by Mari Collier
“Why is everything so flat?”
“Why, ma'am, take a look at them mountains.” He waved his arm towards the distance. “In the morning and night they'll look like they've been colored rose or purple. It's an inspiring sight.”
“I wasn't speaking of the terrain, I meant the buildings.”
“It does become a tad warm during the summer months, ma'am. We've found the adobe buildings keep things cool. 'Course they do need fresh mud and paint to keep the rain from crumbling them, but it's a minor point. It can be hot as blazes outside and fine and dandy inside. Wooden buildings just let the heat in and not everyone can afford a slave or two to keep the fans moving
“All you need to do is look. You can see how Tucson is growing. This here's the new part of town, but with so many coming in, not everybody has had a chance to build something. That's why you see some tents, but they're sturdy. Don't need to worry about the wind blowing 'em into your place.” There was more cheer in his voice than Margareatha thought the place warranted.
Like so many of the structures, these walls were thick. On closer examination, she realized the bricks were underneath a thin coat of what? The paint had gone over that.
“What precisely was used to build this place? Is it brick of some kind?”
“Yes, ma'am, it's brick, but that's adobe brick. It's made from the sand and clay of our great natural outdoors. Finest material around.”
“I didn't see any kilns. Where do they fire them?”
“That ma'am is done by our glorious sunshine. It's the best and cheapest way in the world to build a city from the ground up.” Beasley laughed at his own joke.
The tour of the house convinced Margareatha that it was feasible. One room had a small wooden closet and the house could be secured by the heavy pine doors. There were shelves in the third room. She knew she was through with the false night life and cheating other people at cards.
“Very well, Mr. Beasley, as soon as I check the prices on flour, fruit, sugar, and pans we may have a deal.”
“Why not buy it right now, ma'am? Someone else might come along.” Beasley favored her with a broad smile.
“Then I'll continue on to San Francisco. I am not paying you one thousand dollars for this place. It has dirt floors. While I'm looking at prices, I'll also ask about the costs of lots and houses here.”
Beasley's smile faded. He had not expected a woman to behave like a man. He had long ago learned that tall women really wanted to be treated like all other women. Why was this one different?
Chapter 48: Lorenz
“What do you think you are doing?” Margareatha took four quick steps across the floor of her bakery and grabbed the youth's arm.
She had stepped into the storage room to retrieve another sack of flour from the chest when a sensation of someone near passed over her. She used her mind and realized someone had entered the bakery without calling out some sort of customary greeting.
The youth swung around, his fist clenched and Margareatha grabbed his arm. The stench coming off of him was beyond belief, his cloths were nothing but rags and his shoes were tied to his feet. His hair was a mass of dark, matted curls stretching down to his shoulders. She realized grey eyes were looking at her out of a face that could have belonged to her mother.
The grey eyes widened as he realized she was taller than he and had a head of thick, red curls. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came as he stared at her face and hair. A sick, puzzled look grew on his face and in his eyes.
Margareatha grabbed his left arm and tightened her grip. “Who are you? Where do you come from? Where have you been?” She realized her tone was too sharp, too harsh, but dear God which one was this? Daniel? Lorenz? It couldn't be Daniel. He would be sixteen and close to full-grown. This one still had smooth, childish skin under the tan.
The grey eyes were blinking at her and still no sound came from his mouth.
She couldn't help herself. She shook him. “Answer me, what is your name?”
The eyes and mouth grew sullen.
“What difference theat make?” The entire sentence was drawn out and slurred.
“Lorenz Adolf, you stop acting like that.”
His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth dropped open. His tongue flicked at his lips and he whispered, “Rity?”
Margareatha swept him into her arms, dirt, sweat, stink, and all. “Oh, Lorenzy, Lorenzy, where have you been? Where's Mama? Daniel? Auggie” She held him at arms length, touching his face in wonderment.
He shook his head. “I dunno. Ain't they hearh? Why didn't yu'all come back fer me?”
