by Vivi Holt
5
The smell of tortillas warming over the last of the fire made Lotte’s stomach growl. Antonio had built a green-stick frame and sprinkled the tortillas with water before setting them on the frame to toast.
When they’d made camp for the night, she’d peered into the saddlebag with a frown, her heart sinking. It had been two weeks since they left the teamsters behind and no one had come after them, so she’d allowed herself to hope that the attack and the shooting were behind them. But now they had another problem – the supplies they’d purchased with the last of their money in Austin were running low. They were down to the last of their beans and corned beef for supper.
She’d noticed Antonio had run out of tobacco a week earlier, but hadn’t mentioned it once. He had been even more quiet than usual, though, and his countenance more grim. They were close to Laredo, and she knew what that meant to him. The town was his best chance of finding out what happened to Maria and Consuela. She only hoped they were still there, though how that could happen without them contacting Antonio for almost two years was beyond her.
She scooped frijoles onto plates, satisfied that her efforts at cooking the beans now closely resembled his. He’d even smiled the last time he ate them, which she took as high praise. She flipped tortillas on top of them and blew on her fingertips where they’d burned. “It’s the last of the beans, I’m afraid.” she told him.
He nodded. “And the flour is gone as well.”
“Perhaps you’ll find work in Laredo.”
He took a bite of beans. “Si.”
Lotte sighed and set her plate on the ground. Something she’d learned from a young age, from many sources, was that if she had something to save for a rainy day, she should hide it where no one would be likely to find it. She lifted the hem of her skirt, used a small jackknife Antonio had given her to unravel a few stitches, pulled out a coin and held it up for Antonio to see.
His eyebrows arched high. “Is that …?”
“It’s a silver dollar. I kept it for an emergency, and I think that day has come.”
He grinned. “You are a resourceful woman, Lotte Velden.”
Texas Rangers roamed the streets of Laredo. Lotte swallowed hard when the first one passed them on a black horse with white stockinged legs. But when nothing came of it, she soon grew accustomed to the lawmen coming and going around them. If they were wanted, surely someone would’ve stopped them by now and placed them under arrest.
They passed a plaza and turned down Flores Avenue. In the distance black smoke billowed into the sky and was carried across the town on a brisk wind. Lotte recognized the sight – the industrious little town had at least one factory.
Soon they came to a huge river. “The Rio Grande,” Antonio announced, tipping his hat back and pulling Hans to a halt.
She gazed out across the smooth water in the high clay gorge. A narrow bridge cut a straight path over the river, and there were little cottages on either end with flags flying high overhead. Steel trusses on sturdy brick piles held up the bridge. A horse-drawn wagon trotted toward them on the bridge, a man in a sombrero standing in the wagon bed, the reins hanging loose in his hands. “What’s over there?” she asked, pointing at the houses dotting the opposite bank.
Antonio squinted and chewed the end of a piece of straw, which he’d taken to doing since he ran out of tobacco. “That’s El Nuevo Laredo – the new Laredo, in Mexico. Those people did not want to live in the United States after the War of Secession, so they crossed the river into Mexico and set up their own town.”
“How do you know all this?”
“My uncle lived here. He came to visit us in Santa Fe once after the war was over. I rode back to Texas with him and we parted ways when I found my first cattle drive. He told me there was much conflict here over who owned what, but it settled down after a while. That is why Maria was to come through Laredo on her journey to meet me in Montana Territory – she planned to stay with him.”
He spat the piece of straw onto the ground and sighed. “But when I tried to contact him after she went missing, I could not find him either. I wonder if perhaps he moved away and did not tell me. Or if something happened to him and to Maria and Consuela. I hope this is where I will find out.” He turned Hans around to head back toward the center of town.
They found a general store and used Lotte’s silver dollar for a few supplies. Antonio explained his situation to the owner, saying he wanted to visit the places Maria was likely to have gone. He asked where a new Mexican migrant would stay.
The man’s white mustache twitched as he rubbed his chin. “Let’s see now … you want the barrio on the east side of town – that’s likely where she woulda gone. Maybe yer uncle lived there too. That’s where I’d check first, if’n I were you.”
Antonio thanked him and they headed back out to where Hans and Lars waited patiently. Lotte was beginning to fret over Lars’ condition – he seemed to be all skin and bones, and his long teeth didn’t seem to grind up the oats she fed him as well as they should. She patted his head and sighed.
“He is getting old,” mused Antonio with a frown. “There is nothing to be done about that. We all get old sometime.”
She frowned. Poor old fellow – he should be resting in a pasture somewhere enjoying his last years, not dragging her and all her worldly goods around Texas. “I will walk this time,” she said.
Antonio nodded. “I will give Hans a rest as well.”
Together they walked through Laredo. It was a wild town full of raggedy children who ran after them, calling out and laughing. Texas Rangers shot them curious looks from narrowed eyes. Drunken louts caroused through the streets and shouted in the saloons and whorehouses, which grew in number the farther east they went.
“¿Puedo ayudarte?” someone called behind them.
They stopped and looked back. Lotte saw a man standing in an overgrown garden, a hoe in his hands and a torn straw sombrero on his head.
