“I said two thousand. For the eleven hundred clear and the four-thousand lease. Long-term.”
“What’s the matter with it? Indians? Squatters?”
“Let’s just say I’m running fewer head of cattle. I’ll still have sixteen hundred acres and two other leases. That’s enough for me.”
The fellow looked Harland up and down. He said, “I saw what you came here in. Somebody here’s got money. What’s the real truth, Mr. Prine? What’s on that land?”
I could see he was intent on doing business with Harland over my very land, just because Harland had on the only pair of pants in the room besides his own. I leaned forward, resting my arms on the desk. Harland followed suit. Savannah sat up straight, and our mother just grinned, watching it all. Harland said, “Railroad.”
“Yes,” I followed. “Nothing’s cut yet but the first road across a half-acre section. There’s a cattle track used by some smugglers a while back. But the Santa Fe men are eyeing the whole way. The Wells Fargo could buy it from me outright and then sell them the right of way to use it.”
He stared at each of us in turn. Studied the deeds before him. “Why aren’t you selling it to them? You make them that offer, they’d take it, I can almost promise you.” Then he made a tent with his fingertips and leaned back into his spring-loaded chair. Waiting.
I straightened. “It’s my land. I’ll sell it or not to whomever I please.”
Thompkins touched his chin with the tips of his finger tent. “Truth is, folks, we’re not really interested in this right now. It’s a nice offer, but no thanks.”
My foot clunked against the chair, betraying my surprise and dismay. I held my chin firm and started to say he had to reconsider, or offer to lower the price, but I felt something jerking at my skirt. I looked down at my side to see Harland’s hand motioning me to leave the room. My brother stood and tipped his hat, escorting us to the door, thanking Mr. Thompkins for his time, and hurriedly shooed us to the horseless carriage.
“Harland, where are we going? What are you doing?”
“Taking us on a ride. That was a tactic, sister. He’s seeing if you’re really desperate, if you’d come back again. Didn’t you see his hands touch his chin? So we’re going to go for a little ride. A nice run up and down Speedway Road. I’ll show you where they’ve actually put a limit on how fast you can drive, while Thompkins sends some red-hot wires back East. You saw his face. We’ll hear from him later.”
We pulled onto Speedway Road. Savannah said, “Brother Harland, you aren’t really going to go seven miles an hour, are you?”
He laughed and said, “I’ll behave, for your sake, dear sister.” Harland drove us up and down the length of it, and then we motored home. Now all we had to do was wait.
November 19, 1907
Blessing was at last sitting up and playing quietly with some paper dolls. Now we’d spend time putting some meat on the poor child’s bones, and then let her return to school. In my room in Harland’s house, my stack of schoolbooks called out to me. I didn’t own them. I needed to return them, at least, so I hitched up the buggy and drove to the college in the early afternoon. A cold wind whipped the ties of my hat around. It was a sad but good feeling, a finalness, to go one by one past the mathematics room and the science room and leave off the books. Classes were in session, so I just stood them against the doorjamb. Someone would take them inside. Then I stopped at Professor Fairhaven’s room. The door was closed, but the early class wouldn’t start for half an hour, and my session wasn’t for two hours. I didn’t plan to wait that long, so I pushed it open. Professor Fairhaven turned sharply at the sound. A young woman I didn’t recognize stepped backward from him, blushing, shielding her face with a hand.
“I won’t be needing this,” I said. “Can’t finish the classwork.”
“Oh, Mrs. Elliot! The faculty has been so worried. We were quite distressed when you failed to return.”
“Thanks, I’m sure.”
“Have you been ill?”
“I was detained out of town. Personal matter.”
Professor Fairhaven asked me to stay and said he’d help me catch up on my grades. While the girl cleaned the slate boards, I told him that there had been bandits down our way and I couldn’t leave my family. He listened very sympathetically but couldn’t believe I didn’t want to continue his class even with his special help.
