13
Before returning to his classes in Las Cruces, Matt hired Jim and Millie Sawyer as ranch caretakers and arranged to have Al Jennings manage the livestock operations for the ranch. Al would mingle the 7-Bar-K cattle in with his herd and use both ranches to pasture the stock, which would help reduce overgrazing. After expenses, Al would take a cut of the 7-Bar-K annual beef sale profits.
Jim and Millie Sawyer, an older, childless couple who’d lost their small sheep ranch to White Sands Proving Ground, would get room, board, and a salary to run the household, help look after the few remaining ponies, and do general maintenance and daily chores. They were happy to have the work and delighted to return to the Tularosa from town, where they’d languished and scratched out a living as a domestic and a handyman.
Because he knew and liked Jim and Millie and would be their boss in Matt’s absence, Patrick didn’t grumble about the arrangement. In fact, he seemed relieved to have their company and help, although he’d never admit to it.
For Matt, it was a financial strain, even with the fifteen-dollar-a-month increase in his GI Bill allowance and Patrick putting up part of his Spanish-American War pension to help pay Jim and Millie’s salary. Without the GI Bill and his 50 percent veteran’s disability check—he’d rather have his eye back than the money—the ranch would be a losing proposition once again.
Over the next two years, things ran smoothly with very few bumps in the road. Patrick and the Sawyers became fast friends and together kept the ranch headquarters and the six ponies on the spread in tip-top shape. Al managed the livestock and ramrodded the spring and fall gatherings. Decent moisture and rising beef profits brought the prospect of more of the same ahead.
Relieved of unnecessary worry about the ranch, Matt hunkered down and concentrated on his studies. He had turned down Gus and Consuelo’s kindhearted offer to live with them at the hacienda, mostly because the memory of Beth would have haunted him there. But he continued to be a frequent dinner guest and always looked forward to attending their lively social gatherings and parties when he could. Instead, he’d rented a room from Rosella Gomez in his old neighborhood, which reminded him daily of his remarkable mother and his early childhood years living in the barrio.
A widow, Mrs. Gomez had a half dozen grandchildren between the ages of three and sixteen who were constantly in and out of her house, frequently accompanied by their parents, much to Matt’s enjoyment, entertainment, and erudition. Since only Spanish was spoken in Rosella’s household, Matt’s command of the language improved considerably, to the approval of the entire clan. When the ruckus at the house got too loud and he needed to study for tests or finals, he decamped to the public library on nearby North Main Street and cracked the books there.
He’d turned thirty-seven earlier in the year and had started to think that boarding with Mrs. Gomez was as close as he’d ever get to a family of his own. He wasn’t completely opposed to remaining a bachelor, but the prospect wasn’t a satisfying one either. He’d dated a few town gals, several coeds, and more recently a neighborhood señorita introduced to him by one of Rosella’s adult children, who was sweet, angling for marriage, wanted lots of babies, and wasn’t interested in much of anything else. When Matt quickly proved indifferent to her well-laid plans, she moved on to a likelier candidate, a salesman at a downtown shoe store, and was planning her trip to the altar within the month.
After Thanksgiving of 1949, Gus and Consuelo Merton threw a holiday party that Matt decided was worth staying in town for over the weekend rather than returning to the ranch. He’d only been there ten minutes when Jimmy Kendell, the one-armed navy vet who’d signed Matt up for his GI benefits, arrived with Mary Ralston and Erma Fergurson in tow.
Over the last few years, he’d had a passing acquaintance with both women; mostly he saw them on campus, occasionally downtown at one of the Main Street stores, and sometimes at the social gatherings and parties thrown by the older crowd or by the couples living in married student housing. Because he was in classes during the week and at the ranch most weekends, he didn’t know them well. All he knew was that they were best friends and roommates who had served together in the navy during the war. He would have liked to know more, particularly about Mary Ralston.
