Lost in Laredo

by Vivi Holt

  He struggled to his feet with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head, then built another fire with the leftover kindling from the previous evening. By the time it was ready for cooking over, Lotte had stirred to wakefulness. She nodded at him silently, a hint of a smile on her full lips, and went down to the water’s edge to wash. He averted his eyes, focusing on making breakfast instead.

  When Lotte returned, he had a pot of frijoles bubbling in the coals on the edge of the fire. She smiled when he handed her a tin plate full of the beans, then grimaced at the heat and quickly wrapped a section of her skirt around the edge of the plate to carry it back to her bedroll. He ate, watching from the corner of his eye as she sat and blew on the food.

  She took a tentative bite and her eyes widened. He’d added serrano chiles he’d found at a market in Fort Worth. Her mouth fell open and she rapidly inhaled and exhaled. “Oh, it is gekruid! Uh … spicy!”

  He chuckled. “Too hot?”

  “No, no, it is fine. It is … delicious. I just was not expecting it.” She smiled and took another forkful.

  Lotte studied Antonio while he packed his things neatly into his saddlebags. He had a quiet way about him – he’d only spoken a few words to her since they met on the side of the road. She chewed her lower lip. Met probably wasn’t the right word– she’d more or less attacked him. She shook her head – how was she to know he didn’t mean to hurt her? He should’ve spoken up.

  She was grateful to have found someone to travel with. It gave her peace of mind, though she didn’t sleep particularly well. She barely knew him. But after having survived the night without any trouble from him, she felt much better about the situation. He’d even cooked her breakfast – she’d never had a man cook a meal for her before. It felt strange to simply sit by the campfire and eat without having built the fire or prepared the meal.

  To make up for it, she helped him pack up the camp and water the horse and donkey – the burro, he’d called it. She’d have said ezel. It was hard trying to communicate entirely in English, since she knew little Spanish, mostly a bastardization of some French she’d learned as a child, and he didn’t know any Dutch. Thankfully, he seemed to be as fluent in English as she was. It was hard to say for sure, given how rarely he actually spoke.

  She tied up her blanket and shoved it back into her carpetbag. The bag wasn’t meant to hold so much and it bulged at the seams, but what choice had she? The pots and pans went back into the old skirt she’d been using as a bindle.

  Antonio coughed, and she looked up to meet his gaze. “Um … I have room for your things on the burro, if you like.”

  She smiled, surprised, and handed him her bindle. “Thank you. That is very kind.”

  “So where is your family?”

  His question caught her off-guard and her cheeks burned. She didn’t want to think about what had happened, and certainly didn’t wish to talk about it with a stranger. But it seemed there was no way around it. “They are … they are gone …” Her voice failed and she covered her mouth to stifle a sob.

  He frowned. “Gone?”

  Her eyes welled with tears. “They are dead.”

  His nostrils flared. “I am sorry.”

  She closed her eyes a moment, then wiped the tears from her cheeks and continued packing.

  He concentrated on tightening the bay’s girth. “Perhaps when we reach Waco we can ask around for a church or charity. They might take you in.”

  She put her hands on her hips, feeling anger rise up from her gut and burst from her mouth. “I do not need anyone to take me in. I will do just fine on my own, dank je.”

  His eyes widened and he nodded, a quick dip of the head. Then he shoved his hat on and mounted his horse. With a tap to the animal’s sides, it broke into a trot, and the burro followed, carrying her gear with it.

  So – she must be walking. She frowned and picked up her skirts to follow him through the grove and back to the road. As her temper faded and her thoughts cleared, she shook her head. Why had she scolded Antonio like that? He was simply trying to help her. But she couldn’t shake the idea that he wanted to be rid of her, and it made her skin itch.

  Lotte didn’t think about her childhood often – it wasn’t something she liked to waste time on. But before she’d finally found her adoptive parents and her sister – or they found her – she’d already spent many formative years in an orphanage. She knew what it meant to be taken in by people who appeared to have good intentions, and she didn’t plan to let it happen to her again. Not while she had breath in her body.