“We are looking for Pablo Sanchez, originally from Santa Fe, Mexico” replied Antonio.
The man nodded and rested his hands on top of the hoe’s handle. “I remember him.” He had a thick accent and his skin was brown and worn like leather. “He cooked a mean molé.”
Antonio chuckled. “That is my uncle.” He led Hans over to the man’s garden.
“I am Tito Rosas. And you are?”
“Pablo’s nephew, Antonio Sanchez. Mucho gusto.”
“Mucho gusto. You prefer English?” Tito scratched his balding head with one leathery claw.
Antonio nodded at Lotte, who stood beside him with Lars. “Lotte does not speak Spanish.”
“Ah. I am sorry you came all this way for bad news, señor.”
Antonio frowned. “Bad news, you say?”
“Si. I am afraid your uncle died about two years ago, I think. It was a bad time here. I am sorry, amigo.”
Antonio’s head dropped and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Ah. That is bad news. Did he have a woman and a girl staying with him?”
Lotte’s throat tightened. She could sense the tension in his words.
Tito squinted toward the sky and mumbled something beneath his breath, then his eyes widened. “Si, he did. I remember, because she was quite the beauty. Maria, I think her name was. And she had a girl, I cannot say how old, but no longer a child. They were here, yes.”
Antonio took a deep breath. “What happened to them?”
The man shook his head. “I cannot say. When Pablo fell ill, they took him to the Catholic church. The padre had set up a sanatorium for those with the pox – that is what they called the illness. I did not see Maria or the girl after that. I do not know where they went or what happened to them. Sorry, amigo. Did you know them?”
Antonio’s voice was strained. “Maria is my wife, and Consuela my daughter. We will be here in Laredo looking for them for a few days. If you think of anything, please let me know. You can leave a message at the telegraph office – I will check there before I g
o.”
Tito nodded in approval of the plan. “I will, amigo. It is happening again, you know, the pox. They say it is back and we must all see a doctor. Many people here in the barrio are ill and some have already died. It is a cruel disease.”
“I am sorry to hear that. But I thank you for your help. Where is the church my uncle was taken to?”
Tito gave directions as Lotte’s mind wandered. What had happened to Maria and Consuela? It seemed they had definitely made it to Uncle Pablo’s, but did they continue on their journey, or stay to nurse him? If Maria was anything like her husband, Lotte had a feeling she would have stayed until there was nothing else she could do to help the man. In that case, the priest would remember her. At least, she hoped with all her heart he would.
The Catholic church was an impressive building – stone walls leading up to a bell tower. Lotte followed the tower to the top with her gaze – she’d always admired fine craftsmanship, and this building was erected with love and care. Two solid wooden doors led into the sanctuary. Antonio pushed them open and Lotte followed him inside.
It was dark, and the sound of their footsteps echoed through the sanctuary. He went to the altar and knelt to cross himself, while Lotte hovered behind him, uncertain of what to do. She had been raised in a Protestant denomination, and it felt strange to be inside a Catholic church, though she’d always wondered what one might be like. She glanced around at the statues and crosses sprinkled throughout the room, her hands linked in front of her skirts.
As Antonio stood, a priest came into the sanctuary from a back door, his long black robe brushing the floor as he walked. “Welcome. How can I help you?” he asked, blue eyes twinkling beneath bushy gray eyebrows.
“Padre, we have come seeking answers,” replied Antonio. “My name is Antonio Sanchez and this is Lotte Velden.”
“Well, son, you have come to the right place.”
“Do you remember the pox outbreak about two years ago?”
The priest frowned. “Ah yes, I do. I was new here at the time. It was very difficult for the people of Laredo. And we are entering another such time now, I am afraid, though I hope this time we can keep the disease from spreading as far as it did then.”
“I am sorry, padre. But, my uncle fell ill with the disease and died – his name was Pablo Sanchez. I wonder if you remember a woman and girl with him – Maria and Consuela Sanchez. They would have arrived not long before from Santa Fe, Mexico and were on their way to meet me in Montana Territory.”
The priest frowned and tapped his chin with his finger. “Hmmm, let me see … oh yes, I remember Maria. Lovely girl – she helped us with the sick. We had a makeshift hospital set up in the hall out back, and she did what she could to help make people comfortable. There wasn’t much else we could do.”
“Where did she go?” asked Antonio, his eyes wide.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, after she left here. Where did she go?”
“Oh, I’m afraid she didn’t leave, Mr. Sanchez. Her daughter fell ill almost immediately and she spent every moment ministering to the girl’s needs. She wore herself out taking care of Consuela, so when she fell sick as well it didn’t take long for her. One day they both died. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I assure you, they received a proper Catholic burial, along with the rest of the unclaimed victims.”
Antonio’s hands flew to his head and he slumped into a pew with a gasp.
“How did you know the young lady?” asked the priest.
“She was my wife,” Antonio sobbed. “Consuela was my daughter.”
The priest took a quick breath. “I am so sorry, my son. Wait – I remember her talking about you. Stay here, I will be right back.” He turned, his robe swishing around his thin legs as he hurried back out the door.
