Apache Moon

By Bren Yarbrough Bruhn

New Mexico in the 1700's is a dangerous place. Warring tribes of Native Americans struggle to keep their homeland, which is fast becoming the domain of Spanish invaders. En route to the home of her betrothed, Magdelena (Lena) de Marquez finds her trepidation of marriage to a childhood friend she barely remembers should be far from her greatest fear. Just miles from her destination, her traveling party is attacked, leaving Lena and an infant child the only survivors of the brutal massacre. Fearing death, or worse, little does she know that her journey into the bitter heart of her enemies has just begun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312250406

Book preview

Apache Moonarrow_right

She glanced at Red Moon again, a new hope igniting.  From the way he was acting, maybe he didn't intend to hurt her after all, but she couldn't help wondering why he had taken her in the first place, and what he planned to do now.  With morbid curiosity, she dared the question that was foremost in her mind, knowing that with any luck at all, the other questions could wait.

What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

I don't know, he answered honestly, already pondering what he would tell his warriors when they arrived.  Even though he could not bear the thought of it happening, he knew they would not hesitate to take their pleasure with her, then kill her.  They would feel justified in doing so, having risked their lives to help him take the wife of his enemy.  It wouldn't matter to them that she was only Tall Tree's slave and that her torture and death might mean less to him than the loss of one of his horses.

I'm afraid you are of little value, he said, thinking aloud.

Suddenly outraged, Lena sprang to her feet, hurling her body at his.  Her hands balled into fists, she rained blows around his face and neck, releasing all her pent up anger, fear and frustration.  Damn you!  How dare you say such a thing!  Who are you to judge my value? she gasped furiously.

Surprised by her outburst, Red Moon remained in a sitting position, ducking and dodging her tiny, flailing fists and raising his hands to protect his face.  Her full weight against him was no more than that of a child.  She was small and fragile, light as a feather and just as easily crushed, but he had no real desire to hurt her.  As he struggled to bring her under control, he thought with dark amusement that it was entirely possible that Tall Tree mourned the loss of his horse more than he would Lena, since the animal was well trained, obedient, and not possessed of a nasty temper like that of this woman.

He reached out and grasped her arm, flinging her into his lap and grabbing a handful of her hair.  Tugging on it until she cried out in pain and fell silent, he shouted, No more!

Apache Moon

by

Bren Yarbrough Bruhn

FinleyIApaches

Apache Moon

by

Bren Yarbrough Bruhn

Text Copyright 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Published by Eden Angel Press

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Printed by Lulu, Inc. 2014

In the United States of America

Ebook ISBN 978-1-312-25040-6

This book is dedicated with love and appreciation to Native Americans, whose courage and endurance in the face of impossible odds are proof of what makes a Nation great. Thank you for preserving the songs, stories, legends and customs of your heritage, so that future generations may understand the triumphs and tragedies faced by their ancestors.

I also wish to acknowledge my dear friends, my family, and my dedicated fans—and you know who you are—for continuing to ask me to, Tell me another story. 

When fishes flew and forest walked

and fig grew upon thorn

Some moment when the moon was blood

then I was surely born.

G.K. Chesterson

Apache Moon is a Western term for the full moon.  Plains Indians, especially the Apache, attacked at night, only by the light of the moon.  Superstition says that when a warrior went to the next world, he found the same conditions that existed on Earth when he was killed or died.  The Apache believed that if they were killed in the darkness, their spirit would continue to wander in darkness in the hereafter.

Prologue

New Mexico 1773

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A hawk soared high overhead, dipping gracefully on currents of air.  The ear-piercing sound of its screech was lost amid the rattle and din of the caravan below.

Lena shifted her position on the seat of the little wooden cart in a futile attempt to make herself more comfortable.  In her lap, she held one year old Ramona, the daughter of her servant, Juanita.  The child had fallen asleep in her arms, despite the heat of the day, and her mother lay nestled among the blankets in the back of the cart, seeking relief from the scorching sun.

Ramona moaned when the cart bounced over yet another bump, and Lena lovingly smoothed her sweaty black hair, shifting again.  Paco, the boy driving the cart, flashed a shy smile as he urged the weary  oxen to go faster, mistaking her discomfort for impatience.  She fought the urge to tell him to slow their pace, for in reality, she wasn't looking forward to reaching their destination.  In fact, the nearer they got to the city of Santa Fe, the more anxious she grew.

They had been travelling for the better part of a month, almost 300 miles, down the only road leading to the city, the El Camino Real, or the Royal Road.  Following the path of New Mexico's main waterway, the Rio Grande, the dusty road wound through desert lands with high topped plateaus scattered between mountain ranges rising from 3,000 to over 13,000 feet in the air.

