Between Earth & Sky

by Karen Osborn

  The land here is like no other in the country—the mountains are golden and the ground will be fertile when there is water. Winter is so mild we have used very little fuel. Clayton says to tell John that there are mines full of gold, silver, and copper. Clayton has bought a share in two of them and will purchase a share for you before you come if you send him the money. There is much opportunity to prosper. Several ranches south of here stretch for miles and include horses and sheep and fields planted in cotton, corn, and all kinds of fruits and vegetables. Some of the best families from Virginia and Georgia and Tennessee live in Mesilla. Clayton has promised me a trip there this summer.

  Yesterday I hauled some sawdust, which we use to put up our own ice, and spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing our clothing. Clayton needs new trousers but will get by for the present with the ones I have put a new seat on. Mending seems an endless chore. I have put new fronts on my aprons, hoping they will hide the wear my skirts have taken.

  Last fall I traded some gold dust for a bag of turnips, which were such a treat that we ate them only a few at a time. They disappeared last month; then yesterday I found them, frozen hard in a nest some rats had made, nestled between a candle and a missing handkerchief of mine. The rats had made themselves quite comfortable, living off our “luxuries.”

  I do hope all is well with you and the little ones. This spring we will plant the seeds for our first set of crops. And I hope we will see you here before summer.

  Your Devoted Sister,

  Abigail

  April 21, 1869

  Dearest Maggie,

  Please write soon and say that you are planning your trip westward to join us in building a home in the desert. I stop at least once every day and wish you here with me. I hope it will not be long before we hold one another again.

  Amy has learned to amuse herself playing with the horned toads and rabbits that she finds. Since we left the mining town, she seldom has another child to play with. I worry that she misses her brother, but she does not speak of him. We have a few hens and a whole brood of chicks, which she delights in feeding. We are planting corn and all sorts of vegetables. If you can, send me some snips of blackberries and grapes, and I will try them here. We have heard talk that there is not enough water to grow crops, but with the river near by and the long growing season, we are sure of success.

  Clayton will be gone to the mines much of next week, where he has invested in a number of stakes. I do not know what I would do without Amy, for she helps me with the laundry, the cleaning, and the planting. This month I have spent at least two hours every morning cleaning the dust from our bedding and the pots and pans. It seems the wind will never stop blowing.

  We have few visitors. Amy loves to sit by the road and watch the Mexicans who sometimes go by with their burros, and there was a Mexican woman who came to the door yesterday with some milk to sell. I am not much afraid, even on the nights when Clayton is away, but I keep a shotgun loaded and near the bed. All kinds of outlaws roam the desert, renegades, both white and Mexican.

  There is little law here, and I don’t believe many of the criminals ever get to court. If they are caught they might go straight to the end of the rope, but most of them head south into Mexico and are never apprehended.

  I have letters from both Bea and Sally. They have settled in a valley near San Diego. The land is rich for farming, and there is a church and a school nearby. I envy them their companionship. If Clayton had been willing, we could have stayed with the wagon train and settled with them. But perhaps he is right in saying that the land here is just as fertile and the mining opportunities are abundant.

  The longer we are here, the more variety I notice in the plant life: white and purple thistles, wild sunflowers, Spanish broom. Late in the day, when part of the earth is under shade, the sage brush turns deep blue-green without the sun to bleach it gray. I believe Clayton wants to stay in this remote place because he likes striking out on his own. Yesterday he told me that he will make his fortune in mining and build us a sprawling ranch house. He plans to turn our land into the most fertile farm in the territory!

  Your Sister,

  Abigail

  July 8, 1869

  Dearest Maggie,

  What news! If you are able to come join us next spring, perhaps Clayton will have expanded the house and you can stay with us as long as you like. I have made a rocking chair out of a barrel which I covered and a bedstead of white pine boards. The mines are doing well, but the spring rains were really quite sparse and summer is a dry, hot season here. We get our water from a pump in the yard, but Clayton says there is not enough to try to water the crops. On hot evenings, when Amy cries from the heat, I let her run out to the pump and splash water on herself. Some evenings she plays like that for nearly an hour. Clayton got a small goat from a Mexican in town, and we tied it in the shade near the house. It has become Amy’s pet, and she carries it water and a little feed. It is too small for her to ride, but she does try!

  I was much relieved to get the news that Mother has sold the land and moved in with Aunt Celia. I don’t agree with you that father’s grief over seeing our land in the possession of Yankees would have killed him if a bullet had not. Father fought in the war nearly to its end and saw the changes that were sure to follow. “Survival,” he told me before he left for Richmond that last time. “That is what matters most, when the rest is stripped away.” He would accept the necessary sale of the land better than Mother has. If he had returned from the war a young man, as Clayton did, I feel certain he too would have journeyed west.

  It will be wonderful to greet you next spring. Tell John, if he can, to send us the money soon, and Clayton will get him a share in one of the mines. We will make our fortunes together!