By the time I got clear of that long-toothed rascal, Professor Osterhaas’s class had actually begun. I intended to leave the book by the door but that boy Foster came late and opened it up, holding it for me to enter. Well, the professor’s eyes seemed so kind, so like I remembered my papa’s when he’d ask me what I’d done wrong, I felt like telling him some of what had really happened. The whole class listened.
Finally, Osterhaas said, “All of us know, or will someday, that education is a precious privilege, and not to be taken for granted. Events of late have conspired against you, Mrs. Elliot, through no fault of your own.”
“That’s true enough,” I said.
“Have you brought your essay? If you could only read your essay for us. You are the last one yet. That would be nice.”
“My essay?”
“The ‘What I Want’ essay?”
“Oh, that. Yes, well.” I leafed through the pages of the book. My essay had grown from one page to eight, and then over the last days I’d been in class it had shrunk until it was hardly a paragraph. I looked at it more closely. The sentences around were all crossed out, too, and I’d never repenned it. The paper was ragged and hashed this way and that. “Oh, it’s nothing much, anymore. I haven’t had a chance to work on it.”
“But you have it? Read it. Read it aloud so I can give you a grade. There are only three more weeks of this school term. I can pass you on this class if you’ll read it.”
I eyed the other students. Then I turned to the professor. “You’ll give me a grade, when I haven’t been here?”
He shrugged. “You did a great deal of work. If you have your essay, then? The floor is yours.”
“But it’s just a sentence. Nothing much.”
“Please.”
The paper shook in my hand. My throat turned parched. I read my silly excuse of an essay very slowly, for my eyes had to chase the trembling page for every syllable. “What I want. I dream of land, cut only where streams glistened with birdsong wander through quiet hills burnt hard by the scrape of wind, and of a porch from which a single road leads only homeward.” Then I looked up. “That’s all there is.”
Professor Osterhaas had tears in his eyes. He raised both his hands and gave a faint clap, which the other students joined with soft applause. He said, “Will you stay so we may discuss the writing of it?”
“I think, sir, there isn’t much to discuss. It started with a whole list of things. Then pretty soon it was about folks, health, and money, and good marriages and friendship, and all, and then it changed. The harder things got at home, the shorter the list went. Reckon you can take anything away, even happiness. In the end, this is all I want from the world. The rest, a person’s got to make for themselves.”
“I’ll give you your class, Mrs. Elliot. I think a B minus is in order. Your grades will be posted at the end of the term with the others. You have passed this class.”
I simply nodded and slipped out. I was so overcome, I rushed to the library and dashed down the stairs, looking for an empty corner in which to hide. I slipped into a dark little storeroom that smelled of must and mice, and propped myself on a chair. I’d passed a class. I’d gone to college and done it. Not everything, not like a girl might do with the world at her feet, but I’d done one. I held my shoulders and squeezed. A powerful joy filled me. A single class was something. A little piece of a dream was still a dream. No one could ever say I hadn’t learned a trainload of things, most of it not from the books. I’d gone to school at last. And I’d made it.
“Ma’am?” said a boy. “We usually practice in this room about now. It’
s nice and quiet down here, you know. And the echo is good. May we ask—”
I smiled. “I was just leaving,” I said.
But I didn’t leave. I lingered outside the door to the little room. Five boys went in, one carrying a ukulele. He plucked a string and they began to sing. They did a ragtime and “Sweet Caroline,” and then while the others hummed, one young fellow alone sang “Rose of Tralee” in a way that like to melted me from the inside out. His voice was like the sound of pouring water. I hurried to the steps, wanting to leave that place while I could still hear the music, ever so faintly.
After supper, I stretched my legs downtown, taking a peaceful stroll along the boardwalk, pausing to eye the goods in Corbet’s store. I was still out of cash, so I kept myself from going inside. As I headed home, I passed a little restaurant. There in the corner, I saw the back of a head I recognized. Professor Osterhaas sat at dinner with his back to the window.