Lena had a hard time understanding how the road had gotten its name, since in truth, there was nothing remotely royal about it.  Pockmarked by deep ruts that tossed her back and forth with bone jarring bumps, her whole body ached, only adding to her misery.  Though it was only mid-spring, the heat had been unbearable for the entire journey.  For what seemed like an eternity, they had traveled through nothing but vast desert land dominated by little more than sand dunes and cacti.  Orange-brown mesas covered with coarse grasses, pungent smelling gray-green sage, and yucca, rose from the blue and violet mountains that could be seen in the distance through waves of heat rising up from the arid ground.

Her throat was parched, her lips dry, and her skin felt like it was on fire.  The shade cloth that Paco had erected provided little protection, since the constant bouncing of the cart caused it to come loose more often than it stayed intact.  On this, the last day of their journey, Lena had refused to apply the heavy coating of flour paste to protect her skin that she had worn during their trek through the baking desert.  She didn't want to arrive in Santa Fe looking as if she had been dipped in flour.

She found herself grateful that her stern duenna, Luisa, had remained behind, too old and ill to make the journey.  Luisa would never have allowed her to forgo using the paste and risk darkening her pale skin, one indication of the purity of her Spanish blood.

Along with others who shared their noble lineage, the de Marquez family was considered among the highest ranked of the Spanish hierarchy, true espanoles.  Unlike many people of their race, their blood was untainted by the mixture of Moorish or African blood that resulted in dark skin and black eyes, or by the European influence, which produced lighter skin and green eyes.  The translucent quality of Lena's skin, the rich midnight color of her hair and the deep blue of her eyes were the proof of her undiluted Castilian blood.  She silently apologized to Luisa, though preserving the color of her skin was the least of her worries now.

Among other things, she wondered how different life would be here in this city, living among strangers and far away from her father and the home she loved so well.  Their comfortable rancheria in the small town of Caballo in southern New Mexico had rivaled a palace, with its red-tiled roof, fine furnishings, and servants to attend their every need.

Her father, Don Reynaldo, had prospered there, though the sun-baked environment was incapable of yielding a decent crop of even the hardiest vegetables without ample irrigation.  While many of their neighbors only raised the tough, black Spanish cattle that seemed to thrive there and further south in Mexico, Don Reynaldo bred horses as well.  He had become a renowned breeder and trainer, his stock praised as being some of the finest horseflesh in the territory.

Her father took great pride in that accomplishment, but it was nothing compared to his pride in her, his only child.  Lena had always felt a great responsibility to please him, since her mother, Renata, had died soon after she was born, leaving him with no sons.  Having no heirs to his fortune had never seemed to matter to Don Reynaldo, who had seen Lena as the one bright spot in the darkness that descended upon him after Renata's death.  Christened Magdelena, he had immediately shortened it to Lena, the name itself meaning light.  All the adoration and affection her father had bestowed upon her made it even harder to think about living a life without him always near, knowing no one could possibly love her more.  But she had known since she was a little girl that one day she would be expected to leave him.  It was something for which he had prepared her all her life.

Due to the purity of her lineage and the potential to become a great beauty, as her mother had been, Don Reynaldo received numerous offers of marriage contracts before Lena even reached the age of two, from families as far away as Spain itself.  By the time she was five, a marriage had already been arranged for her to Antonio Caldero, the son of her father's old friend, Don Carlos Caldero.  A prosperous sheep rancher of noble bloodlines, Don Carlos had been granted land and had settled not far from Santa Fe.

Lena had only seen Antonio once, when she was seven and he was fifteen, already growing into a man.  As agreed, when she turned eighteen, she was to be delivered to the home of her intended.  It was there she would live, becoming the wife of a man she didn't even know, far away from her father and everyone else she knew and loved.

But even that fear was not as great as the one she had never dared discuss with anyone--and that was what would be expected of her on her wedding night.  Having only heard shocking, whispered tales about what married people did, she was unable to bear the thought of doing such things with an absolute stranger.

We will soon be on the outskirts of Santa Fe, senorita, Paco announced, interrupting Lena's troubled musings.  "See the pueblos?"

Anxious for anything to distract her from her thoughts, Lena scanned the rocky slopes to her left, finally spying the dwellings of the Pueblo Indians, from which they acquired their name.  Their reddish-orange colored adobe construction blended in so perfectly, it was hard to distinguish them from the uneven terrain of the mountains which had just come into view.  Built one atop the other, there was no sign of windows or doors on the lower floor.  The Pueblos had cleverly designed the structures with the only entrance or exit being a hole in the roof, accessed by tall ladders pulled inside in case of an attack.

