Sun Woman
Carter glared at the sergeant. “We’re not done interrogating her. After all, these Apaches are tough as nails.”
Polk chuckled in agreement. “I’ve never seen such endurance.”
Kuchana closed her eyes as another wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed her. She was dying of thirst and wanted to sit down. McCoy’s hand settled on her arm. She quickly opened her eyes and realized she was swaying. Heat flooded her face and she looked away from the concern in the sergeant’s eyes.
Gib glared at Polk. “You’ll get more out of her on a full stomach than an empty one, sir.” He hated putting it in that context, but Polk’s regard of Apaches as little more than animals was well-known.
“Very well,” Polk muttered. “Get her out of here, Sergeant.”
Carter leaped to his feet. “You’re in charge of her, McCoy. If she escapes, you’re responsible.”
Gib nodded. “Yes, sir.” Carter would like to see him drummed out of the army for allowing one of Geronimo’s warriors to escape. Turning his attention to Kuchana, Carter released her, telling her to follow McCoy.
Relief fled through Kuchana once they were away from the building and walking across the arid parade ground. The sun was hot overhead, but it felt good. She noticed a number of tents to the left with women inside them scrubbing clothes on corrugated tin washboards.
“What’s that?”
“Our laundry facilities,” he explained.
“The dark ones are there, too.”
He smiled. “They’re called Negroes, Kuchana.”
“And these women come from across the great sea, too?”
“Yes.” And then Gib amended his statement. “They were brought here as slaves. Twenty years ago, they were set free and allowed to pursue whatever they wanted, just like white people.”
Kuchana noticed a large black woman in a yellow calico dress and a thinner, younger one in a dark green dress who were openly staring at her. Their stares weren’t like those of the pindah women, however. There was only curiosity in their eyes.
“They are different from the pindahs.”
“They’re good people,” said Gib. “The older one’s husband is a lance-corporal here at the post. I’m sure you’ll be meeting all of them sooner or later.”
“Then, I am to be a scout?”
He nodded, watching her eyes widen with happiness. “That’s what Colonel Polk said. I’m in charge of the scouts, so you’ll be working directly with me, not Carter.” Thank God. Gib saw her flush, and he realized that whatever he felt toward Kuchana, it was mutual.
Kuchana wanted to give a cry of triumph, but resisted the urge. Instead, she sent prayers of thanks to Painted Woman. “I will be a good scout. I will not shame you.”
“I’m not worried,” Gib said. He pointed to a large tent that had been bleached white by the burning sun. Its flaps were open at both ends to catch what little air moved sluggishly across the post. Inside were two big black kettles bubbling with beans, and a table filled with hardtack. “This is the enlisted men’s chow tent. Why don’t you go and sit down under that cottonwood and let me get you something to eat?” Gib pointed to one of the few trees that managed to survive on the post.
Not needing another invitation, Kuchana gladly headed toward the shade of the tree. She noticed the two men in the tent watching her. One, a big man with a black mustache and brown eyes, sent a shiver of warning up her spine.
“Who’s that, Sergeant?” Private Odie Faulkner asked, with a leer at Kuchana.
Scowling, Gib took a tin plate from the stack on the table. “Our newest scout,” he growled. Gib took the ladle and dished up the food from the kettle. Beans, moldy bacon and weevil-infested hardtack was the usual fare for a soldier or scout.
“That there’s a woman, ain’t it?” Odie asked, licking his full lower lip.
“That’s right. One of Geronimo’s warriors.”
“I’ll be go to hell,” Odie murmured. “I heard about them women warriors, but never saw one. She looks starvin’. That why she crawled into our post?”
Adding three hardtack biscuits, McCoy kept his anger at Faulkner in check. “She didn’t come here because she was starving. She came to offer her services as a scout.”
“Right purty,” Odie noted, craning his thick neck out the side of the tent, watching her.
“Mind your own business, Private.”
Faulkner’s bushy black brows drew up in surprise over his heavy German features. “Yes, sir.”
Kuchana watched McCoy saunter in her direction. He was dressed like most of the other soldiers: a pair of yellow suspenders holding up his dark blue trousers, and a dark blue shirt that was damp with sweat, clinging to his upper body. There was much to admire about McCoy. Everything about his demeanor claimed him to be a warrior. There was an economy to his movements, and he carried himself proudly. There was no doubt that he was a leader of men.
