Chapter 18 of Del Norte By Julia Robb Western Author Julia Robb is allowing the Lone Star Library Annex to share her novella Del Norte in serial form, a chapter every few days. The previous chapters are also available.... Enjoy! Del Norte A Western by Julia Robb Text copyright December, 2013 Julia Robb All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thanks to Jim Gressinger for allowing me to use his wonderful photograph for Del Norte’s cover and Cliff Lawless for help with the cover design. For more information, see juliarobb. Other books by author Scalp Mountain Saint of the Burning Heart Chapter Eighteen Big flat feet and splayed toes stuck from the end of the brown, wool blanket covering Johnny’s body and dangled from the end of his own kitchen table. Under the blanket, Johnny Lan lay naked. After Thomas dragged him inside, Magdalena held her breath and washed the waste from Johnny’s legs, then took his pants to the outhouse and dropped them in the foul-smelling hole. “You gave Sing a dose of laudanum?” Thomas asked Magdalena. Thomas used both hands to rub his tired, unshaven face, feeling the bristles scrape his palms. “Yes. She’ll sleep all day. She wouldn’t let go of him.” “Are you sure you can identify all of them?” “Maybe not the teamsters, but I know the sutler and the troopers, they’ve been in our place.” A sparrow fluttered around the ceiling, trying to find its way out of the saloon. Magdalena wanted to help the bird, but felt like she couldn’t find a way out herself. “Thomas, I saw Ray there, when they hung Johnny,” she finally said, long, thin fingers twisting her ragged white apron strings, feeling Thomas step next to her, look down, loom over her. “He helped? Why didn’t you tell me?” “No, he stood at the street corner and watched. I think this was his idea...You aren’t surprised?” “No.” “What are you going to do?” “Put a stop to Ray.” “And Dusek?” “And Dusek, and the rest of them.” “What if they put a stop to you?” “I can’t let this go. They murdered our employee. We’re going to load them in a wagon, take them to San Antonio and hand them over to the law.” “We? You expect me to go?” “Somebody has to hold a rifle on them while I feed them and let them do their necessaries. It will take more than a week to get there.” “Why not bring the marshal here?” “Because I don’t know what they’ll do while I’m gone.” “But how can you fight all those men? They won’t let you take them. Maybe we should leave and open again in Fort Griffin, or San Antonio.” “Run from one thing, run from everything,” Thomas said, remembering the firing squad, remembering finishing the coward off when the firing squad failed to kill him. He could not arrange another man’s execution and run himself. Thomas said: “Once, I failed..I didn’t try to end a situation..in the war. I didn’t want to resign my commission. I don’t think I could have helped, but I didn’t try.” “What situation?” “I was the adjutant at a POW camp. We starved those rebs until they looked like stick horses and died like flies.” “What’s a POW camp?” “Never mind.” Walking to the open door, Thomas peered across the street at Dusek’s closed saloon, then at the lynching tree. Sun glistened off cottonwood leaves and meadowlarks sprang from the grass around the tree, soaring upward, praising the sun and the wind with song. A rooster called, though the sun had already climbed halfway up the sky. “Why don’t you cry?” he asked her, reluctant to turn from the door and face her resentment. “I don’t want to cry.” “Maggie, you’re a liar. I’ve seen you cry over Cortez and I know you want to cry over Johnny. ” “You don’t know me.” “I know how scared you are to love somebody again, but I can’t wait for you forever. When this is over, I’m going to California and start a surveying business. If you won’t go, you can spend the rest of your life here with a bunch of drunks.” Silence, and he finally turned and saw her sitting straight up in the chair, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I didn’t even like Johnny,” Magdalena said, swiping at her cheeks with her hand. “He didn’t treat Sing with respect, and he never thought about anybody but himself. When I turned my back he stopped working. But I didn’t want him murdered.” “Of course you didn’t.” “I couldn’t stop them and Benni was there. I had to protect my son, I couldn’t let him see that. But Johnny’s eyes...He was so scared. Maybe if I had taken a gun when I went outside. But I just didn’t think.” Squatting beside her, Thomas took her wet hand, stroking it with his fingers, but Magdalena snatched it back, as if she had touched an open flame. “I don’t need