I knew this boy.
Ages ago, when I was an awkward and gangly girl of nine, I’d gone to a year of schooling at the St. Ignacio Mission outside Burning Mesa. The friars taught any who came to read and write. But I didn’t quite fit in there. Mama said it was because I asked too many silly questions. There was one boy who took kindly to me, though. Another misfit. An Apache boy with the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. He’d come to St. Ignacio to learn English. We both stuck out like weeds together.
We were friends until the day I made the mistake of telling Mama all about him. She refused to explain why, but after that, I never stepped foot in St. Ignacio again.
And now, there he stood before me. He looked the same in many ways but grown up in others. He was a warrior now. I could tell from the red band of cloth he wore tied over his forehead.
“Maggie Davis,” he called, and he held out his hand.
I didn’t move, stunned. He remembered my name?
“You stay away!” Jeb had his rifle aimed.
I pushed the barrel of the gun down. “Stop!” I cried. “I know him. He won’t hurt us.”
Jeb stared at me like I’d gone mad. “You know him?”
“You have to trust me, Jeb. There’s no time to argue.”
Fire choked the little ravine with startling speed. The Apache looked at the growing flames and held out his hand with more urgency. “You must come. I will help you.”
I stood, and Jeb grabbed my arm. “No!”
“It’ll be all right,” I said, pressing my hand over his. “I promise.”
I looked back at the Apache. I could see in his eyes that he wouldn’t hurt us. I nodded once. He lay on his stomach on the rock face and reached his arms down.
“First the child,” he said. “Hurry.”
The flames pressed in. The entire ravine would be burning within a matter of minutes.
As I lifted Ella up into the warrior’s hands, a smoldering branch of the nearby bristlecone pine snapped off and fell to the ground. Sparks scattered, spreading over the dry desert grasses spotting the ground. The grasses caught flame instantly. Fire joined with fire, spreading like floodwater. The heat rushed over us like a wave, stinging our eyes and singeing our throats. I turned to Jeb.
And I knew he could see it, too. There would only be time to lift one more person out before the fire engulfed the ravine completely. If even that.
As the angry yellow flames rushed toward us, roaring and crackling over the dry ground, we pressed our backs to the cliff wall.
“God Almighty,” Jeb whispered.
I squeezed his hand, speechless with horror.
The Apache reached down again, and his eyes flashed with dismay.
“Hurry!” he cried.
“Can you lift us both at once?” I asked desperately. But then I felt Jeb’s hand on my shoulder. He was looking up at the warrior, exchanging silent words. Then he looked back to me.
“Take care of Ella,” he said softly.
“Don’t you dare, Jeb.”
The heat was blinding, oppressive. I could barely breathe or see in the onslaught of thick gray smoke, but I caught Jeb giving the Apache a nod.
“No!” I shouted, coughing, shaking my head violently.
Jeb grabbed my hand. He pressed a firm kiss to it, then yanked my fist up to the Apache.
“Jeb! No!”
The warrior’s strong grip wrapped around my wrist, and he pulled me up with startling speed. I tried to kick, but he didn’t release me. I stretched my free hand to Jeb, screaming. “No! No!”
Above me, Ella reached over the edge of the rock, shouting Jeb’s name.
The flames below clawed at my shoes and bare ankles. They caught onto my skirt and seared my skin. Through the ruthless smoke below, I could just make out a final, mournful flash of Jeb’s brown eyes. And then the Apache gave a big heave, pulling me over the ledge.
I crumbled to the high ground with an anguished cry. The Apache rushed to stamp out my burning skirt, but I wished he wouldn’t. In that moment, I felt like dying right there on the hot sand.
But then I noticed Ella, still reaching for the flames, screaming for Jeb with raw anguish. I fell to her side. She resisted my embrace with all of her might, crying and sobbing for Jeb. I held her tight until she collapsed, her little body shaking with sobs, and I knew that even if I truly did want to die, I couldn’t. And I couldn’t break down, either, not here, not yet. For Ella, I had to be strong.
“It is not safe yet,” the Apache said, crouching beside me, his voice gentle but tense. “We cannot stay here.”
I felt the heat of the fire behind us. Tongues of flame curled up from the edge of the ravine. Thinking of Jeb down there hurt me more than any burn could have. A scream boiled in my throat, desperate to escape. It took all of my strength to keep myself together.
The Apache took my hand. “We must run.”
He pulled us through a narrow path of red-rock. Smoke from the advancing inferno followed, relentless and cruel. The heat hung heavy on the air. When the rock widened, I spotted a black horse tied to a low pine.
Ella and I were too dazed with grief and fear to protest as the Apache lifted us onto the beast’s back. He jumped on behind me, gave the animal one gentle kick, and we tore off across the wide desert.
The horse’s hooves pounded fiercely against the moon-bleached sand, and the wind beat in our ears. We didn’t speak. Finally, after what felt like hours, a settlement surfaced on the dark horizon. A wide adobe wall spread out before us as we drew closer. Behind it, a church dozed beneath the branches of shade trees and a large willow. I recognized the exposed bell tower and the run-down, crumbling wall. It was St. Ignacio.
We rode up the gates, and the warrior called for the horse to slow. The trauma had finally overwhelmed Ella, and she’d collapsed into sleep against me in spite of the long, pounding journey. Seeing this, the warrior hopped down from the horse. He gently lifted Ella, then reached for me with his free arm.
In the pale moonlight he looked tall and strong as an ox. His long black hair hung over his shoulders and blew gently in the wind like dark feathers. He wore thick pants, a vest over his bare chest. My face warmed to my ears as he lifted me effortlessly from the horse.
Stepping onto solid ground, my saddle-sore legs wobbled, but I kept my composure. I quickly smoothed down my wind-blasted hair and wrinkled clothes. I probably looked as bedraggled as I felt.
Seeing a patch of singed fabric on my dress, the memories came flooding back in a river of fire. Mama. Papa. And Jeb. Oh, Jeb.
I scanned the dark, night-bathed surroundings of the mission. The quiet whistle of wind over the desert filled me with a consuming emptiness I couldn’t escape.
Just then, I felt a hand on my arm. The warrior held Ella out to me, and I took her into my arms. The sight of her face, so sweet and utterly peaceful in sleep, only twisted the knife of sorrow deeper in my throat.
“You can stay here,” the Apache said. “The fathers will protect you for a time.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For everything.” Suddenly, words felt like little rocks in my mouth, but I forced myself on. “I…remember your face but not your name.”
“Yahnuiyo,” he said. “Yahn.”
I didn’t dare meet his gaze. “It’s so strange to see you again. And under these circumstances…”
He turned his face in the direction of Haydenville. “My people did not burn your home,” he said, somehow answering the very question I hadn’t dared to ask. “Or your village.”
“Then who did?” I asked quietly.
Yahn’s gaze was firm on me. “May we never have to find out.”
I flexed my grip over Ella. Something in his tone made me want her as close as possible.
“Leave if you can,” he said. “Go far from these desert lands. Take your sister.”
His words sent a shiver over me. Perhaps sensing this, he softened. “I am sorry,” he said. “For the loss of your brother. I regret deeply that I could not save him.” The sincerity in his voice stung my heart like a hot needle.