The pueblos were the first sign that they were growing closer to civilization again.  Lena offered a silent prayer of thanks that they had made it this far safely.

They had joined a trading train in Albuquerque, before coming to the most dangerous part of their journey, the isolated stretch of land called Apacheria. The desolate trail was named for the Indians who had claimed the lives of so many people on the lonely expanse of road leading to the city.  Comprised of weathered cliffs and hidden crevices, it was a perfect spot for the fearsome Apache to ambush small groups of unsuspecting travelers.

Their safe passage through the hostile territory made Lena thankful the company of the noisy traders, whose sheer number had afforded them protection from the marauders who lurked in the windswept canyons.  With their burros, mules, and ox drawn carts loaded down with silver jewelry, cooking utensils, furs, blankets, tools and other goods to be traded in Santa Fe, the carts and animals kicked up a cloud of suffocating dust that could be seen for miles away.

Now that the worst part of the journey was behind them, their destination was only a scant two hours away.  Straight ahead, Paco pointed out the Jemez Mountains, at whose base the turquoise mines were located.  The deep-blue mountains stood against the backdrop of a brilliant azure sky, their peaks piercing the fluffy clouds.

Though they had yet to reach the city, snuggled in the foothills of the snow-capped Sangre de Cristo range, she could already see the change in the landscape.  The fertile land ahead was painted with vibrant colors, far removed from the dull beige, green and brown of the desert.

Santa Fe sat beside a tributary that fed a small river, a narrow red ribbon of water that was no more than a weak trickle before the summer rains.  The dusty little road they were on roughly followed its path, shaded by tall cottonwood trees on each side of the narrow trail.  Irrigated fields of seasonal crops could be seen further inland from the river along with lush green grass growing on rocky hills, where sure-footed sheep and goats grazed.  Orchards of fruit trees flourished on the lower elevations, as well as vineyards, their tangled tendrils woven around supporting arbors.

Lena was fascinated by the abundance of growth, and reveled in the shade and coolness provided when they passed beneath the overhanging branches of the cottonwood trees.  There was nothing she could compare them to, their height and girth dwarfing the scrawny mesquite trees and scrub oaks that were the only source of shade near her father's home.

Don Reynaldo drew alongside the cart, mounted on his magnificent black stallion and accompanied by three of his trusted vaqueros.  Along with the men and Lena's servant, Juanita, he had brought six of his finest horses, a wedding gift for Lena and Antonio.  The animals tossed their heads and pranced, sensing the promise of food, water, and a long awaited rest.

We will soon reach the trading plaza, where Don Carlos and Antonio will be waiting to greet us.  What do you think of Santa Fe, Lena? Don Reynaldo asked anxiously.  Is it not as beautiful as I said?  It will not be so bad to live here, no?

Lena remained silent for a moment, feeling an odd mixture of satisfaction and pain with the knowledge that he was seeking her approval, even though he had left her no alternative but to marry Antonio.  She met his blue gaze with her own, shrugging her shoulders.  It is not too bad, she answered with indifferent arrogance.  At least it seems to be civilized.

Don Reynaldo chuckled, aware that his daughter would never admit her obvious wonder of this exquisite land, having inherited his stubborn pride.  But he had seen the look of astonishment on her face as they drew closer to the city, and was pleased that she found it as enchanting as he had the first time he had seen it.

Then you are not still mad at me for making you come here? he teased.

I didn't say that, Lena protested with a pout, tossing him a cool glance.

He laughed, his eyes resting lovingly on his daughter's face.  He knew it would be hard to leave her here.  He loved her more than life itself, and if it had not been for his long friendship with Don Carlos, he would have listened to her pleas to find some way out of the marriage contract to keep her near him.

At the time he had made arrangements for her to marry Antonio, people had been reluctant to settle in Caballo, the little town where he made his home, due to the forbidding nature of the land.  Since then, royal land grants that covered hundreds of square miles had eventually lured wealthy dons and ex-soldiers alike.  The area was now well populated by affluent ranchers anxious to make proper matches for their sons.  With so many eligible men living nearby, he could have arranged a marriage contract that would have been much more suitable to both Lena, and himself.  But he had promised her to Antonio, and it was a promise he could not break, even if it meant he had to give up his only child.  He kept a watchful eye on Lena as they entered the city set in cedar and fir studded hills, wondering if she would ever truly forgive him for the agreement he had made so long ago.