Her attention shifted to the food he handed her. Eagerly, Kuchana took the plate, amazed at how much was on it. In seconds, she was using her fingers, eating ravenously.
Gib crouched in front of her. “Take it easy,” he cautioned. Kuchana was wolfing down the food. Dammit, he shouldn’t have filled the plate so full. “Why don’t you eat the biscuits first,” he suggested, trying to get her to slow down. “Your stomach isn’t used to this kind of food….”
His husky warning came too late. Kuchana had eaten half the food when her stomach violently rebelled. With a cry, she leapt to her feet and turned away. Within seconds, everything she had eaten had been thrown up. Sweat covered her features as she knelt on the ground, her arms pressed against her stomach. Kuchana stayed that way, her head bowed with embarrassment and shame.
“Dammit,” Gib whispered, moving quickly to her side, “I should’ve known better.” Instinctively, he reached down, placing his hands on Kuchana’s shoulders. She was trembling badly. “Come on, let’s get you over to the tree.” He pulled Kuchana to her feet. Her face was flushed and she could barely walk. Anger at Polk’s and Carter’s insensitivity to her physical condition raged through him.
Gently, he settled her back against the trunk of the tree. “Stay here,” he ordered quietly, his hand remaining on her slumped shoulder.
Feeling dizzy and weak, Kuchana nodded. Just the touch of his hand on her shoulder stabilized her whirling world. She shut her eyes, feeling as if she would die.
Gib came back with a cup of tepid water. He knelt and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Here, take a swallow and then spit it out,” he ordered.
Kuchana opened her eyes, sipping the water from the cup he pressed to her lower lip. Following his instructions, she rinsed her mouth.
“Good,” Gib praised, setting the water aside. He picked up a biscuit from the plate and broke off a small portion of it. “Now, chew on this, and do it slowly.”
Her eyes never left his harsh features. McCoy had a face like the rugged mountains in Sonora, yet he was treating her as a mother would a sick child. Gratefully, she took the proffered piece of biscuit.
Despite her condition, Kuchana was a proud and independent warrior. Gib knew that to coddle her too much would make her look weak in the eyes of others. He removed his arm and sat back on his boot heels.
“Good,” he rasped unsteadily, watching her chew the biscuit thoroughly before swallowing it. He offered her the cup. “Now a little swallow of water.”
Kuchana managed a grimace, then sipped the water and put it aside. McCoy handed her another bit of biscuit.
“How’s your stomach feeling now?” he asked.
Placing her hand on it, she said, “Better.”
“Any rolling feeling?”
She shook her head.
“Just take your time,” Gib soothed. “A bite of biscuit and a sip of water. You’ve been without food a lot longer than four days, haven’t you?”
Kuchana avoided his piercing look. “Warriors must give their food to their families,” she said.
Relaxing, Gib placed his arms on his knees. “Looks like you’ve had more giveaways than most,” he teased gently. Indians believed in giving away all that they owned, especially food, to those who were poor or incapable of hunting for themselves. He saw the corners of her mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile. Kuchana had a magical effect on him.
“The Old Ones and the children will not starve,” Kuchana said stubbornly. Her stomach was settling down, and the biscuit tasted good. “How do you know so much about my people?” she asked McCoy.
“I made a point of learning about them when I was assigned to Fort Apache,” Gib answered.
“Many pindahs know nothing of us.”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t have any prejudice against your people, Kuchana.”
Her name rolled off his tongue like a reverent prayer. Kuchana could feel the power of the emotions behind his words. She searched his face. “What is ‘prejudice’?”
“It’s when one person hates another because he might believe or look differently than himself.”
“Pindahs have prejudice against us because we are different?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head, watching a group of Negro soldiers marching off in the distance. She held up her hand, gesturing toward the soldiers. “The dark ones are also different. Do pindahs have prejudice against them, too?”
Pushing the hat back on his head, Gib mulled over his answer. “There are many pindahs who don’t like any other color except their own.”
“You are not like them.”
Gib shook his head. “Color means nothing to me. How a man or woman treats others is what’s important.”
“You are like an Apache!” she said excitedly. Touching her breast, Kuchana regarded him somberly. “You are a man who talks from his heart. That is good.”