“I couldn't. O'Neal locked me up and sent me to a convent in Houston. Didn't the Comanche take you?”
He shook his head no.
“Then how did you live? Where have you been?”
Hardness settled over his face and eyes. “Comancheros.”
Margareatha stared at him. Why would a band of renegades, degenerates from all races, let a child of four live? And horror gripped at her insides. Maybe it was best just to get him cleaned up and fed. Then they could talk.
“Oh, Lorenzy, you need some clothes, a bath. Are you hungry?”
The latter was a silly question and she knew it. He was bone-skinny, his belly sunken.
“Take that loaf you were reaching for and I'll pour you some milk. I was just mixing up the things for tomorrow morning. Then we can get you cleaned up and go buy some clothes. I have to be up early to start baking.”
“Where's Mama?” Lorenz's eyes and mouth hadn't softened.
“O'Neal said the Comanche took everyone.” She noticed he hadn't asked about their father. Could he remember that that cold-hearted man had hated them?
“Then they're dead.” The voice was harsh, flat, and still with that horrible border slur.
“No, no, I don't believe it. Somehow Mama's alive. You have to believe it. I know it.”
For a moment the boy almost swayed in her arms and his eyes closed and then opened. He looked at her in wonderment. “Ah reckon,” he whispered. “How yu'all know theat?”
She couldn't say God told me. All she could do was shrug. “It's something I know. Just like when O'Neal lied to me and then to everybody else, but we can find them. It'll take notifying the army forts, but until this war is over, we'll have to wait. While we are, you can fill out and get some schooling.”
“Why I need schoolin'?”
“Because no one pays any attention to you if you talk like low-down trash. Now you sit at the table and eat that loaf of bread. I'll bring you a bowl of beans from the pot on the stove and I can spare a little milk. You eat that while I mix up the starter. Then we'll get you cleaned up and go buy some clothes.”
“Milk's fer babies.” Lorenz objected, but allowed her to push him into the chair. He hadn't eaten for the three days that he had been traveling alone and his diet had been sparse all month. If Rity wanted to get him clothes that was all right too. It looked like white men wore clothes no matter where they were. He was smart enough to have figured out that white men were regarded as a cut above everybody else. He wasn't sure why for from what he had seen, one color was just as bad as the other.
He tore chunks out of the bread and stuffed them in his mouth. Margareatha came back from the stove with a bowl of beans.
“What are you doing?”
“Mmphing,” came from the overfull mouth.
“You can't eat like that.”
She reached over and picked up her knife. Lorenz pushed back on the chair and stood with fists cocked when he realized she was simply slicing the bread. She wasn't coming after him.
“There, that's how you eat it; one slice at a time with some butter and jam or honey on it.” She looked at him standing there.
This time Lorenz sat down in the chair. If she wanted him in a chair and eating bread one slice at a time as she called it, he could do that. He sat down and picked up the bowl of beans and began to pour them into his mouth.
“Lorenz, n
ot like that. You are supposed to use a spoon. You've forgotten everything.” Her voice was almost a wail and she sank against the table, her legs suddenly weak. How was she to handle this? She would have sat in a chair if she possessed another chair, but she had been thrifty, hoarding her money for an emergency. She knew Mama would want them together, but would Lorenz mind her now? He was at least five foot three or four, almost as tall as most men, and he had always been strong minded as Mama called it.
Lorenz looked at her and something seemed to fill his face and eyes and he swallowed. “We useta sit a table jest like this.” He closed his eyes for a minute. “Yeah, ah had a spoon and would wop the table with it.” His eyes and face transformed as he smiled at her. “See, ah ain't fergot everythang.”
