didn’t lend itself to such thinking. The
y were too busy surviving the siege to let salacious thoughts enter the picture.

  Perhaps Yhomas was right. If she came with her father, he might be able to kindle a real relationship with her. That’d be better than pursuing any kind of relationship with Phoebe. Why was he even thinking about Phoebe? He knew little about her, and she knew even less about him. At least Ina Claire knew his past.

  • • •

  When Christian rode into the lane, Yhomas and Reuben Bucknell were standing beside the paddock that contained the feather birds. These were ostriches between six and eighteen months old, and at this age their feathers were a dingy drab color with just a hint of black. As they matured, the males would develop glossy black plumes and the females a soft gray, both having white wings and tails.

  “Christian,” Yhomas said when he saw him approach. “Did you leave July over at the Sloan place?”

  “I did. I think he’s going to fit in fine over there. Will seems to be quite taken with him already.”

  “We’re going to miss that big fellow when it’s time for the plucking,” Buck said. “I was counting on him, but I suppose he’ll be more help to Trinidad and Cornello. I don’t know how much longer those two can work for Phoebe, but she’s too loyal to get anybody else to come in and take their places.”

  “It may be that she has to get somebody else,” Christian said. “She said Cornello is going to Galveston—his sister lives there and he wants to check on her to see if she survived the big hurricane.”

  “I can understand that, but what about Trinidad? He didn’t go, too, did he?” Buck asked.

  “No. According to Phoebe, he’s in jail. It seems he did something during the fiesta, and he can’t raise the money for his bail.”

  “So you left July over there with Phoebe alone?” Buck questioned.

  “Yes, I did. I think he’ll be the best bodyguard she’ll ever find, and he’ll be able to take care of her troop as well.”

  “That’s true, but . . .” Buck looked toward Yhomas.

  “What? What is it?” Christian asked.

  “What Buck is trying to say is that America isn’t quite as enlightened as England, or even parts of our own country, where skin color is concerned. Arizona doesn’t have a Marie Von Koopmans or a Mohandas Gandhi leading peaceful protests against the evils of discrimination. You and I both know that July is as honorable a man as walks the earth, but there are those who would raise a ruckus if it was found that a black man was alone with a white woman,” Yhomas said.

  “That’s ridiculous, July is no threat to Phoebe,” Christian said indignantly.

  “We’re not saying he is,” Buck said, “but that’s not to say someone else wouldn’t say it. You’ve not met her son-of-a-bitch brother-in-law. If he went out there and found July with Phoebe, he’d have a lynch mob formed before you could say Jack Robinson, and it wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “I have met him,” Christian sighed.

  “Then you know what he’s like. July can’t stay there with Phoebe,” Buck said.

  “But she needs him. Who’s she going to find who can do the work as well as he can? Nobody.”

  “I don’t think there’d be a problem if there were two men there—one white and one black,” Buck said.

  “And who are you suggesting that white man should be?”

  Yhomas lifted his eyebrows. “It seems to me like you and July make a pretty good team. And besides, you’re just in the way over here.”

  “Is that how you really feel?” Christian asked, but then he saw both men were smiling and knew they were putting him on. “Have you forgotten? I have a job to do. Mr. Fowler asked me to go up to the Tonto Basin with the survey crew. Who will do that?”

  “What about this crack engineer you’ve got coming? Can’t he take your place?” Yhomas asked.

  “You mean Clarence Woodson? I suppose he could bring me the data and I could put my figures together.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time,” Buck said. “This thing is just getting started and it’ll drag on for years.”

  “How can that be? The people need water and there’s a way to make that happen,” Christian said.

  Yhomas laughed. “Now you’re thinking like Cecil Rhodes. For all his faults, he gets things done, but here it’s different. There will be lots of arguments and committee meetings. Then Congress will take up a bill and it’ll probably fail, and then there will be another one and another one after that. That’s just how it is.”

  “You go on over to Phoebe’s and take care of her,” Buck said. “You’ll see, as soon as the rains start, this reservoir won’t be nearly as important as it is today.”

  “I’ll go, but I don’t understand. Don’t these people ever think about tomorrow? If they’ve had a drought for three years, who’s to say it won’t last four? They need to get this project started, and soon.”

  “Oh, they’ll get it done,” Buck said, “but who knows when? I’d feel better if Garret Hobart was still on McKinley’s ticket, but this fellow he’s got now—Teddy Roosevelt: he’s got a lot of bluster, but who’s to say what he’ll do if McKinley gets elected again?”

