CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
“So, the time has come,” Cochise remarked, his gaze unwavering.
“Yes, it has,” Jack returned. He felt that he should say something, explain why he was leaving, why he would never come back. He groped for words Cochise would understand. “It’s been too difficult for my heart,” he finally said, feeling that the words were totally inept.
“I understand,” Cochise said. It was that simple.
Jack turned, then, and walked away, feeling sad. It wasn’t the kind of sadness that the thought of never seeing Candice again induced—that was gut-wrenching. Soon, he thought—his heart leaping at the thought of seeing her again.
But the sight of Datiye and Shoshi made him very, very grim. This sadness was more like a pain. He loved his son. He knew Shoshi belonged with his mother, but he did not want to leave him behind. There was no other way.
Datiye looked at him with great control. Her eyes were red. Last night she had obviously been crying. It was yesterday that he’d told her he was leaving, for good. But now her chin was thrust forward, her mouth set in a tight line. She forced a smile. “Wherever you ride, I know my prayers will follow. Theganslove you, will still protect you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Datiye, remarry. It is for the best.”
She didn’t respond.
“May I hold him?” His voice was suspiciously shaky.
Shoshi was in Datiye’s arms. He was smiling, eyes silvery and bright, and one hand reached for his father, whom he recognized. He babbled something happy and indistinguishable.
“You must take him,” she said, handing him over.
Jack thought she meant hold him, of course, and hugged his son tightly, feeling like crying. That was ridiculous. Shoshi would grow up to be a brave Apache. It was a part of his heritage. Then he looked at Datiye, who was placing saddlebags on the black. He had stolen his horse back the night after he’d escaped. “What are you doing?”
“These are his things,” she said, and her voice caught.
He understood, shocked. “You—want me to take him with me? No, Datiye, I could not do that to you.”
“You must.”
“But a child belongs with his mother.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “No, Niño Salvaje, for I saw the dream.”
He was very still. “What dream?”
“A terrible dream,” she said, choking. A tear trickled down her face.
“Tell me,” he demanded hoarsely.
“You know I shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“Tell me, Datiye.”
She took a breath. “A day when our son was a grown man. A day of caged earth. Not even this earth. A land far away, to the east, on an endless body of water.”
“Don’t talk in riddles,” he said harshly.
“That is what I saw! Many Apaches, including our son, caged like animals in a strange, faraway land! If you leave him, he will not be free—you must take him.”
He felt both sick and elated. Everyone knew dreams were omens. He could not leave his child there to be caged up on a reservation in some faraway land.
“You must take him,” she said, crying. She made a great effort to stop. “I will remarry soon. Tahzay has shown interest in me. He will ask for me once you are gone, I know it.”
Tahzay was Cochise’s first son, a man grown already, a brave, strong warrior. One day he would be chief if he lived—if the Apache stayed free.
But how could they? Hadn’t he and Cochise known all along this war would be their last? They were so few, the whites so many.…
