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scratched the stubble on his chin and smiled. “So, you’re the seamstress?” He shook his head and laughed. “Well, doesn’t that beat all? My apologies for not reaching you sooner, ma’am.” With a bow, he strode off across the courtyard.
    RuthAnne drew the cloth tighter around her shoulders as she watched him walk away. His laughter was cold, and she couldn’t shake the notion that she had just been slighted. Fine , she thought, kicking her foot at the ground. At least he knew where to find her when her wares arrived.
    ****
    RuthAnne rejoiced at every incoherent mumble that fell from Mara’s lips and died a little each time the pain sent her sister back into a restless slumber. Her thoughts flicked to her mother and how she’d soothed their fevers when she and Mara were small children. RuthAnne now tended her sister in the same fashion, loving on her, praying for her while placing cool cloths on her forehead and wrists, soaking them in a blend of water and pungent herbs that Mariposa had prepared for that purpose.
    Time stood still on the chapel grounds. RuthAnne stayed by her sister’s side. She changed the dressing with freshly boiled and dried linen bandages, observed the blood clotting. Mara’s wounds would heal, and she’d never been more grateful.
    RuthAnne spent her days praying in the chapel and at her sister’s bedside and long nights in the room she’d begun to think of as her own. Soon, Mara would be well enough to travel to the city. RuthAnne could meet with the new quartermaster, and they could rebuild their lives in this strange new place. So many unknowns left her worried and kept her sleepless on the lonely summer nights.
    Finally, three days after her arrival, Father Acuña found her sitting in the shade of the ramada porch. His hands were folded in front of him, and his eyes were grave. Her first thought went to Mara’s condition, and a cold stab of fear sliced through her heart.
    “What is it, Father?” Springing to her feet, she steeled herself for the worst, tears pricking her eyes. She vaguely noticed a bright red cardinal darting from the mesquite tree to the rafter beam, eyeing them before flying off again. A fat gamble quail puttered along the adobe fence, its topknot bobbing.
    “My dear, sweet girl. You’ve had more than your share of bad news lately. I’m so sorry, but I must tell you...”
    “Please, Father. Not Mara. God can’t have Mara yet...” She sank to her knees, and he clasped her hands, apologetically, helping her stand.
    “She is resting comfortably. I’m so sorry to worry you. That is not why I’ve come.” RuthAnne squeezed her eyes shut with relief as he continued. “It is the army wagons. I have just gotten news. There is more trouble with the Indians at the New Mexico and Arizona border. Nothing will be transported from La Junta, or through New Mexico, for at least another month.”
    RuthAnne nodded dimly. Another setback. And she couldn’t rely on the kindness of these good people for another month, not while they cared for Mara and asked nothing in return.
    She knew what she must do, as much as it killed her to admit it. She needed help.
    “Where might I find Captain Shepherd?”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
    The ragtag group of soldiers stayed camped for two days at the edge of lower Tanque Verde Creek, just off the chapel grounds, where clear water trickled along the rocky riverbed. Captain Bowen Shepherd ordered his men to saddle their mounts. The time had come to return to the fort.
    The monsoon storm clouds were building. Voluminous, they massed into a darkening curtain, even as the morning sun broke over the valley. Bowen wiped the sweat from his brow, replaced his army issue hat, and frowned at the jagged claws of white lighting that streaked across the darkening eastern sky. They were too far away to hear the thunder. Yet.
    On the other side of the smoldering campfire, Bowen eyed Sergeant Ross MacEvoy rolling up his thin