Lotte knelt beside Antonio and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I am so sorry, Antonio. So sorry.” Her voice was thick with tears and she couldn’t think of a single other thing to say that would make a difference.
Antonio rested his hand on hers, and when he met her gaze she saw tears glimmering in his dark eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
When the priest returned, he hurried to Antonio and handed something to him. “She gave me this in case you ever came looking for her.”
Antonio held it up before his eyes and uttered a choking sound before hugging it to his chest and bending over it with racking sobs. But Lotte had seen what he held before he hid it away – a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Two words were etched into the surface of the pendant: Mi Amor.
Antonio rubbed the tears from his eyes. He wasn’t accustomed to showing emotion and glanced around awkwardly to see where Lotte was. She still stood behind him, her hands clasped in front of her. The priest was saying something, his voice a dull murmur in Antonio’s ears. “I’m sorry, Padre. What did you say?”
“I asked if you have somewhere to spend the night.”
Antonio stood and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his cheeks dry. “No. I have not thought that far ahead.”
The priest looked at Lotte. “Is this your new wife?”
Antonio saw Lotte’s mouth open as she began to shake her head, and interrupted her smoothly. “Yes, this is my new wife. I remarried when my wife did not arrive in Montana Territory. I assumed she was dead, but hearing the news from your lips brought all my grief rushing back.” Lotte’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
The priest smiled. “In that case, I can offer you a space to sleep in our barn this evening. I know it isn’t much, but it’s dry and not crowded at this time of year. There is hay to sleep on and a roof to keep the weather out.”
“Yes, please, padre, we appreciate it. We have spent many nights out in the open on our way here. A roof over our heads would be nice.”
“Come with me, then, and I will show you where it is.”
Antonio and Lotte followed the priest out the back door. Behind the sanctuary was a long hallway, and halfway down a pair of double doors led into another room. Through the doors, he heard a cough and the sound of a child crying. He stopped by the doors and pushed them gently open to peer inside. Lines of cots ran along the length of a large room, and on each cot lay a man, woman or child, all sick. Beside him, Lotte gasped.
He felt the priest’s hand on his shoulder. “Let’s keep moving, shall we?”
“What is wrong with them, Father?” asked Lotte.
He shook his head. “As I mentioned earlier, the smallpox is back. We’ve managed to contain it to a few dozen townsfolk so far, but there is a definite risk of it spreading through Laredo. Best you don’t get too close. Come.”
Antonio exchanged a glance with Lotte and let the doors swing shut. They hurried after the priest and out to the barn.
He imagined Maria and Consuela here – they’d likely run down the same hall and pushed through those same doors into that room. His heart ached at the thought of all they’d gone through, and that they’d died without him, in a room filled with strangers. His throat tightened and he coughed to clear it. He’d known they were likely dead, but coming face to face with the reality – and holding the necklace he’d given Maria all those years ago – opened a dam of grief he’d been holding inside all this time.
One thing was clear – he had no reason to stay in Laredo anymore. He’d get some sleep in the barn that night and the next day be on his way. “Thank you, padre,” he told the priest as they arrived at the barn door. “I see you are very busy, and I am grateful to you for caring for us this way.”
The priest nodded and offered him a tight smile. “I do what I can.”
“One more thing – is there a place in town for a young woman to stay who’s lost her entire family? A women’s boarding house, or a shelter of some kind?”
The priest rubbed his mouth and sighed. “I’m afraid not – we’re stretched for resources just taking care of the sick. I have heard of a place up in Mason County – a church that tak
es in widows and the hungry and such. Perhaps you could try there.”
“Gracias, padre.” The priest left, and Antonio went into the barn to look for Lotte. He found her in a stall with a young calf – she’d squatted to scratch it behind the ears, murmuring endearments to it.
He sighed – she didn’t want him to leave her behind to be taken care of, that much she’d made perfectly clear. But all he wanted to do now was head home to Montana Territory, and he could hardly take Lotte with him. Regardless of what he’d told the priest, she wasn’t his wife. And the journey to Montana Territory was long and arduous. He didn’t have money for the return train fare, so he’d have to ride the entire way and find work where he could. It would take months. He wasn’t sure she could manage it – nor was she likely to want to – and he was certain Lars couldn’t.
Antonio frowned and put his hands on his hips. They’d head to Mason County and see what they could find there, but until then he’d keep quiet about it. There was no point upsetting her until he had to.
Texas Ranger Alton Phillips twisted the ends of his mustache, squinted into the glare and coughed, covering his mouth with a handkerchief. Was he coming down with something? That was the thing he hated most about this job Dr. Whitehall had given him. The man was a prig who wouldn’t be happy until all of Laredo was in as much misery as he was. Alton couldn’t help thinking a hundred times a day that perhaps this time he’d caught smallpox and would soon be on one of those cots laid out line after line in the Catholic church hall.
He touched his forehead – it was hot. But feverishly hot? He couldn’t tell. It was August in southern Texas, so everything was hot enough to fry an egg on.
The line of Mexicans on the footbridge stretched back across it into Nuevo Laredo itself. He and Ranger Harris stood before them, shotguns held across their chests, blocking the way.