Her roommate, Erma, was petite, slender, and pretty, with long brown hair and wide, innocent-looking eyes that got her a lot of attention. But it was Mary who attracted Matt’s interest. She was blond, blue-eyed, and leggy in spite of not being much taller than Erma, had an assured way of walking, a cheerful smile, intelligent eyes, and the seemingly natural ability to give everyone her full attention. All those qualities, plus a quiet reserve about her, captured Matt’s curiosity.
He’d shared more than one beer with Jimmy Kendell, who aside from being a doctoral candidate in electrical engineering was a ladies’ man in his spare time, so he kept his distance, trying to figure out which gal Kendell was wooing, hoping it wasn’t Mary. He was about to reconnoiter directly when Consuelo Merton approached Mary, took her by the hand, and led her through the crowded room directly to him, beaming mischievously.
“I’d like to you meet Señorita Mary Ralston,” Consuelo said in Spanish, her eyes twinkling with amusement at her own formality.
“I’ve had the pleasure,” Matt replied, smiling brightly as he shook Mary’s hand. “We’ve met on several occasions.”
“But not often enough, I think.” Consuelo’s sweeping glance embraced them both. “Did you know that you both graduate at the end of this semester?”
“No, I did not,” Mary replied.
Consuelo touched Mary’s arm. “I didn’t think so. Before you vanish into a classroom here in town and Matthew goes back to his ranch and disappears forever, I thought you two should get to know each other.”
Matt started to agree, but Consuelo put her finger to his lips and silenced him. “No secrets have been shared.” She turned and smiled at Mary. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve other guests to attend to.”
Matt grinned at Consuelo’s expertly played maneuver. “She’s an amazing woman.”
“I want to be just like her when I grow up,” Mary said softly as Consuelo slipped away.
“If that’s true, I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“You have secrets?” Mary asked, deftly deflecting the compliment.
“Not really, just some ancient history. Gus and Consuelo have been old friends for many years. What about you?”
Mary laughed. “No secrets, but there are some things I’d rather forget. How did you come to know the Mertons?”
“Therein lies the tale,” Matt replied. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes, please, but only if you tell me the tale.”
“Will part of it do?”
“For now,” Mary replied.
“How about we adjourn to the library? I know where Gus keeps his private sipping whiskey.”
“Do you propose to raid his liquor cabinet?”
Matt nodded. “That is my intention.”
Mary cocked her head. “Are you inclined to be a law breaker?”
“Only on those very special occasions when I have the right accomplice.”
Mary smiled winningly and linked her arm in his. “Lead on.”
***
The prospect of a purloined drink from Gus’s liquor cabinet quickly forgotten, they spent the next two hours closeted in the library sitting in comfortable easy chairs surrounded by walls of books, talking as though they were old friends reunited after a long time apart. Matt told her that Gus had been his professor before the war and had helped him find work with the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression. He left out the part of his brief fistfight with his father on campus that led to his first dinner invitation to the hacienda and made no mention of Beth. Both subjects were too personal for him to broach so quickly to anyone.
He briefly described the
ranch, the Tularosa Basin, and the trials of keeping the 7-Bar-K afloat and operating while he was in school finishing his degree in animal science, but mostly he talked about his mother, Emma, and what a strong, capable woman she’d been. His obvious love for her charmed Mary.
Matt made no mention of his war service or his glass eye, and Mary didn’t press it. She was surprised to learn he was thirty-seven, having figured him a good three or four years younger. Without dwelling on her family, she talked about growing up on the ranch outside Santa Fe, and how she’d loved it. Matt didn’t even try to suppress a smile when she said that although she looked forward to teaching at the local elementary school after the Christmas break, she couldn’t think of any better life than ranching.
To keep the 7-Bar-K solvent, Matt was hoping for an appointment as a New Mexico livestock inspector in the New Year, but he was up against some stiff competition. If that fell through, he was thinking of getting out of the cattle business for good and returning to what he liked best: training cutting horses and cow ponies for rodeo-circuit riders.