  Waco, Texas was a bustling city of three thousand on the banks of the winding Brazos River, surrounded by farms and cotton plantations. As they drew closer to it, they’d encountered teamsters driving freight wagons, cowboys on horseback and wagons heading home after a day in town.

  The city proper began at the river, and a brand-new suspension bridge hung across it to welcome travelers into town. Lotte marveled at the span. Antonio tried to cross it, but the bay’s hooves made a hollow, clip-clopping sound and it spooked, jittering sideways. He urged it forward with encouraging words. Lotte watched wordlessly, then tugged on the burro’s rope and it followed her obediently across. Antonio paid the ten-cent toll for both of them.

  Waco’s streets buzzed with activity. Lotte’s eyes widened at the sight of Texas Rangers riding in pairs, of sporting women spilling from saloon windows with shouts and squeals, and drunkards sleeping slumped up against the outside walls of those same saloons. Cowboys sauntered by, the rowels of their spurs clinking and spinning in the bright sun.

  The sound of a man yelling caught her ear, and she stopped and turned to look back at the riverbank behind her. A man stood there, a saddle blanket on the ground behind him, holding a Bible in his hand and preaching, his free arm pumping up and down as he spoke, his voice trembling. A crowd in front of him nodded and murmured in agreement.

  Lotte smiled, then hurried after Antonio, who’d continued on. She noticed people staring as she and the burro caught up to the bay. They glanced first at Antonio, then back at her, and some shook their heads and clucked their tongues as they turned their backs. She frowned, and kept walking.

  They passed along the edge of a plaza with a tower on the opposite side. Antonio stopped the bay short and stood in the stirrups to look around, then steered the horse off to the left.

  Lotte marched after him. Let them stare – she didn’t care. What else could she do? She was alone in the world and Antonio was helping her. Let them think whatever they wished.

  When he stopped in front of a brick building with a steeple, her lips pursed. What was he up to? She’d been sure the first thing he’d want to do once they reached town would be to eat a hot meal, something other than beans and beef jerky. Yet it seemed he had other things on his mind. She caught up to him as he dismounted. “What is this?”

  He spat tobacco juice past her and tipped his hat back. “It is a church.”

  She sighed. “I can see that. Why do you stop at a church?”

  “To ask about a place for you to stay until you get back on your feet.” His eyes flicked back and forth, as though he didn’t want to meet her gaze.

  She stamped her foot. “I told you I did not want that.”

  He frowned. “You need somewhere to stay.”

  “Why not stay with you?”

  He spat again. “I have no place to stay. I am going to Laredo to find my family. I sleep every night on the side of the road. Is that what you want? It is no good for you.”

  “Find your family … where are they?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know. If I knew, I would have found them.”

  “I could help you look …”

  “No. You need a bed, a roof over your head. Surely you have someone you could telegram, someone who will help you.”

  She hung her head and scuffed a booted toe in the dirt. “No. My parents are in Holland, along with my sister. All the family I came to America with is …” She didn�
�t finish the sentence.

  He sighed and tugged off his hat, holding it between his hands. With one more long look in her direction, he headed up the stairs to the front door where a sign read First Methodist Church and knocked.

  The man who came to the door wore a black suit with a white collar. Sweat beaded across his brow and he mopped at it with a white handkerchief. He smiled, his perfectly parted gray hair rippling in the breeze. “Can I help y’all?”

  Antonio fidgeted with the brim of his hat. “Uh, yes. My name is Antonio Sanchez and this is Lotte … uh …”

  “Velden,” added Lotte.

  “Gracias. Lotte Velden. I found her alone and without a family on the side of the road north of here. Is there somewhere she can stay until she can make her own way?”

  The pastor’s smile faded and he rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I’m sorry to say there isn’t. We don’t have a rooming house of our own here, though I hope we will soon. But if you go through town to the wagon yards, you can stay there with the other travelers.”