I hadn’t thanked him for what he’d done, so I stepped inside. As I went toward him, I stopped short. Across the table from him, facing me, sat a man I knew from Rudolfo’s parlor last Christmas, Herr Von Wangenheim. He glanced up but then returned to his conversation. He hadn’t recognized me. The two were in hushed conversation, speaking German. A chill understanding seeped through me. Von Wangenheim had sat with the men scheming to overthrow the Mexican government. It didn’t matter what I thought of don Porfirio; they were dangerous men. Now he sat with my favorite professor. The two of them spoke the language of the men running guns through my land. No matter what else might bind them, in this country a man is known by the men he rides with. I turned away. Trusting I hadn’t been seen by Professor Osterhaas, I rushed from the building and didn’t slow until I reached Harland’s house.
Chapter Eighteen
November 20, 1907
Granny and I stayed at Harland’s place, Savannah, Rebeccah, and Elsa at April’s house. To fill the waiting, I bought some saucy blue calico with little white kittens chasing balls of black yarn and I’m sewing Blessing a new frock. Mary Pearl will arrive Friday at noon, and I promised Blessing she could probably have it by then. It hasn’t mattered much that she has missed school. The whole place had closed down for a week and a day, due to mumps. Even a few of the teachers were out with it. Sad to say, April was right about the water, too. They have notified half the town to drink boiled water until further work is done on the fresh-water system. Meanwhile, I try not to worry or even think about my sons and their uncle and grandpa, and of course, Udell, down there holding off Rudolfo’s raiders. Sheriff Pacheco was not around his office, and the deputy, Oscar Carillo, wouldn’t tell me where he had gone, but I reckon it is a big county.
November 21, 1907
Thursday afternoon we gathered in the parlor. Rachel was running Story, Honor, and Truth through their spelling lessons; I had Blessing standing on a chair in her dress so I could pin the hem. A sudden sharp rapping at the door startled me so that I dropped the scissors and the button bag at the same time, making a terrible racket, too. “Blessing,” I said, “will you help me and collect these again while I get the door?”
There stood Mr. Thompkins and two other men. One was a stranger. The other was Mr. Richards from the railroad. Thompkins held his hat and said, “Mrs. Elliot? I trust you are well? May we speak with you and your brother and sister?”
“Come in, gentlemen,” I said. “I will have to send for them. Harland is at his office and Mrs. Prine is up the road at my daughter’s home.”
Before I knew it, Rachel had sent for tea and told Truth to ride his bicycle to his papa’s office, and to ask him to rush to April’s house and have Aunt Savannah come. She really did manage everything well, and I could see how she might be a good wife for a prominent young lawyer. Mary Pearl would have some stretching to do to reach her sister. They were different as could be. “Have him fetch Aubrey Hanna, too,” I said. The men smiled as if they knew the name.
It took half an hour to get us collected. Thompkins introduced his engineer, a man named Travis Bondurant, and Mr. Richards, who doffed his hat and nearly dropped it in his haste.
I said, “But Mr. Richards, I thought you worked for the railroad?”
Richards said, “Not exactly, ma’am. The firm I’m employed by will of course negotiate rights of way on this land and the sections that separate them. That initial survey and staking that was done was because of the flatness of that parcel. If we have access to the larger parcel, well, it changes everything.”
Mr. Thompkins said, “Well, now, we’ve got experts working on the changes right this minute.”
“Angles and trajectories,” the third man said. “Travis Bondurant, engineer, ma’am. With this wider upper acreage, we can drop the angle of the tracks crossing the Cienega Creek and head west another mile then south-southeast to connect right down to your parcel. It will bypass that silty loam deposit and the—”
Thompkins interrupted. “What Mr. Bondurant means, Mrs. Elliot, is that is a problem our men will work out to everyone’s satisfaction. Just do not worry yourself about it. Our men have everything under control. We are so pleased you came to us, and we could do business with you on this. Our colleagues at the home office already knew of your good character, the way you saved the travelers, the coach, even returned the mules from last year, so when a chance came to assist you, they would not in good conscience have passed it up.”