Though she was aware her father was watching her, Lena found it hard to contain her fascination, gazing at the city with open curiosity.  Her expression grew puzzled when she first caught sight of the houses, which seemed to be built in a haphazard fashion around the undefined streets. The main road leading into town looked like nothing more than a dusty path twisting through the maze of buildings.  She had been expecting it to be similar to Mexico City, only smaller.  Her father had taken her there once when she was a child, and she still recalled how neat and orderly it had been, with its stately homes and well-tended roads.

With no small amount of disdain, Lena noted that none of the homes they passed were even close to being as fine as her childhood home, though they appeared to be built in much the same fashion.  Constructed of adobe and built around a central patio with flat roofs made of logs, carved and painted santos were visible in niches of the thick walls, but none as grand as the ones that graced her father's home.  Chimneys on corner walls gave evidence that the fireplaces were built in the corners of the houses, but many of them only had one, where the home in which she had grown up boasted a fireplace in nearly every room.

Lena couldn't help but wonder if the Caldero's had a home like her father's, or if it was similar to those she had just seen, feeling another twinge of homesickness.  Her mood lifted slightly when they entered the crowded trading plaza, buzzing with noise and activity.  Loaded down with their purchases, people milled about in the stalls and open market, bartering loudly with merchants.  Fragments of conversation and the excited shouts of children could be heard as people eagerly greeted the new traders and looked over their wares to see if they were better than those already available.  Roused from sleep by the noise and confusion, Ramona stirred in Lena's arms and opened her huge black eyes, gazing about in wonder, much as Lena herself was doing.

The plaza was nothing more than a large square, surrounded by unimpressive, flat roofed buildings, but it was much larger than Lena had expected.  Her mouth flew open in surprise when she saw the Indians who had spread their wares out before them on blankets amid the townspeople.  She had heard that some of the Indians here were quite friendly, and were allowed to trade in the city under the watchful eyes of soldiers, but she had never seen so many in one place.  She could tell by the simple cotton garments they wore and the broad, flat features of their faces that most of them were Pueblo.  But she also noticed several men whom she thought might be Apache or Comanche milling about with the mostly Spanish customers in the busy walkways.

Lena had seen very few Indians in her lifetime, except for the men who sometimes worked for her father.  Her servant, Juanita, was half Comanche, or mestizio.  But since she had been raised mostly by her Spanish father, Juanita knew little of their customs or language.  It was often easy to forget that Juanita was part Indian, since in most ways, she looked and acted Spanish.

Paco brought the wagon to a jerky halt.  Juanita slipped from the blankets and rose to stretch her cramped limbs.  I'll take Ramona now, she said, reaching for the child.

Ramona clung to Lena, reluctant to go to her own mother.  Since Ramona had been a tiny infant, Lena had devoted her attention to caring for her while Juanita did her chores.  She felt it was the least she could do, since the servants and her father forbade her to help in any other way.  The result of all the affection she lavished on the child was that Ramona considered herself to have two mothers—Mama Lena, and just plain Mama.

Juanita shook her head and smiled as she took her child into her arms, feeling only the slightest pang of jealousy.  She realized how fortunate she was that Lena had taken such an interest in her daughter, for it meant that both she and Ramona would be properly cared for as long as Lena lived.  It was more than her husband had done for her, leaving soon after the child was born.

Don Reynaldo dismounted, tethering his horse to a nearby hitching post.  Is there anything you wish to buy while we're here? he asked his daughter.

Lena had been about to tell him no when she smelled the unmistakable aroma of fresh baked bread, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.

May I buy some bread? she asked, rising to her feet as he held out his arms to help her from the cart.

Of course, Don Reynaldo said, smiling.  He reached in his pocket and pressed some coins in her hand, his eyes scanning the crowd for his friend.  I'm going to look for Don Carlos.  You can look around the plaza, but make sure you stay with Juanita.  It is dangerous to wander around alone, he warned, noticing the unusual number of Indians in the plaza.

Yes, Father, Lena obediently replied, watching as he walked away.  Paco took Ramona, then helped Juanita from the cart.  Juanita set Ramona on her feet and took her tiny hand.  She was just beginning to walk and delighted in being allowed to exercise her newfound skill.  They strolled leisurely about the plaza, both women amazed at the amount of goods for sale.

Under the shade of a grove of cottonwood trees, clay pots of the finest craftsmanship lined the front row of one Indian woman's blanket.  The second row displayed baskets of corn, intricately woven blankets, and animal skins.  Lena was accosted by a man who tried to sell her fresh mutton, proudly removing a portion tied to a low-hanging branch of the tree above and urging her to inspect it.  When she politely refused, he offered to let her take her pick of the chickens he kept in stacked wooden cages.  Lena declined once more.