  “They say he’s a naturalist,” Yhomas said.

  “And what does that mean?” Buck asked. “We knew Hobart was a water man and he could get the president to act, but now that he’s gone, will this young Roosevelt do anything at all? We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Christian left Yhomas and Buck discussing politics in America. Everyone looked to the United States as the standard upon which other countries should be measured, yet it definitely had its faults. He had to wonder why the War Between the States had been fought if the people it was supposedly fought to free really weren’t free. It’d never occurred to him that July would be in danger.

  He began gathering his things to go to stay at Phoebe’s place, assuming she’d be amenable to this. He had no idea how long his presence would be required. Surely her man would be out of jail soon and would return to his position. With that thought, Christian decided to leave most of his belongings at the Prinsens. He packed a small satchel with a few clothes and some books, and of course his rifle.

  He thought about not taking his copy of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, but it was hard to break old habits. The book had been a gift from Cecil. No matter how short the stay, Rhodes always took this book with him, and Christian had begun to do that as well. He put the book, bound in red Moroccan leather, in his satchel, but the thousand-page tome took up too much space. He removed it and instead looked through his collection of books.

  He smiled when he picked up a couple he’d enjoy reading to Will. The Jungle Book, as well as a book of short stories that included “Wee Willie Winkie” and “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,” were both autographed by Rudyard Kipling. Rhodes had built the Woolsack, on the side of Table Mountain, specifically for Kipling’s use when he visited Cape Town.

  Christian closed his eyes. Cape Town was so far away, and he wondered: Would he ever see his homeland again? Would he ever see Mrs. Van Koopmans or even Cecil Rhodes? Why had he agreed to stay in America? And now he’d been asked to, in essence, be a nanny for a woman he hardly knew.

  This water project couldn’t be as much trouble as both Buck and Yhomas described. Christian made up his mind. He’d stay until Christmas—three more months—and then he’d go back home.

  That is, unless Ina Claire Woodson changed things. Christian smiled when he thought about her. In hindsight, he was sorry he hadn’t been more aggressive in establishing a lasting relationship with her. She was pleasant and would make a suitable wife. Yhomas had teased him about her coming with her father, but perhaps Yhomas was right. When she got to Arizona, he should talk to her father and see if Clarence would permit him to court his daughter.

  And then he thought about Phoebe Sloan. He definitely liked something about her. He knew she was plucky because he’d seen that firsthand and could already tell she was determined almost to the point of being muleheaded.
<
br />   She was attractive in an unaffected way. Christian liked the way her ginger-colored hair often fell in uncontrolled ringlets while freckles sprayed across her nose. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what color her eyes were. Near the center, he recalled, they were light brown, but the color radiated out until the outer edges were a dark green.

  How could he know these things about Phoebe? Was it only last night that he’d met her for the first time?

  Christian tried to visualize Ina Claire in contrast to Phoebe. He had spent a part of each of the 126 days that Kimberley was besieged with her, yet he couldn’t say what color her eyes were. He knew she wore her hair in a bun but couldn’t remember the exact color.

  Phoebe was different. In that instant, Christian was jealous of her dead husband. She clearly honored his memory, and more than likely she was still very much in love with him.

  Love. In his whole life Christian had never known anyone he could honestly say he loved. He admired Mrs. Van Koopmans, he respected Cecil Rhodes, and he was friends with July, and now the Prinsens and the Bucknells.

  What about Ina Claire? Perhaps if he worked hard enough, she could become a reasonably good companion. But could he ever actually love her?

  “This is ridiculous,” Christian said aloud as he put the books in the satchel. “What’s happening to me? I’m still Jacktar and I don’t need anybody.”

  6

  When Christian arrived at Phoebe’s farm, he saw July and Will stretching woven wire between some recently set posts. July was holding a staple while Will was trying to wield a hammer hard enough to drive the staple into the post. Wapi was standing inside the wire, his big, expressive eyes following every move being made.

  “Wapi doesn’t have any idea how much his life is going to change when you two get your work done,” Christian said as he dismounted his horse.

  “Wet!” Will called happily and, dropping the hammer, ran toward Christian. “We’re making a yard just for Wapi, so he can play whenever he wants to.”

  “It looks to me like you’re doing a fine job. I’ll bet Wapi won’t get out of this pen.”

  Will got a mischievous look on his face. “He will when I open the gate.”