With Aubrey watching, Granny made an X, and the three of us signed our names to a document that turned over half my mama’s original homestead to the company. Instead of the two thousand we asked for it, they paid two thousand dollars each, six thousand total. “Now, in lieu of negotiations my secretary has drawn up a check for you, payable immediately,” Thompkins said. For the eleven hundred acres of my own, and rights to the land lease, instead of two thousand dollars, Mr. Thompkins opened a leather secretary and took out a bank check made out to me in the amount of fifteen thousand dollars. Wells Fargo and Company was taking up my offer and then some.
“But why?” I asked. “If you could have had it for a song, why pay this kind of money?”
Aubrey spoke up. “Of course, Wells Fargo and Company would wish to avoid the appearance of any conflict of interest. It is a fair market price for the property.”
Richards, who always did strike me as slicker than a pan full of cold bacon, said, “I would never rest peacefully again if we were to give any less to you, a soldier’s widow, dear Mrs. Elliot.”
I took the check in my hands, reading the sum again as if the ink might evaporate right off it before my eyes.
Richards said, “They will use the spur already laid, of course.”
“Will they cross the land between?” Savannah asked.
I looked from her to my brother, and back to the check. We all knew Rudolfo owned the land in between. If they were in league with him anyway, they would have free rein of it. I sure hoped Udell wouldn’t be able to hear trains crossing from his house.
We bid those men good afternoon, and then Aubrey and Harland took Savannah and me to the bank to put the checks in our accounts. Seventeen thousand dollars would keep my ranch solvent for six years or more. I could restock my fields and Udell’s, too. I took five hundred back in cash for some operating money.
By the time supper was done, we all felt as if we’d had a party. As he was fixing to leave, I asked Aubrey if he thought me getting those folks out of the wrecked stage was really enough reason for them to pay ten times my price on the land.
He just grinned and said, “A stage wreck is no small matter, especially when someone dies. Mrs. Elliot, the things you did that day saved them several potential lawsuits. That wasn’t about a conflicting interest or any scruples because you are widowed. The company figured they owed you plenty. Why, they could easily have paid out a hundred thousand or more in damages by the time it was all settled. You just trussed up those birds and served them supper and no one thought to make a fuss. This is peanuts compared to what you could have had i
f you’d wanted to hold your foot on their necks for a while.”
“I’d never do that.”
“I know, ma’am. Thing is, they don’t know it.”
“Good night, Aubrey.”
“Evening, Mrs. Elliot.”
I liked that young man. I just wished he wasn’t playing so lightly with my girl’s feelings.
November 22, 1907
The whole herd of us showed up on the train platform at a quarter to noon. When that engine steamed in and those brakes squealed, we all held our breaths as one, searching the passengers. Finally, there she was. No longer slender as a flower stem, Mary Pearl’s figure had blossomed into womanhood. She wore a new dress, or one that had been made over. Her face seemed different, too, her smile more fetching and her hair perfectly tucked under a lovely, flowered wide hat. She kissed and was kissed until all were satisfied she was still our girl.
Saturday, we persuaded Deputy Carillo to ride along with our family back to the ranch, to see if any trouble had come up. Just because there was no longer a need for anyone to falsely inherit my mother’s land, that didn’t mean some long-necked renegade mightn’t keep on trying. It would be just what I would expect of Rudolfo not to call off his dogs even when the fight was over. Feeling as if I were back on top of at least half my trials, we had a fine ride home, and heard wonderful things about Mary Pearl’s time in Wheaton. She pressed me for my own stories, and I told her how I’d kept the one class, and that it was enough for me. She smiled, but I don’t think she understood me.
April and Morris drove behind us in their own coach with all their children. Every little while, I thought I heard Tennyson make a racket. Rachel came along, too, of course, only she rode in a separate carriage with Aubrey. He would spend the night at Udell’s, and then they would declare the wedding Sunday. The only one missing was Harland. He’d said that without Rachel there, he was caught short, because he didn’t want to risk taking the children all that way and back in two days so he could return to work Monday. They’d been too sick too long, he said, and so would have to miss the wedding. Then he promised he’d come down for Thanksgiving next week. It would have to do.
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