“I try to, Kuchana.” Gib grimaced, his gaze restless. As a sergeant, his duties and responsibilities were many. There was a decided prejudice against the Negro enlisted soldiers. In the month he’d been at the fort, he’d realized that he was the only buffer between them and the white officers. The Civil War might be over, but the Negro was far from free. He felt it wise to keep his eyes and ears open, be alert at all times.
Aware that the sergeant surveyed the post, Kuchana remained silent, continuing to eat the biscuit. The strain of the past few hours was catching up with her. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, and she sighed, placing the rest of the biscuit back on the plate.
McCoy noticed the weariness in her eyes. “Tired?”
“Yes.”
“Feel like standing?”
Kuchana tested her legs carefully, finding new strength in them. Gib remained at a distance, allowing her to stand on her own. “Where do we go now?”
“The scout area,” Gib said. “I’ll show you where you’re going to live.” Silently, he wondered how she was going to fit in with the other Indians who worked for the army. Many tribes didn’t get along with one another. Even among the various Apache segments, some tribes were friendlier than others. The Chiricahua, Kuchana’s tribe, had few friends.
Chapter Three
The scout section sat behind the rows of laundry tents where the women washed the clothes and bedding for the entire post. Kuchana surveyed the bone-colored canvas tents that stood, with flaps open, in neat, orderly lines. Huge tin tubs filled with hot, soapy water sat on wooden tables. The dark-skinned women who toiled laboriously over their duties had sweaty faces and their dresses clung to them from the heat. These women reminded her of the diligent Apache women, who worked nonstop for their families.
Turning her gaze in another direction, Kuchana saw several Indian men crouched in a circle, speaking in low guttural tones. The hackles on the back of her neck raised as Chee, a huge Apache of Tonto ancestry, stood up at her approach.
Chee was dressed in a blue army jacket and dark brown twill pants along with his kabun boots. He was the chief scout, and judging from his deepening scowl, McCoy knew there were going to be fireworks. The other four scouts, wearing cotton shirts, army trousers and black leather boots, stood also. Their faces were wary, inspecting Kuchana behind a wall of formidable silence as she and Gib came to a halt. Chee stared down at the woman for a long moment. “You are Geronimo’s warrior,” he spat.
Girding herself, Kuchana stared at him defiantly. “I am Chiricahua. My name is Kuchana.”
Chee stuck out his chest and thumped it with his fist. “I am in charge. You Chiricahua think you are superior. Well, you are not. I am Tonto.”
Gib grimaced inwardly. There was little that could be done to settle the friction between the Tonto tribe and the Chiricahua. That was one reason the Apache hadn’t been able to push the whites out of Arizona; they’d fought too much among themselves and not presented a united front. Even here Gib was seeing evidence of the same hostility. And if he had any doubts about Kuchana’s bravery, now that she stood in front of the huge, huffing Indian, they disappeared.
Kuchana thumped her breast, thrusting out her chin in Chee’s direction. “You may be chief scout, but I’m Chiricahua, and we are better trackers.”
McCoy watched as Two Toes moved forward. The Yavapai’s face was lean in comparison to the fuller Apache face. He saw Kuchana’s anger turn to hatred as she noticed the scout’s approach.
“Yavapai,” she hissed. Glaring at Chee, she demanded, “How can you work with our enemy? This tribe sneaks onto our reservation and into our wickiups at night, killing our women and children with clubs.”
Chee’s massive features, lined with forty years of life, worked into a sneer. “We all work for the army against Geronimo. Yavapai are now our friends.”
Kuchana was the only Chiricahua present. The other scouts were also of Tonto heritage. With a sinking feeling, Kuchana realized that even as a scout, she was going to be an outcast. Although members of Chiricahua and Tonto were brothers, they did not get along. Often, there were blood feuds between the tribes.
Gib cleared his throat. “Chee, it’s up to you to make sure she is trained properly to take over scouting duties when called upon.”
Chee nodded, assuming an air of importance. “She is a scout, Sergeant. I’ll give her a tent and tell her the rules.”
“Good. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back over here and issue her a kit and weapons.”
Kuchana moved uneasily. She had no choice but to trust Chee. All her weapons had been taken earlier, but no warrior, even without weapons, was defenseless. She had courage and strength born of the knowledge that she would survive where others had died.
Gib glanced at her. “If Chee can’t help you, or answer a question, you come and see me over at the barracks. Understand?”