  Lotte’s eyebrows arched. Just as well she hadn’t been counting on the First Methodist Church to save her, but she was surprised by the callous response. She’d been a member of the Dutch Reformed church in Maastricht and knew they never turned away a homeless woman if she showed up on their doorstep begging for help.

  As the door closed, Antonio faced her grimly. “I am sorry, Lotte.”

  She shook her head. “It is fine. I did not expecting anything more.”

  “You cannot come with me.”

  She followed him down the stairs. “Why not? I will not cause you any trouble. I promise. And I am a good cook, ja? Let me come with you.”

  He shrugged in frustration. “It is no life for a woman.”

  “What else can I do?” she cried, stamping her foot again to keep from crying.

  He rubbed his eyes. “I do not know.”

  “I’m alone, Antonio. I do not trust anyone but you. Let me come with you. I can help you find your family.”

  He sighed, then took a slow breath as he studied her. “Si,” he finally said grudgingly. “Si, you can come with me. But only until we find a place for you to stay. Somewhere you can make a home.”

  She nodded and clapped her hands in delight.

  He grumbled beneath his breath and reached for the bay’s reins, yanking it down the street behind him.

  Lotte hurried after him. “I really think we should name the burro. Something other than ‘burro’.”

  Antonio grunted and rolled his eyes at her.

  “And your horse as well – he needs a name. Let’s see … the burro can be Lars and the horse can be Hans. What do you think?”

  He just shook his head.

  “Good – it is settled. Lars and Hans. I like it.” Lotte felt better already.

  Antonio placed their new supplies carefully into the saddlebags. He’d only planned to purchase soda crackers, rice, beans, chiles, salt, tobacco and oats for the animals, but Lotte had insisted on more: potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions, greens, cured sausage – which she called rookworst – beef jerky and canned corned beef. He’d even bought them each an apple to munch while they shopped. It was a lot more than he’d wanted to spend, but at least he’d be eating well.

  Lotte used her own money to buy a few things as well, including a toothbrush, a can of tooth powder, a ten-gallon hat that seemed too large for her dainty head, and a few bars of lye soap.

  He shook his head – as much as he tried not to let her, she was getting to him. “You know those greens won’t last long on the road,” he told her. She just smiled smugly.

  He noticed a saddlery and smithy next to the general store where they’d been shopping. He left Lotte to watch their supplies and wandered into the smithy. “Can I help you?” asked a young boy in soiled jeans and a button-down shirt.

  “I am looking for a saddle for a burro. Something cheap.”

  The boy nodded. “I think I got just the thing.”

  When Antonio emerged with the small saddle in his hands, Lotte frowned. “What is that for?”

  He set it on the ground and removed her things from the Lars’ back. “I thought you might like to ride the bu … Lars.” He rolled his eyes as he said the animal’s new name.

  She grinned. “Really?”

  He nodded. “You cannot walk all the way to Laredo. Besides, you would slow me down.” He saddled Lars while she patted the donkey’s side, then fitted the saddlebags in place behind the saddle. He showed her how to tie on her blanket, and repacked everything in the carpetbag and skirt into the saddlebags. She grinned the entire time, and he couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm.

  Once everything was stowed away, he held up the carpetbag. “We can throw this old thing away, si? It is so broken and burned.”

  Her eyes clouded over. “Yes, we can,” she sighed. But she wouldn’t watch him do it. He figured it was hard for her, but sometimes letting go of the past was the only way to move forward.

  They rode side by side out of Waco. Antonio spotted the crowded wagon yard and glanced at Lotte. She shook her head wordlessly and they kept riding. They set up camp outside of town near the Brazos, and this time Lotte insisted on making supper. While he took care of the animals, she peeled and diced and chopped. By the time he washed up and sat by the fire, the sun was down and a pot was boiling merrily over the flames.