anybody except Benni. Go to California,” she said. Standing, he walked back to the door, gazing at the birds, longing for freedom, for peace, for anything but what he faced. Bugle calls drifted from the fort, ordering men to report for inspection and Thomas fervently wished he were back in the cavalry, when life was simple and orderly, if not safe. Sun lay on his dark head and traveled down his blue coat, down his long legs. Watching him, Magdalena’s heart fluttered: “You have more gray in your hair,” she said. He could feel her eyes on his back. “Get Benni, we’re going to see McKenna at the fort,” Thomas said. “It’s not safe for him outside.” “It’s not safe anywhere. Go get him. ” Mi´ bebe´ should never have seen them drag Johnny to the tree, she thought, while they rode toward the river. What if it makes him sick? What if he has nightmares? Magdalena clutched her son’s fragile body–sitting in front of her on the saddle–pulled Benni against her, kissed her son’s sweat-dewed neck. “Stop mami´,” Benne said, twisting away. Riding beside them, Thomas propped the rifle butt on his saddle and rested the barrel against his shoulder. Hoof beats echoed on the wood when they crossed the bridge over the river’s placid green water, the fort looming in front of them. Concho was built in a rectangle, with plastered adobe barracks on one side of the parade ground and officers quarters on the other. Barns and shops–like the blacksmith and the laundry–squatted behind the living quarters. The stone headquarters crossed the triangle at the top and exuded a glowering authority. Red stripes waved from the middle of the dirt-packed parade ground where a cavalry troop drilled their horses in unison; to the right, to the left, wheel, back, charge. “Thomas, I saw Ray,” Benni said. “When did you see him?” “Last night, when they hurt chinky.” “Uh huh, and what was Ray doing?” “He was just looking.” “So you think Ray had something to do with hurting Johnny?” “Yes.” “Say ‘yes sir,’” Magdalena told her son. “Yes sir.” “Well, maybe he did,” Thomas said. “Ray gave me a knife.” “When did this happen?” “I don’t remember. He said look for something in my burro’s stall. It was under some hay.” “Did you keep it?” “Yes. Yes sir. It has a horse on the handle. Mami´ said I can have a horse when I start school at the fort.” “That’s a good idea.” Magdalena said: “Son, stop talking so much.” “Benni is a very observant young man,” Thomas said. “Can I talk?” Benni continued. Magdalena blew on her lips. “Thomas, Ray is bad. He made Mami´ cry.” “Did he?” “But he likes me.” “He seems to.” “How can he hurt Mami´ and like me? And he likes his horse. He said his horse can run fast and he gave me a ride once. I saw him patting his horse. The horse is named Corredor.” Racer. “Does it make you feel bad, that Ray likes you?” “I don’t know.” After a moment, Benni said, “Why does he hurt mami´ and like me?” “Ray doesn’t need to fight little boys.” “But he needs to fight big boys?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” “Does he need to fight mamí´?” “I don’t know, son.” “He made her cry.” “Maybe he didn’t mean to.” “Stop talking about this,” Magdalena said to Thomas. “What if Ray tries to hurt Mami´?” “I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Thomas said, helping Magdalena and Benni down from their horse at headquarters, onto the wide wood porch. “Do you want him to hear this,” Thomas asked Magdalena, gesturing to Benni. “Stay on this porch and don’t go anywhere,” Magdalena told her son. Inside, General McKenna said, “I can’t help you.” McKenna sat at his desk, his back to the tall window. Thomas and Magdalena could see the flag blowing in the wind, the horses wheel in circles. The general was still genial, portly and bearded, with deep grooves running down his face, Magdalena thought, exactly as he was the day he asked if she would take Ray as her lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health. Marriage. Ray’s possessive arm around her shoulders. Till death do us part. Leaving McKenna’s office after the ceremony, the soldiers’ dogs charged their heels, nipping and barking while Magdalena thought, no, nothing bad will happen, he loves me. I should have known better, she thought. Why didn’t I know? “The troopers in question are deserters, as of last night,” the general said. “We’ve got a patrol out looking for them, but the Comanche will probably get them before we do.” Comanche. Magdalena shuttered. “Will you assign a patrol to help me round up Cortez, Cormac Finn and Dusek? The teamsters lit out of here before dawn,” Thomas said. “Colonel, I deeply regret what happened to