She nodded, moistening her lips, looking in the direction he pointed. The two-story barracks stood in rows several hundred feet from the scout area.
Pointing to the building closest to the scout area, Gib added, “I have a small office in there. The scouts are free to come and go to the laundry, chow tent, or to the enlisted barracks, but that’s all. Don’t be caught unescorted up by headquarters or on the parade ground.”
“I will stay here,” Kuchana said, pointing to the ground.
“Get some rest. I’ll come for you tomorrow morning and we’ll fill out the rest of your billet.”
Kuchana gave him a small smile of appreciation and whispered, “A-co-’d.” The word meant ‘thank you.’ And it wasn’t often that an Apache spoke it. Gib’s face changed and softened for a moment.
“You’re welcome,” he acknowledged.
Without any further word, he turned and left. Kuchana’s pleasant features wavered in his mind’s eye as he crossed the parade ground, dodging a troop of cavalry coming back in from an assignment. She stirred his senses and feelings as no other woman ever had. He wondered if Polk would allow her to continue as a scout, or send her back to the reservation. If she was going to stay, Kuchana was going to have to prove herself to everyone, and quickly.
Lieutenant Carter hated anyone who wasn’t white or an officer. He didn’t care one whit if a scout was killed in the line of duty. Too often, while on assignment, the scouts were fired upon by civilians who thought they were Geronimo’s people. Carter wasn’t cautious enough about protecting the scouts in that kind of situation. Gib was damned if Kuchana was going to be gunned down by a jumpy silver miner just because Carter chose to ignore certain directives that would keep her safe. He’d have to remain vigilant.
Wiping the sweat off his upper lip with the back of his hand, Gib climbed the wooden stairs. All his life, he’d protected the underdog. That’s what had gotten him in trouble in Fort Apache. With a sigh, he took off his hat and entered headquarters.
Kuchana presented some potentially damaging problems to his own floundering career. The last time he’d placed himself in jeopardy for a woman he’d lost his officer’s commission. Many felt he should have left with his tail between his legs, but he hadn’t. In his heart, he knew what he had done had been right. Instead of retiring, he’d forced the army to give him sergeant’s stripes and retain his services for the duration of his twenty-year enlistment.
Stopping at Corporal McClusky’s desk, Gib picked up several sets of orders that would involve his scouts on future expeditions. Once a month, Polk set out riding assignments for the Fourth, and McCoy was responsible for assigning scouts to the Negro columns.
As he perused the orders, his mind dwelled on Kuchana. He wondered if she was going to get along with the other scouts. With a mental shrug, Gib swung his focus back to his duties. He couldn’t afford to keep thinking about Kuchana. But whether he wanted to admit it or not, his heart was still lingering on her sweet, soft smile.
* * *
The sky was crimson with the rising of the sun. Gib settled the hat on his head and gingerly touched the spot on his chin where he’d cut himself with the razor this morning. Swinging off the barracks steps, he headed for the scout area. The mountains to the north were dark, rugged shapes carved with deep ravines. Juniper and piñon clung to the lower reaches of the slopes like a scraggly green skirt above the sandy-yellow reaches of the desert floor.
Sentries on horseback rode slowly around the huge rectangular area that comprised the buildings and grounds of the fort. As he passed the bustling laundry facilities, he saw Poppy and waved.
“Sergeant McCoy, come over here!” she called out in her booming voice.
Gib smiled and changed direction. As he approached she wrung out a shirt and handed it to her daughter, Nettie, to rinse.
“Why, you look fit as a fiddle this morning, Sergeant McCoy.”
Tipping his hat, Gib halted at the front of the huge tent, now open to the breeze. “Thanks, Poppy. Looks like you’re hard at work.” Most of the laundresses washed from dawn until noon, and then pressed and folded the clothes throughout the hottest part of the day.
Poppy’s hair was wrapped in a bright blue turban, and sweat streaked her face. “Word’s flying around here that the army hired a woman Apache scout.”
Nettie looked up from her tub. The girl’s hair hung in two neat pigtails and she was rail-thin compared to her mother. “I saw her, Sergeant McCoy, yesterday when I took some clothes back to the enlisted barracks.” Her eyes grew merry. “She’s a purty thing, ain’t she? I never knew Apaches to have gold-colored eyes.”
