Indian Affairs by Parris Afton Bonds

Author:Parris Afton Bonds [Bonds, Parris Afton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Romance, Historical, Historical Romance
ISBN: 1499350643
Amazon: B008JLF4U8
Goodreads: 21231688
Publisher: Paradise Publishing
Published: 2001-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Driven by a chilly north wind, tumbleweed bounced across Kit Carson Cemetery’s mounds, each one topped by a blue cross. Alessandra hadn’t seen Man in the three days since Henri’s death at Doc Martin’s clinic. Here, looking across the collection of fresh flowers, she saw no passion in Man’s eyes. Only deep compassion.

Sympathy, pity, compassion. She cringed at these passive sentiments. She wanted his raging-against-life/death-passion again. At the moment though, her need of his passion warred with her need for vengeance. She still couldn’t quite comprehend that Henri was no longer.

Father Joe, his fat concealed in his black cassock, finished the last of the requiem. No family, no wife, stood there to mourn.

At Peg’s request, Man began to speak, performing the Indian burial ritual Henri would have wanted. Man’s patrician face held no emotion. His prayer was simple, short, powerful.

“. . . that you would fall asleep of old age, my friend. Since this cannot be so, then, like great priests, may you join the Cloud Beings rather than make the four days’ journey to the Land of the Dead.”

Then Man sprinkled the sacred corn meal to the four winds. Solemn-faced, some sniffling, the locals turned to file away. To return to living through their allotted days until their moment for transition also came.

Man’s touch on her arm stopped her. Her vision blurring with unshed tears, she stared up, up at him in silent question.

He took her hand and placed Henri’s beret in her palm. Inside the cap was a fired cartridge.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered.

“I backtracked to where Henri was found shot.”

She searched his face. “Do you know who shot him?”

He shrugged. “What for it matters?”

She gaped. “It matters, goddamnit, because whoever fired — ”

He turned his back, stopping her tirade, then left her to walk with dignity and self-containment toward his pueblo.

The mourners adjourned to Los Gallos, its hand-painted door draped with a black wreath. Alessandra’s sorrow and grief and rage at Henri’s death was muted in the presence of the people who had come to pay their respect to the courageous little man. But afterward . . . when the mourning period was over, she raged again, ready to do battle. The fierce anger simmering inside her demanded she do no less.

* * * * *

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Peg asked.

“Very.” Alessandra paced the Rainbow Room. She rubbed her palms together. Thinking. Thinking. How do I pull this off? She wouldn’t go into this admitting anything but the prospect of winning. Wasn’t that how Brendon fought? Never underestimate the opponent?

The saying was “You can’t fight City Hall.” Well, she could and she would. And she would win. She felt so angry. Incredibly angry. Only shattering something would serve to vent her frenzied wrath. So she would shatter this governmental conspiracy to rob the Pueblos of their lands! She would do that for Henri!

But she, and the Puebloans, needed so much more than rage to win this battle. They needed legal advice. Money.

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