  Your Loving Sister,

  Abigail

  October 14, 1869

  Dear Maggie,

  I dread to tell you all that has happened. Clayton has lost the money he invested in the mines—all of our savings and the two hundred John sent not more than one month ago. The mines Clayton bought stakes in did not have enough gold in them to return the investment. He says he is finished with those mines and will move on to another, but he hasn’t the money to buy any more stakes.

  To make things worse, we have seen the largest part of our crops lost. I kept a small garden of the grape cuttings you sent and a little lettuce, onions, beans, and squash near the house, but the pump went dry in August and we had to haul our water from the river. It did not rain for more than seven weeks, and the river itself nearly dried up. Soon it will be winter, and we have nothing saved but a few dried beans.

  Last night, after I put Amy in her bed, I found Clayton outside, sitting on the dirt beside the house, staring into the near dark.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked him.

  “Studying,” he said, not moving from where he was sitting, not changing his eyes. “Studying the land I brought you to.”

  “Look at the sky,” I told him. “Now that is something to study.” Every night it is thick with tiny pin holes of light. There are places that look like a bowl of glittering milk got turned over, pooled, and spread across the night.

  “It is something,” he said, looking up. Already there were a few stars, the bright north star and three pale ones. Some nights after Amy is asleep, I spread a blanket out in the yard, and we lie there watching how many of them fall. I can get dizzy from all that light and forget where I am.

  “Are you sorry you came?” he asked me.

  I sat down in the dirt next to him, took his hand, and told him I didn’t care about losing the money and that next year we could find a way to get water for the crops. The only thing I regret is losing Josh.

  Clayton kept looking out into the night that pressed against us. “I thought I lost you,” he said. “I thought you would never come back to me after I got done burying him.”

  I am sorry about the money John sent. Clayton has promised he will earn it back and invest it in a mo
re certain mine, although I do not know that any of them are too sure.

  Your Sister,

  Abigail

  January 20, 1870

  Dearest Maggie,

  I must thank you for the kind gifts. The apples and persimmons tasted better than anything we have here, and Amy was so pleased to have a new dress. I cannot thank you enough for the cloth and pattern. I spent all of yesterday evening cutting out my calico dress. The ones I brought from Virginia are mostly in rags.

  I sent you a package by stage coach of some of the stones we have here, a small cactus I dug up for you, and a rug I bought last spring from the Indians. The baby was a boy, like yours, and we call him George Michael. He is a sweet baby and looks more like Clayton, with his dark hair, than Josh did.

  Your Sister,

  Abigail

  April 30, 1870

  Dear Maggie,

  Clayton has been gone five days now, working in a new mine. This one, he assures me, will yield plenty of ore. Amy and I spend the mornings planting corn, squash, and beans, with me hoeing the long rows and Amy following behind dropping the seeds. There is a man near here with a ranch who says he can help us to get water this summer. The public acequia, a large ditch dug from the river, is not far from our land. We must dig a smaller ditch and get the water commission’s order to raise the gate to let in the water. The ditches must be dug along two sides of the field and through its center. Such a lot of digging! Also, we are told we must buy a windmill and water wheel, and they are more than one hundred dollars.

  I keep the baby inside, in a dark, cool corner of the house, where I made a bed for him. He is a good baby and sleeps much of the time. Last week when Clayton got back from the mines, he kissed both me and Amy, then gave a long, narrow-eyed look around the room. “Where is baby George?” he said finally.

  I had laid him in his bed in a cool dark corner and stretched a piece of cloth over him to keep out the scorpions. “There,” and I pointed. “Well, I will say one thing,” Clayton told me. “I never have to worry that he’ll be snatched up by an Indian or Mexican while I’m gone.” And had to use both hands to scoop George Michael up, he has grown so.

  I would spend the evenings painting the sky, which streaks with gold and every shade of purple and pink, but I have used up most of my meager supply of materials, and even if we had the money to spare, there is nowhere for me to purchase more. Instead I sit beneath all that color, mending and patching our clothing.

  The afternoons are already hot, and so after lunch, Amy sleeps in the house. We had a brood of little chicks, and it is her job and delight to care for them. Before supper I read to her and try to teach her to make her letters. If I would let her, she would spend all day playing with rabbits and toads or with the Mexican children who live nearby. But I am concerned her English is suffering, since she hears only Clayton and me speak it. She is such an obedient child, and I do wish to give her every opportunity she would have in the east. But there are no schools here; indeed, I do not know of any American children living within an hour’s ride.

  “I like to play with the rabbits,” she said one evening after hearing me discuss my concerns with Clayton. We have several we are raising now in a pen, and Amy feeds them and spends half the afternoon playing with them. She sometimes takes one out of the pen and brings it inside, carrying it around as if it were a doll. I do not know what she will say when she finds out they are for our dinner!

  Your Sister,

  Abigail

  August 29, 1870

  Dearest Maggie,

  We were not able to get water for our land, and most of our crops are dried up. But there has been more rain this summer—thunderstorms that race through the valley just before sunset—and so we have some beans for drying and a little corn. I have plenty of tomatoes, green beans, and some grapes from the vines you sent.

