The Enchanted Land Read online

  “You have lost too much weight. You do not eat enough. I have watched you and you are pining for something—or someone.”

  Morgan shook her head as the larger woman pinned the waist of her dress. “That’s silly, Lupita. I’m perfectly happy. I have everything I need right here.”

  “Except a man.”

  “I have Adam.”

  “Yes, señora.”

  “Lupita, don’t use that trick. I am happy and I mean it, and stop playing the docile servant.”

  “Whatever the señora wants.”

  “Lupita!” But she was gone. Morgan smiled to herself. She’s wrong, she thought, I’ve just lost weight because I try to keep Adam from crawling into the stove. Anyone would lose weight running after Adam. She kissed her sleeping son, his blond hair curling about his face. He moved and made a few sucking motions with his mouth. A deep dimple appeared briefly in his cheek. Just like Seth, she thought. Just like Seth. She tried to brush the idea from her mind and went outside to greet her guests.

  Many of the people there that night were strangers, and Morgan was glad when the party was over. When she had removed her satin gown and slipped into her plain cotton nightgown, she gazed at the bed and began to cry.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “I have everything, but I want more.” Her voice woke Adam, and she was glad to go and comfort him. It was a long time before she went to sleep.

  The snows began early that year and the winter dragged on and on. Adam seemed to grow some each day, and she and Lupita were busy sewing clothes for him. Jake and Paul whittled wooden horses and cows for him, gradually creating an entire wooden ranch, complete with house, barn, fences, wagons, and men. Lupita filled the little toy house with furniture and food. She even made a replica of Adam. Adam rewarded everyone with squeals of laughter and a sometimes rather sticky hug.

  Morgan’s memories of Seth increased day by day and she began to be very restless. She wanted to go away from the ranch for a while. She worried about Seth’s return.

  In February, Adam was one year old. Lupita and Morgan baked an enormous cake, and Frank and Louisa brought their six children to share in the celebration. Adam was shy around the other children for a few minutes, but quickly recovered. Frank tossed Adam into the air. “Goin’ to be as big as your pa, ain’t you?”

  Jake grinned. “Looks more like him every day. Doesn’t seem to have his pa’s stubborn streak though, or at least not yet.”

  Lupita watched as Morgan’s face whitened at the mention of Seth. Lupita knew the memories tormented her and she felt the pain her little mistress felt.

  Soon after Adam’s birthday, Morgan wrote to her father’s lawyer in Albuquerque. She stated briefly that she had fulfilled the terms of the will and would like to know about her inheritance. She hoped she and Adam could go away together, possibly even to Europe.

  She waited expectantly for weeks for an answer to her letter, but none came. She thought she might write again, but Lupita told her to wait a bit longer. The mails in New Mexico were very slow.

  Now when Morgan went for her morning ride, Adam went with her. Often they took a basket of food to make a picnic.

  Neither of them saw the pair of eyes that watched them every day. As the sun was going down and Jake, Paul, and Adam walked around the house, none of them sensed their quiet observer. Once the horse Adam played near was stung by a wasp, and the horse reared. Only Adam saw the strong brown arms that pulled the unsteady toddler from beneath the iron-clad hooves.

  It had been nearly two months since Morgan wrote the letter. She sat under a tree some distance from the ranch house, a place where she often brought Adam to play and picnic. The stream that watered the ranch flowed here, and the grass was green and the shade cool. Their horse, grazing nearby, whinnied, but for the moment Morgan was lost in thought. She decided to send another letter to the lawyer. Why hadn’t he replied?

  “Eat.” Adam smiled at his mother as she lifted him from the horse.

  “No, not eat. I’m mama, remember, Adam?”

  “Ma ma ma.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Look Adam, a butterfly.” She pointed, but Adam continued to stare at his mother. He tried to form words, but none would come. His eyes lifted from Morgan’s to an area just behind her head. He laughed at what he saw there.

  Morgan laughed with him. His dimpled smiles were infectious. Still smiling, she turned to look at what he saw. Her hand flew to her mouth in alarm. Quickly she stood up and held Adam behind her. He struggled to see around her skirts.

  An Indian sat majestically on a black-and-white pony. He was slim, his hair straight and black, falling just to his earlobes. It glistened in the morning sunlight. He was naked from the waist up. There was a rawhide strip around his neck which held a little leather pouch, decorated by black and red beads.

  His legs were clad in buckskin with fringe down the sides. He looked exactly like the Apaches who had taken her to San Francisco. Her voice shook. “What do you want?”

  The Indian dismounted fluidly. He stared at Morgan and at Adam and took a step closer. Morgan turned and picked up Adam, pulling him close to her. He pushed her away. He wanted to walk, not to be carried. Morgan pulled him even tighter.

  “Go away. Leave us alone.” Adam frowned at his mother. What was wrong?

  “I’m really sorry to have frightened you so. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gordon Matthews.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. The Indian’s voice was deep, rather musical. It was refined. His words were carefully articulated and the endings sharply pronounced, unlike the Kentuckians Morgan had always known.

  He watched her closely, as if waiting for something. When she pulled Adam closer, Gordon shrugged and sat down on the bank of the little stream.

  “Yes,” he said. “You do look like your pictures.” He turned and smiled up at her, showing even, white teeth. “I really shouldn’t do this, I know. Uncle Charley used to say I played at being an Indian. It is really rather ostentatious of me, isn’t it?”

  “Osten…” Morgan loosened her hold on Adam, who had decided to remove the trim from her riding habit. She was confused.

  “I really enjoy the game, and I get to play it so seldom these days. On the ranch the men like to forget that I’m half-Indian. So I like to dress up whenever I can. I have a great deal of trouble with my hair. You see, it tends to curl, so I have to use a little lard on it. I’m sure my ancestors would disown me for not using buffalo grease, but these are modern times, are they not?” He paused.

  “Morgan, please sit by me. I may get a cramp in my neck if you keep standing.”

  Morgan took a step farther from him. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

  Gordon sighed and then stood up. “I think one needs to keep in better shape to play Indian.” He rubbed his neck. “The name Gordon Matthews means nothing to you?”

  “No.”

  “Your father never mentioned me in his letters?”

  “My father? Letters?”

  “Morgan, please. Stop being so frightened. I won’t hurt you. Here, let me take Adam and then we can talk.”

  Morgan twisted her body so that Adam was farther from him.

  “It’s your decision, but he is ruining your habit. Adam—look.” He held out the beaded pouch and Adam reached for it. Gordon held his arms to Adam and Adam lunged toward him. Gordon caught the sturdy boy. “Another year and he’ll be bigger than you are, Morgan. Now, let’s sit down.”

  Gordon sat down again, took off the pouch, and gave it to Adam, who happily toddled off with his prize.

  “He’s a very handsome young man. I believe he’s going to look like his father. Seth is a large man, isn’t he?” Gordon turned back to look at Morgan. “You know, you look very much like your father when you frown like that. All right, since you don’t know, I’ll explain. Uncle Charley always said I took hours to get to a point. My father always said my education had interfered with my thinking. They were probably both correct.” He ch