Reaching the end of the blankets, they came to the more permanent structures, a series of stalls shaded by flat roofs supported by pine posts.  A vast array of seasonal vegetables, fruits and berries, sacks of corn shucks for use as mattress stuffing, bundles of firewood, and bags of cornmeal and flour were stacked in neat piles around a smiling merchant.  A wide selection of silver and turquoise jewelry was arranged on waist high wooden boxes.  Juanita stopped for a moment, eyeing the jewelry hungrily.

Anxious to make her purchase, Lena was unaware that Juanita and Ramona were no longer with her.  She continued to the next stall, finally spying the woman baking bread in a mud oven.  Her mind only on the delicious aroma, Lena stepped under the shaded enclosure.  She turned around to speak to Juanita, noticing for the first time she was nowhere in sight.  She rushed outside, pushing through the crowd toward the stall she had just left, coming face to face with a short, swarthy,  soldier in a captain's uniform.  Lean and pockmarked, with an aquiline nose set above a thick mustache that almost hid his razor thin lips, he presented a frightening visage.  No taller than herself, his deep set black eyes met hers at almost the same level.  A shiver ran down her spine as they moved from her face to her body, sweeping over her in a way that made her skin crawl. Without realizing it, Lena loosened her grip on the coins in her hand, causing one to fall unnoticed and roll away into the crowd.

Noticing her apparent distress, he said, "I am Captain Gustavo Garcia.  May I be of some assistance, senorita?"

A leering grin curved Garcia's face as he allowed his mind to roam to what he would like to do to her if he could manage to get her alone. When he had first seen her, it was the astonishing blue of her eyes that had first garnered his attention, but now he realized everything about her was extraordinary, exceptional.  Her oval face was fine boned, with a slender aristocratic nose and sharp, high cheekbones. Her full lips were kissed with a pouty curve.  Though smeared with a coating of dust, he could tell her skin was very light, contrasting beautifully with the slight rosy blush in her cheeks.  Black as a moonless night, thick strands of hair escaped the ornament which held it in place in a loose knot at the nape of her neck.  The simple yellow cotton dress she wore clung to her form, barely concealing the promise of a body just blossoming into womanhood.

No.  I do not need any help, Lena replied as she tried to push past him.

Are you certain? he asked, taking her by the arm.  I am an officer in the Spanish Army, and it is my duty to protect beautiful women such as you, he boasted, rising on his toes and puffing out his chest.

Lena regarded him coldly, his absurd posturing reminding her of a bantam rooster, trying to prove he was the cock of the walk despite his small stature.  If it were not for the sinister look in his eyes and the way his fingers bit into her arm, she might have been tempted to laugh.  She darted a frantic glance around the crowded plaza, looking for her father, one of his vaqueros, or even Paco.  Her eyes met briefly with those of a tall Indian standing a few feet away from the diminutive Captain. The look in his eyes frightened her as well, but in an entirely different way. Instead of lust, they spoke of a breathtaking, bone melting passion, the kind of which she’d only dreamed.

She tore her eyes from his, once more scanning the crowd. Relief flooded her when she saw her father only a few stalls away.  She jerked her arm away from the captain, the coins Don Reynaldo had given her tumbling to the ground.  She didn't dare stop to pick them up, but ran straight toward her father, still feeling the man's eyes on her.

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Garcia glanced back at Red Moon, the Apache Indian who had been his companion for the better part of an hour.  To his supreme irritation, the girl’s stare had reminded him once again that Red Moon was the kind of man who commanded attention, even in a crowd. Garcia sneered as yet another lovely senorita walked past, her hungry eyes practically devouring the savage.  With annoyance, he noted Red Moon had not even been aware of the lengthy perusal.  Instead, the Indian’s black eyes followed the girl in the yellow dress as she made her way through the crowd.  In one large hand, Red Moon held a gold coin that the girl had dropped in her haste to escape.  It sparkled briefly in the sunlight before his fingers closed around it tightly and a strange expression clouded his striking features.

It is beautiful women such as that one that we wish to protect, Garcia said as he returned to Red Moon’s side.  It would be a shame to see her fall into the hands of our common enemies, the Comanche.  Perhaps now you will consider changing your mind about our proposal?

arrow_right Red Moon remained mute, his eyes still locked on the girl as she disappeared into the crowd.  He had seen nothing more than the lush outline of her slender form and her regal profile, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen, but it was enough.  It was a sight he would remember for the rest of his life.   

Lena reached her father's side, disturbed by the angry expression on his face.

Where is Juanita? he demanded curtly.

She's . . .    Lena craned her neck, searching for her servant.  She finally caught sight of Juanita and Ramona in the stall where they