“Some do,” Gib said.
“Lordy me,” Poppy gushed, “what’s this gonna do to the post? Why, I heard from Clarissa, that Miz Melissa is livid about this woman being here. Is that so?”
Gib kept his face neutral. The laundresses were a gossipy bunch. Anytime he wanted to know what was really going on at the post, he came to Poppy. He wasn’t surprised Melissa Polk was throwing a fit over Kuchana’s presence. Melissa was jealous, that was all; Kuchana was a hell of a lot prettier than the snobbish banker’s daughter.
“Ladies, you know I don’t have much to do with the officers or their wives. I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person.”
Poppy pushed her lips together, eyeing him with laughter in her eyes. “You’re a wolf among sheep, Sergeant McCoy.” She made a jab with one thick finger toward the officer’s quarters in the distance. “And they all know it, too. You might be wearing sergeant’s stripes, but the men of the Fourth trust you.”
That was part of the problem, Gib thought. He hadn’t let color dissuade him from becoming a protective buffer between the men of the Fourth and the likes of Lieutenant Carter. “Poppy, have you got a couple of cups of coffee hidden somewhere in that tent of yours?” She always had some forbidden officers’ supplies stashed away.
She grinned, placing her hands on her ample hips. “Two cups, Sergeant? Usually, you only want one. By any chance, you heading for the scout tents?”
Gib rubbed his jaw. “Can’t fool you, can I, Poppy?” The laundress didn’t miss much, but then, Poppy could be trusted with knowing things like this and keeping it secret.
Cackling, Poppy asked Nettie to fetch the coffee. “Ain’t like you to take the scouts coffee. They know they can come here and get it from me.”
“The second cup is for Kuchana,” he said, trying hard not to smile.
“I thought so.”
“Mind if I bring her over here and introduce her to you ladies later? I think she could use some friends.”
Nettie handed Gib the tin cups filled with steaming coffee and clapped her palms together. “Oh, would you? Why, Clarissa is just dying to get a look at her.”
“Ladies, she needs some friends, not curiosity seekers.” Gib held Poppy’s knowing gaze. “Kuchana isn’t liked by the scouts because she’s Chiricahua. And I know the officers’ wives will snub her.”
“Just stop your worrying, Sergeant McCoy. You send that purty little thing over here and we’ll take good care of her.” Poppy beamed. “She’s scrawny…”
Gib nodded grimly. “Yeah, she hasn’t had enough to eat for a long time.”
“Well, you just never mind, Poppy will fix her up. I’ll take care of that poor chile. She’ll be a part of our family, just like you are, Sergeant McCoy.”
“Thanks, it means a lot to me.”
The laundress grinned. “I know it does. I can see she’s something special to you.”
Gib nodded and turned away, heading for the scout area. The scouts on duty that day were usually up by this time, working on their weapons. Today, it was Two Toes and Jemez who had the duty.
Chee had assigned the last tent nearest the horse line to Kuchana. Gib came to a halt at the head of the tent where the flap had been drawn aside and saw that Kuchana was still soundly asleep, clutching a fist-size rock.
It bothered him that she felt she had to have some kind of weapon to protect herself even here, but he couldn’t blame her. The Yavapai hated the Apache and had a reputation for slitting the throats of their enemy under the cover of darkness.
As he crouched down, Gib eyed Kuchana’s sleeping features. Her flesh wasn’t as taut, and there was some color in her cheeks. Her thick, black hair, no longer bound by the cotton headband, lay about her shoulders like a blanket. She reminded him of a finely bred horse—lean, proud and delicate. Her lips were parted in sleep, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to explore the texture of her mouth beneath his.
Chee had issued her only one blanket, and he frowned, knowing she should have been given at least three. Kuchana had placed the blanket on the ground and curled up in a fetal position to remain warm during the cool night. Today, he would make sure she was issued a full billet.
He was about to awaken Kuchana when he saw tears bead and form on her lashes. Putting the mugs aside, he reached down and gave her shoulder a shake.
Kuchana hissed, jerking upright, rock poised in hand. Her eyes widened when she realized it was McCoy. “I—I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice thick with sleep. She dropped the rock. Tears trailed down her cheeks and she tried to wipe them away before the sergeant saw them.
“Hold on,” he ordered quietly. “What’s the reason for the tears?”