Mary’s eyes lit up at the idea; she’d been a barrel racer at the county fairs while in high school and loved the sport. They talked ponies until Erma appeared in the library doorway with coat in hand, and said Jimmy Kendell was waiting for them in his car. When Matt offered to see Mary safely home, she readily agreed, and with a wink and a wave, Erma departed.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Just Erma acting silly,” Mary coolly replied. “Tell me more about the 7-Bar-K.”
“It’s on a pretty slice of country in the San Andres Mountains, east of the Jornada. Army land on the Tularosa sits at its feet. There are mountains eastward, badlands to the north, and the White Sands National Monument to the south. The Rocking J and the 7-Bar-K are the last big spreads left in those mountains since the military forced the other ranchers out during the war. I’d be glad to show it to you, if you wish.”
“I would like that very much.”
“It’s more than a day trip, so you should come for the weekend. I’ll carry you out there if you like, and you can bring Erma along so she can ride shotgun.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Do I need her protection?”
“Maybe so,” Matt answered with a smile. “The Tularosa can be a dangerous place for man or beast. A lot of history has happened there.”
“I should visit before I start my new teaching career,” Mary suggested. “And I’m sure Erma will want to tag along.”
“That’s okay by me,” Matt said.
Before he could say more, Augustus Merton opened the library door, smiled pleasantly, and said, “The party has ended, but I can offer separate sleeping accommodations for you two if you wish. I promise a delicious three-cheese omelet for breakfast if you stay.”
Embarrassed, Matt scrambled to his feet. “Sorry, Gus, we got carried away talking. We’ll get a move on.”
Consuelo joined Gus at the open door. “We’d love to have you stay.”
“I’ll get my coat,” Mary said as she stood and smoothed her skirt. “You’re very kind to offer your hospitality, but I really must get home. Matt has offered to drive me.”
With a twinkle in his eye, Gus stood aside to let them pass. “Another time perhaps.”
“Yes, indeed,” Consuelo echoed, her eyes dancing.
After the goodbyes at the front door, Matt and Mary walked to his truck parked on the Mesilla village plaza, the moon casting shadows from the church spires across the empty square.
In the middle of the plaza, Mary stopped, turned, and looked Matt squarely in the eye. “The Mertons are lovely people and your dear friends, so I’d appreciate it if you would tell me what exactly is going on.”
“You didn’t put them up to some matchmaking?” Matt countered, caught off guard by her accusation.
“Heavens no.”
“Neither did I.”
“Then what is this about?”
Matt took a deep breath before replying. “It’s about a boy, a girl, her aunt and uncle, my two dear friends as you put it, and a terrible tragedy. Simply put, it’s a love story.”
In the pale moonlight Mary saw the pain in Matt’s eyes. “Will you tell me?”
Matt paused. There was something about Mary he trusted. “Why not?”
He ushered her to his truck, silently considering how to start. As they left the village he told her about this young man he knew, still a boy really, who had been invited to dinner by his professor and upon his arrival greeted at the hacienda front door by a blue-eyed, redheaded girl, with creamy skin and a ridge of freckles across her nose, whose brilliant smile stunned him into silence.
“It was love at first sight,” Matt added.
By the time he’d parked in front of Mary’s apartment, she’d heard the story. Not all really, but the highlights, at least right up to the tragedy of Beth Merton’s death that would never fully fade from his mind, no matter how many years might pass. Quietly he sat behind the wheel waiting for what seemed like an eternity for her reaction. Finally convinced that he’d made a big mistake, he turned to look at her just as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
He almost flinched in surprise.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes moist with tears.
“What for?”
“Telling me who you are.” She opened the passenger door and stepped out of the truck. “Can I visit your ranch next weekend?”
Matt nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Me too. Good night, Matthew Kerney.” She watched him drive away thinking that no man since Brian Sullivan had touched her emotions so quickly, so easily, and aroused her interest so thoroughly.