Chapter 49: Mamacita
Lorenz was on his way back to Rity's bakery after a day of shoveling shit. Margareatha had managed to find clothes, get him into a tub, cut his hair, and somehow found a job for him at the livery stable on the west side of town. Not many folks came in that way, but enough to keep the stalls packed with horse apples. Hay had to be shifted and fed to the animals. Tack always needed worked on too. The pay was miserly and his employer more interested in gabbing or playing cards with his cronies. One morning, the owner's wife had come by the stable to ask Mr. Pickens, the owner, for some money. Lorenz wasn't paying much attention to anything the woman said. Mr. Pickens refused her, but he was polite about it. The next day Pickens bragged to somebody about how he'd punished his wife for embarrassing him in public. Lorenz decided these men weren't any different from the men in the Comanchero camp. They just acted nice to women when there was a whole mess of people around. Rity wasn't the kind that would put up with that. He reckoned that was why she wasn't married—that and 'cause she was too tall.
Living in town had been a revelation. People always seemed to be going somewheres or busy at some kind of task. Most of them wore clothes that covered them from neck to feet; not only the top wear, but all sorts of underwear that itched or scratched in the most unreachable places. If you scratched in the wrong place in front of people, they scolded you. He'd argued with Rity about all the clothes, but she ignored him. She even threatened to hold him down and put each article on him.
“I did it when you were a baby and I can do it now.”
Lorenz would have left, but he liked eating regular like and there was the promise of finding Mama once the fighting was over. 'Course Mama might not want him, but he had to know. Rity said she knew the way to Wooden and then to the farm they used to own. He wondered why they couldn't just go now as he sure hadn't see any soldiers fighting here. It seemed like all the fighting was someplace in the East. There didn't seem to be any young men in town. 'Course not all men were gone. From what he had picked up from the conversations at the stable, most men around here didn't care who won as long as somebody sent soldiers to fight the Apache, Comanche, or even the Kiowa if they dared to defy the Comanche long enough to raid in this part of New Mexico Territory.
Rity's threat to teach him letters and ciphering hadn't come to pass. She was too damn busy in that bakery of hers. He didn't mind. If everything didn't sell, the leftovers might be part of the evening meal. She sure could make a darn good fruit pie when there was dried fruit, and her rolls and bread were better than anything he'd ever eaten in the Comanchero camp. She kept insisting he drink milk and would pour it on his oatmeal or mush in the morning, if she bothered to make it. Half the time she just sliced up bread and slapped butter or lard on the slices. The lard was all right 'cause when she used that she'd sprinkle some sugar or spread some molasses on it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a figure darting out from between two buildings. It was a woman in a ragged skirt and blouse. Her hair was pulled back, but there was dried blood smeared on her face and into her hair. Both her eyes were black, and it looked like her nose was broken. Of teeth, she had none left in her mouth.
“Niño, help me, hide me. He's coming after me to kill me.” Her speech was border Spanish which would someday be called Tex-Mex.
“Mamacita, how'd yu all git here?”
“I ran and walked. I could see the home fires in the distance. Hide me, Niño, hide me.” She had grabbed his right arm and was taking turns looking at the road out of town and back at him. Her lips were cracked from a beating and the lack of water.
“Yu all mean Zale?”
“Si, Niño, si, por favor, find some place.”
“Come on, Rity'll know what to do.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the streets. Rity had left the door open to cool off the place, but once at the door Mamacita stopped, her eyes wide with terror.
“No, Niño, no, they will lock me away.”
“Mamacita, this is my sister's place. She'll help us.” He pushed her inside.
“Rity, we need yore help.”
Margareatha heard the desperation in his voice and looked up from her day's receipts and cash. She stared in wonderment.
“This is Mamacita. She kept me alive when they found me. I'da been dead without her. We gotta help her, Rity. She don't know how to live here.”
“But where, where would she sleep? There isn't any room.”
“She can sleep out back, Rity. She can work, carry things. He'll kill her.”
Margareatha looked at Lorenz. “Who is going to kill her? Is anyone out there?”
“I meant Zale. He's the leader of the Comancheros I wuz with.”
“Say 'was' not wuz.”
Lorenz ignored her rebuke. “He's always beatin' on her.”