  He put his hands behind his head and leaned back to stare at the wide sky above him, dark and moonlit. He knew he couldn’t look for his family forever without getting some work to keep him fed. And now he had two mouths to feed, plus a horse and burro. If he found Maria and Consuela, that would make two more. He’d ask around tomorrow about a position as a cowpoke or laborer. Surely there’d be something nearby. If not, they’d move on to the next town and try there.

  Lotte handed him a plate piled high with a white creamy substance dotted with green and orange flecks. Beside it, she’d sliced some sausage she’d fried in a pan until it glistened. She smiled shyly as he took the plate and watched him eat a bite. He nodded. “Mmmm … bueno. What is it?”

  “We call it stamppot. It is potato, greens, onions, carrots, all mashed together.”

  “Stamppot … delicioso.” She’d understand what that meant.

  She returned to her place and took a seat, setting her own plate on her lap to eat. He watched her nervously. She’d obviously been through a lot, though she hadn’t told him what yet. Just to see her smile warmed his heart. But it wasn’t good for her to stay with him – he lived a rough life, and it wouldn’t get any easier while he searched for his family. He also didn’t know how long that might take. Having Lotte along only complicated matters, but he didn’t feel right about leaving her behind. He’d seen the way the men in town had looked at her.

  He sighed and took another bite of sausage, then looked at the sky again – doing that had always made things down below seem less complicated to him. His mind traveled back to better times: teaching Consuela to ride a pony for the first time back in Mexico, kissing Maria beneath the ceiba tree on his father’s farm …

  Where are you, Maria? He didn’t hold out hope that she was still alive, and yet why had he come if he believed she was dead? He should never have left them in Mexico. He’d wanted to bring them with him, to find a better life for them together, but she’d asked to stay behind and wait with her mother. Now she was missing, perhaps forever, along with their beautiful daughter.

  Antonio’s throat tightened and he let his eyes drift closed as a warm breeze rose and blew over him, carrying with it the scent of fried sausage and potatoes, along with his hopes for the future.

  4

  The next day, they set out at daybreak. Lotte was grateful for her new saddle, especially when she touched the burro’s bony back. Her petticoats and skirts made riding astride more difficult than she’d thought. If the journey lasted too much longer, she’d have to think about finding some riding pants.

  She watched Antonio fro
m beneath the brim of her new hat, the scabbard of his rifle gleaming in the sunlight, and wondered how long they would ride. She hadn’t given it much thought until now. Her only goal had been to get him to let her come along. Now that he seemed resigned to her company, she was curious – how long would it take to find his family? How had they become separated? She reached into her stays and tugged out Marcus’ watch, studied it, rubbed a smudge from its face with her sleeve, then with a kiss returned it to its hiding place.

  Antonio was a mystery to her. At first, from the way he carried himself, she’d thought him much older than herself. But up close, he looked to be no more than thirty-five, ten years her senior. Not much older than Marcus had been …

  She choked on the memory. Every time she thought about Marcus, she remembered his death all over again, the image of his body face down in the doorway of the cabin burned into her consciousness. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the picture.

  They rode in silence except for the hollow sound of hooves on the road’s dusty surface, until she could stand it no longer. “What happened to your family?” she asked suddenly.

  He peered at her beneath lowered eyebrows. “Huh?”

  “Well, you are looking for them, ja? How did they become lost?”

  He squinted at the horizon and reached for his tobacco pouch. “I left them in Mexico to find work in Texas. After a few years, Thomas O’Reilly hired me to help with a longhorn drive north to Montana Territory. When we got there, he asked me to stay, and I said I would. The first chance I got, I wrote Maria and told her they should come and join me. I thought I would not mind to live there for the rest of my days. It is beautiful country.”

  He paused to put a pinch of tobacco into his cheek.

  “So she and our daughter Consuela said they would come. They left Mexico a year and a half ago. And I have not heard from them in almost that long.” He fell silent.