My backstory

My story

[Shiloh] Tunstall, the Belted Earl’s daughter. That’s what they called you.

But it wasn’t the name they gave you that made your blood boil that February afternoon as you stood in the middle of your father’s yard, clenching your gun so hard your knuckles were white, glaring at the trespassers with contempt.

It was the audacity of those men, whose voices echoed in your head as their eyes, lustful and almost animal-like, sized you up with mockery.

“Look around you, Earl… All I see are hired thieves”, Murphy sneered, “and a fine lass living among savages. No doubt she makes for the greatest house entertainment!”

You remember their laughter, his ugly grin and his face like a hyena’s. You remember the humiliation and anger, the sound of loaded guns at the ready and the soft, but firm voice of your father, ordering you and the boys to lower your weapons.

You hated them all. Murphy. Dole. Brady. The Santa Fe Ring. To see them all hang had been the only thing you wished for ever since the day you saw your father’s cold, motionless body lying in the dirt, listening to the curses and oaths of six young men, his famous Regulators, the only family you had left.

Your mother died of pox a couple of years after you’d been brought into the world. You hardly remembered her. Despite your father’s generous attempts to make up for that loss, you’d always felt the pain that comes with growing up deprived of motherly presence. He never married another woman, but tried his best to give you the love he felt you deserved and brought into your life several men who took the place of your brothers, making up for the absence of siblings you always wished you’d had.

Your father had a particularly soft spot for them and to be fair, you did too. Even though life with them wasn’t always easy, you loved your boys dearly and wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

You and Chavez, however, had always shared a special bond. There were times when you felt as if there was nobody in the world who understood you the way he did. And although he never talked much, his presence alone made you feel secure and wanted. It meant you always had someone looking out for you.

Chavez rarely smiled, but when he did, it looked as if the sun shone brightly upon his handsome features. You wished he would smile more, but sadly, there was always this strange aura of grief and pain surrounding him, making you believe that there had been something in the past that hurt him terribly and changed his life forever. And so sometimes when he smiled, you thought you could see a glimpse of a happier, untroubled person he might have been once.   

He called you ‘chiquita’, not because you were particularly petite, but because he was taller than you and perhaps he liked teasing you in a friendly manner. You weren’t sure whether what you felt toward him and his feelings toward you were of the same sort. Many nights you spent wondering, not being able to pluck up the courage to possibly ruin the friendship you cherished with devotion.

It was the night after your father had been murdered that you found yourself lying in the dark, eyes wide open, staring into the corner of your empty room. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much it resembled the aching void in your heart, the irreparable harm Murphy and his men had caused you, something you wouldn’t ever be able to get rid of, something you knew you had to learn to live with.

The silence in the house was unsettling. It was eerie, knowing your father was dead, but feeling his presence everywhere as if he were alive.

You couldn’t stand the sound of your own heart pounding in your chest, almost echoing against the cold walls. You couldn’t stand being in that silent house for a minute longer.

The cold night breeze soothed you somehow. You raised your head, taking in the vast beauty of the starry sky above you. You reminisced on your father showing you the Great Bear, assuring you that wherever you found yourself, you could search for the North Star and it would show you the way. You felt tears pricking your eyes as your vision began to blur, and suddenly a soft, rustling sound behind you snapped you back to reality.

You wasted no time reaching for your gun and turning around, searching for the mysterious intruder. His soft voice made the lump in your throat grow bigger.

“Chiquita.”

Even in the dark, you could recognize his beautiful, angular face and the warm look in his thoughtful eyes as he approached you, stepping out of the shadows. You lowered your pistol weakly, your shoulders drooping as you fought back the flood of emotions threatening to burst out. You couldn’t look at him. You kept your eyes closed as the sound of his footsteps grew louder.

“Chiquita.”

That word again. You could feel him now standing right beside you. It was too much, him being there and your father not, the pain and sorrow, anger and hopelessness. Before you had a chance to say anything, you felt a pair of strong arms envelop you, pulling you into his tight, warm embrace.

His touch was enough, and you burst into tears.

He held you while you cried, his tender fingers stroking your back until you felt a lighter, warmer pressure on your head and eventually realized that he had planted a single soft kiss on your temple.

With your head against his firm chest, you thought you could hear his heartbeat.

“I miss him so much, Chavez”, you choked out miserably. It came out shaky and hardly comprehensible, your voice muffled by his shirt, but he heard you perfectly.

“I know”, he said and pulled you tighter. “I know, chiquita.”

He smelled like pine trees and home. You thought you could stay like that forever, listening to him breathe. You finally managed to lift your head. A sudden wave of comfort washed over you as your eyes met.

“Chavez…”, you breathed, admiring the way his long silky hair fell in shiny little waves around his face. He looked like an angel, you thought, an angel with a mesmerizing, dark halo.

“The pain…”, he whispered, “It never goes away, but it subsides. I know it’s hard.”

It pained you even worse to hear him say it. “What happened, Chavez?”, you said hoarsely. “What happened to you?”

The silence that followed scared you. Eventually, he said: “The Sand Creek…”

He told you about his people, about the blood. He told you about what Murphy and his demonic men did to his family, to his tribe. You listened, horrified and trembling, letting the tears stream down your face freely.

“Chavez…”, you started, but he cut you off.

“They took everything from me, don’t you see? And then they took your father. There’s nothing left for me here, except for you, chiquita. And I won’t let them take you. I won’t let them take you away from me.”

There was no way to describe what those words made you feel.

“I never told you…”, you whispered, caressing his face, “I was scared…”

“Tell me now”, he said, lowering his head so that his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you”, you said, feeling his warm breath on your lips. “I always have.”

He locked his lips with yours gently and lovingly, making your heart flutter. Kissing him felt like you were being lifted off the ground, levitating in his embrace, supported by the only man that ever truly mattered. You knew you were going to make it.

“Always, chiquita. Always.”