The light was on in Erma’s upstairs bedroom. She hurried to the porch, eager to fill her in on the surprising events of the evening. As she put her key in the front door lock, it came to her that someday soon Matt would need to hear her story.
14
That weekend, Mary went with Matt to the ranch while Erma stayed at home feigning the onset of chills and a fever. It was a sweet ruse on her part to make sure Mary had Matt’s undivided attention. The ploy was so blatant that Mary teased her about it on her way out the door. Erma stuck her tongue out in reply.
The long drive to the ranch started out uneasily, with Matt making nervous small talk and Mary chattering too much about nothing at all. By the time they were on the outskirts of town, they’d relaxed enough to enjoy each other’s company. Matt mentioned tidbits of information about the landmarks and historical sites they passed along the way, which delighted Mary. On an unmarked farm road that paralleled the Rio Grande, he told her the true story of Consuelo Merton’s ancestor, who moved his family to the west side of the river after the Mexican War so he could retain his Mexican citizenship only to lose it in 1854 when the United States bought millions of acres from the government of Mexico and promptly gave most of the land away to robber barons to build a railroad to Southern California.
They drove by the melting adobe ruins of old Fort Selden, where Matt’s grandfather, John Kerney, finally found his lost son, Patrick, after many years of searching. At Rincon, a small village once a haven for outlaws and cattle rustlers during the territorial years, they turned east on a dirt road not shown on any map to the Point of Rocks, where early Spanish explorers camped before beginning the arduous journey across a hundred-mile stretch of desert, and where raiding Apaches waited in ambush for unwary settlers traveling north.
Along the remnants of the wagon road known as the Jornada del Muerto, Matt talked about the historic old ranches that had once thrown tens of thousands of cattle onto the range back in the day of the huge spreads; the Bar Cross, the 7-T-X, the Diamond A, the John Cross, and the Double K—now the 7-Bar-K.
Mary wondered about the brand change for the ranch, and Matt explained he’d been forced to sell the original brand during t
he Great Depression to keep from going under. It still rankled him to think about it.
He described Moongate Pass, a gaping, semicircular cut in the San Andres Mountains that on certain nights the rising moon filled perfectly. Back when Engle was more than a dilapidated semi–ghost town on the Jornada, folks would gather outside on a clear night to watch the full moon settle for a moment in the cradle of the cut. It was a breathtaking natural wonder to behold.
Without thinking, she almost asked him to bring her to see it some evening, but her good sense intervened. Until she knew if there was to be more to their relationship than a hastily agreed upon visit to his ranch, she didn’t want to show too much eagerness to be with him, which might be off-putting. She quickly torpedoed any further speculation about the subject and returned her attention to the landscape.
To Mary’s eye, it was a harsh and a beautiful land. Dry and dusty, worn thin by overuse, peppered by cactus and mesquite, it captured her imagination. She wanted to jump out and explore every mountain range, every thin ribbon of dirt track that disappeared into the vast tableland, every distant mesa. The sheer overwhelming power of the land deserved a major expedition, and since coming to Las Cruces she’d seen too little of it.
Matt had more stories as they entered the San Andres Mountains. The one about Eugene Manlove Rhodes publishing a short story about Matt’s mother on a cattle roundup particularly intrigued her, and his surprising announcement that he personally knew Bill Mauldin as a young boy in New Mexico and as a soldier in Sicily made her impatient to see the cartoons he’d drawn about Matt’s “war escapades,” as he put it, and learn more about them.
Her first view of the astonishing Tularosa Basin from the heights of the San Andres took her breath away, and it was equally spectacular from the 7-Bar-K Ranch headquarters. As they drove past a line of power poles that marched down the mountainside to the ranch house, Matt happily noted that with some help from the army, which now controlled more than a million acres in the basin, they’d finally gotten electricity at the ranch last year.
The Last Ranch Page 16