your man, but I can’t interfere in civilian affairs.” “Finn has a contract with the military. That makes him your employee.” “No it doesn’t. It gives him the right to operate his store on this post. As you well know.” “General, you have leeway to do a lot out here. You’re the commander of this entire military district.” “I can’t do it.” “Sir, when I round them up, will you give us an escort to San Antonio?” Leaning back in his chair, General McKenna clasped his hands on his ample stomach: “If the patrol searching for my deserters has returned, I’ll be glad to send them with you.” “And if I’m killed, will you write a letter to the authorities in San Antonio and inform them about the situation here?” Hearing Magdalena shift in her chair, McKenna glanced at her, then away. “Certainly. I will do anything military law allows. You were an excellent adjutant.” Turning to Magdalena, the general said, “Did Colonel Lamb tell you why the Army gave him the Congressional Medal of Honor?” “Un medalla?” The general paused at Magdalena’s blank face. “Never mind Sir,” Thomas said. “No, I want to tell her. Lamb here went on patrol with Colonel Bickerson but the Comanche killed Bickerson and Lamb was forced to take command. He and two men flanked the Comanche on foot, and killed their war leader. Sgt. Weber was wounded and Lamb carried him through enemy fire, all the way back to the patrol’s position. Then he led the patrol from the Canadian River to Concho, under fire, without losing a man.” Thomas looked down in his lap and pretended to straighten his hat brim, while Magdalena tried to act unimpressed. Once the handshakes were over and they stood on the porch, Thomas told Magdalena, “I want you to go to your mother’s house and stay there until I round them up. Take Sing. We’ll bury Johnny Lan this evening.” Sun lit the bottom of Magdalena’s red calico dress, and the splintered porch around her, but the rest remained in shadow. “Maybe you shouldn’t do this,” she said. “I’ll come get you when I’ve got them in the wagon and we’re ready to go.” “You think like a man. We could leave.” “Please stay at your mother’s so I don’t have to worry about you.” Watching him, Magdalena saw her partner’s dark eyebrows arched in the middle, the strong ridge of cheekbone, his broad shoulders in the uniform jacket–and she unwillingly remembered the picnic he arranged the previous fall. Everyone was invited; she and Benni, her mother Josefa, Doña Ramona, her sister Rosie. They bumped down the river in a spring wagon until Thomas stopped under a grove of gold-leafed trees and covered a blanket with food cooked by Silvano Flores’ wife; enchiladas, guisado with tortillas, cabrito and churros for dessert. Doña Ramona sat in a portable wooden chair and Thomas personally served her: Abuela passed her hand over the tin plate and smiled, her milky blind eyes staring up at the trees, the smoky gray startling against her brown, seamed face. Josefa sat next to Rosie and Rosie sat next to Thomas; the younger woman flashing her eyes at him and rearranging her rebozo, shaking her head to make her gold hoop earrings swing in the sun. Magdalena scornfully eyed Rosie, but spent most of her time warily watching Benni eat and run while stuffing his mouth with churros, whooping and throwing rocks at turtles sunning themselves on logs. Rather than eat himself, Thomas kept his guests’ plates full; chatting with Josefa, jumping to pick up Abuela’s napkin when it fell from her lap, directing an amused smile at Rosie when she tried to capture his attention. A gust of wind shook the tree and swept golden leaves past the picnickers, into the brightness beyond. “How did you become a healer?” Thomas asked Doña Ramona, politely. “A mule kicked me and cleaved my nose,” Doña Ramona said, in her whispery voice. “I could feel the bone with my fingers and my head filled with fire. After many days, El Gran Señor said go to Yelapa Falls and coat your nose with mud. When I obeyed, I was healed, and now I heal others. El Cristo has been gracious.” “I notice you’re still blind,” Magdalena said. “Daughter, be respectful,” Josefa said. “Leave the child alone, Josefa, she has a broken heart. Thomas also has a broken heart. But I cannot help them. Only God can heal hearts,” Doña Ramona said. “Why is my heart broken?” Thomas asked her. “You believe you caused much suffering. But you are a good man.” Thomas leaned forward, his eyes earnestly searching abuela’s face. It hurt Magdalena to see it. She didn’t know why.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Jul 2014 22:15:06 +0000
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