  I asked Clayton if I could visit home with the children during Christmas, but the trip by train is expensive, and unless he has more luck with the mines, we won’t be able to come. I do miss you and the children. Irene and Robert must have both grown so, and I can only imagine from your descriptions what little Alex must look like. Clayton left a week ago to make the extra money we need to get our supplies for winter and has promised we can hitch the wagon and ride to Mesilla when he returns. Last year after the drought and Clayton’s loss in the mines, we were unable to go. I have so looked forward to the trip. If there is enough money I will get a bolt of cloth for a new dress for me and for Amy, and I will get Mexican Christmas presents for you.

  Yours,

  Abigail

  January 21, 1871

  Dearest Maggie,

  Your gifts were much appreciated. I have not had persimmons since the ones you sent last Christmas, and the shoes were needed by all of us. Amy is so used to going barefoot, she had to be shown how to button hers. Now she wears them everywhere and is proud of the buttons on them.

  I am glad you liked the weavings. The carving is of olive wood and quite rare. I bought it from an Arab in Mesilla. There were all sorts of people in the market—Chinamen, Arabs, easterners, and, of course, the Mexicans. We saw every sort of vegetable and fruit and various goods for sale there also, many of which I did not know the name. There were brilliant birds in cages and richly colored cloth, porcelain figures and tea sets, if you could pay the price. The southerners have started a school and two churches. Would that we lived closer so that we could attend church and I could send Amy to school. We met a rancher who has made his fortune growing cotton. How he gets so much water I am not sure.

  Clayton allowed me to purchase a new sketching pad, and I bought calico that is black-striped for dresses, and a heavy cotton for Clayton’s trousers, and muslin. I will put a piece of the calico in with the letter. I have given up on bustles, the same as I did on hoops. I simply cannot get around in them.

  Your Sister,

  Abigail

  April 15, 1871

  My Dear Maggie,

  Rainstorms sweep across the sky these past few weeks with the sudden sound of horses pounding over a hill or a stampede of cattle. Almost every afternoon I must call Amy inside, then we two stand at the front door, watching the thick, dark sky move towards us like a heavy cloth pulled by the hand of God. Seconds later, His fury is upon us with the pummeling of heavy drops that splatter when they hit the ground, and in an instant the world turns so thick with water that we cannot single out one drop but see only the pounding darkness as if the curtain has been drawn round us.

  But it is God’s blessing, also, any water that falls, even if it comes in torrents. The desert blooms wildly this spring, cacti which were dried husks all of last summer bursting with yellows, deep reds, and pinks and blues, everywhere the brilliant, exotic flowering.

  There is so much rain that I have had to replant our spring crops, some several times, as the seeds wash away. But we have plenty of lettuce and greens, rows of turnips, even, and peas. I have introduced some of our varieties of vegetables to the locals, who think they are indeed good.

  Clayton is away most of the time, working at the mines, and so it is Amy and I who do the planting. I carry George Michael strapped in a carrier to my back as I am planting, like a little papoose! This is a most practical arrangement, as it leaves my hands free and George Michael is content to watch us, swaying gently in his perch.

  All of last week Clayton was gone, hoping he would find the vein of gold he assures me does exist. Both the water rights and a windmill must be purchased if we are to irrigate our crops, and he is hopeful the money will be forthcoming. With any luck in the mines, it will be.

  We look forward to a summer, finally, when we will be able to bring in a harvest.

  Your Loving Sister,

  Abigail

  June 1, 1871

  Dear Maggie,

  There have been days these past few months when I have wished the mines and the gold and copper, whatever comes out of them, into oblivion. When Clayton returns from them he is most o
ften in a rage, for every mine he invests in fails. Three days ago he rode up just before supper and threw his bags on the floor. He was standing in the doorway—all dark with the sun behind him—and Amy ran to me, saying she was afraid. “That’s right, child,” Clayton told her. “Run from me. Wherever I go, there is no good comes of it.”

  “Forget the mines,” I said to him after we had eaten supper. “If we can get more water for the crops, we can try farming. You said yourself the land is fertile.”

  Clayton shook his head and laughed. “All we need is water,” he said, throwing his hands up as if the only way we could get it would be from God Himself. Indeed, Maggie, some days it does seem this is true. There has been no rain for ten days, and already, this early in the summer, after such a wet spring, the ground is dry.

  But I must keep hope, so I grabbed one of his hands between mine. It was thick, and rougher than when we lived in Virginia. “We have the water,” I told him. “We only have to get it up here.”

  “All right,” he said, but looked as if he had given up making things work here. “I’ll go tomorrow and see about the water rights. We still need money for a windmill and a pump. But if I pull out all my money, we might scrape together enough.” He stopped talking and looked straight at me. “It will mean quitting the mines.”

  I almost smiled. I am overtired, Maggie, of him being gone days at a time. “The seeds are nearly in,” I told him. “Amy and I will start digging the ditches.” We had watered the garden near the house, but the corn and cotton and beans need water from the river.