Margareatha took a deep breath and looked at the woman. “Did you see him following you?”
Lorenz translated.
The woman shook her head no, although it was hard to tell as much as she was shaking. “I saw no one, Señorita.”
Margareatha nodded while Lorenz translated. She had understood the word nada. She did need extra help. She wouldn't have to pay this woman at first as food, clothes, and a place to sleep would suffice until the woman learned to be useful. She refused to think how close to slavery such a bargain was.
“Lorenz, show her where she can wash up. I'll see about something for her to sleep on. Then you both can carry in wood and water for tonight and tomorrow.”
Mamacita broke into sobs when Lorenz translated.
Chapter 50: Comancheros
“Lorenz, take Mamacita with you to the vendors stalls. The man you saw leaving said they brought in potatoes from Mexico. He saw the wagon pulling in. Here's a dollar. They're probably all gone if it's true, but if they aren't, purchase as many as you can.”
Lorenz snagged the dollar and told Mamacita to follow him. He'd just returned from the shift at the stable. If he was lucky, he could parley the dollar into more than just potatoes. Mamacita followed Lorenz as she thought this was proper. Nothing he said convinced her to do otherwise. At the stands, she stood back, waiting to see if she was needed. She looked down the road leading into town and saw three riders coming. The big roan was easy to identify.
“Niño, we must go!”
Lorenz looked up and ran back to her. He grabbed her hand and they started running.
Behind him he heard shouts and hooves. He stretched his legs out farther, figuring Zale would kill him, too, for running and killing that man afore he left.
Why ain't they shooting, his mind wondered. Probably 'cause they're in a white man's town and somebody might shoot back. Nobody would care about killing some Mexican woman and a stray kid though. They were almost at the door of the bakery when they were surrounded by three horses.
Zale jumped off his horse, his face red from the sun and anger, the blue eyes filled with hate. He was a bone-thin six footer and about thirty-five. Lorenz curled his hands into fists and stepped out to meet him, and saw the knife coming toward him. It was too late to duck. All he could do was twist to the side. He felt the knife descend from his cheek and down the front of his body and to the side where the ribs deflected the
knife. He found himself hurled to the ground
“Shoot him while I take care of her. No woman defies me.” Mamacita had grabbed at Zale's arm, hoping to draw his attention from Lorenz. He turned on her and plunged the knife down into her time after time not noticing that Margareatha was in the doorway raising her shotgun.
Margareatha saw two guns being aimed at Lorenz and shot one barrel into the one on the right and another barrel at the one on the left. Both men bent over their horses' necks and their horses reared.
The noise brought Zale back to the world and he looked down at Margareatha's shotgun and realized that he had to stand straight to look at her eyes.
Strange they were; reddish-brown with a gold circle around the pupil. So strange he felt his legs grow weak and sudden fear made him turn and leap into the saddle. He rammed his spurs into the horse for townsmen were appearing with rifles.
Margareatha dropped on her knees beside Lorenz. Blood was puddling into the gravel from his face and side.
“Lorenzy, can you hear me?”
His eyes were closed and his teeth gritted as though letting out a sound or moan would disgrace him. He opened his eyes when he heard her, but they were becoming cloudy and he swallowed. “Doan call me theat…”
“Somebody get a doctor.” Margareatha yelled at one of the bystanders. “Now! And somebody help me carry him inside.”
“Tabling's gone for the doc, but I'd wait with taking him inside till you got some oilskin on your bed, ma'am.”
Margareatha ignored the advice and looked up. “Someone grab him under the shoulders.”
When no one moved, Margareatha picked him up and carried him through the bakery and into her bedroom to the only bed. She put him down as gently as she could.
“Oh, Lord, don't let him die now. How would I ever explain to Mama?” She took her apron and grabbed the sheet from the floor where Lorenz had been sleeping to staunch the blood flow. What did doctors do for something like this? How was she to keep him from discovering Lorenz's two hearts?
