by Judith Pella
Sam shook his head. “It don’t help that all the records of the trial were lost.”
“No, that’s unfortunate.”
“It’s real lucky for Caleb Stoner.”
“Sam,” Deborah said, “do you think he had something to do with that?”
“It was mighty convenient, that’s all. And no one ever was able to say just how that fire got started. It happened just a year after your escape.”
“We will be sure to subpoena Mr. Stoner,” Jonathan said with relish.
“That’s likely the only way we’ll get a chance to talk with him. So far, he ain’t let any of us get to him.”
“Except Carolyn,” Deborah said.
“What?” Sam gave her an incredulous look.
“She’s gone to Stoner’s Crossing, Sam. I couldn’t stop her; she was determined to prove my innocence.”
“That girl.” Sam frowned, but there was more concern and affection in his gesture than reproof. “Has she been in touch with you since then?”
“I received a brief note some time ago and she said all was well, but I’d be lying if I said I still wasn’t concerned.”
“You want me to go fetch her back?”
“No, Sam. I doubt that she would come, anyway. We’ll just have to trust that she’ll be all right for now. Who knows, maybe something about her being Leonard’s daughter will draw Caleb’s sympathy.”
“Maybe,” Sam said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He refrained from reminding her that Carolyn was her daughter also. But stranger things had happened, and thus it was just possible Caleb did have a small heart beating within all that stone.
“If I may interject something,” Jonathan interrupted. “Before long Sam and I will have to go to Stoner’s Crossing to do some investigating. We’ll be able then to keep an eye on your daughter, even if from a distance.”
“You will be careful, won’t you?” Deborah said. “He may show Carolyn some patience, but no one can guarantee what he’ll do to anyone else involved with me.”
“Don’t worry, Deborah, we will handle Mr. Stoner with the finesse of an eighteen-inch trout on a line—nice and easy, with a great deal of patience, and even more cunning.”
Part 9
Questions, but Few Answers
35
For the next few days, Carolyn gave her conversation with Maria considerable thought. Short of prowling around the house like a common thief, she saw no way to find anything hidden away. She hoped that Maria would come back and help her, but the housekeeper didn’t return. So Carolyn bided her time, thinking that if worse came to worst she would do some snooping; but first she would give herself some time to make discoveries in a more scrupulous fashion.
After her unsuccessful questioning of both Maria and Caleb, Carolyn should have thought twice about attempting to confront Laban. But he was the only other person around directly connected with her father’s murder. And, in her mind, Laban was a prime suspect.
In fact, Carolyn did not approach him lightly. When she saw him in the stable rubbing down his favorite horse, her stomach constricted and her heart skipped a beat or two. But no one was around, and this seemed a perfect time to ask him a few questions. She seldom saw him and, whether she was avoiding him or the other way around, such an opportunity might not present itself again soon.
“Uncle Laban,” she said, approaching him from behind.
He craned his head around to face her, his lips curled in a sneer. “The use of ‘uncle’ is rather presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Your father asked me to call him Grandfather.”
“He’s a doddering old man who doesn’t know what’s good for him.”
“I can just call you ‘Laban,’ if that makes you feel better.”
“It would make me feel better if you’d just leave this place. We don’t need you around here stirring up trouble like your mother did.”
“I don’t reckon to leave unless my grandfather asks me to.” Carolyn’s stubbornness was obvious and, though she knew she was not putting him in a mood to be talkative, she couldn’t help herself.
Laban turned back to his horse. Carolyn walked around to face him. “Listen, Laban, I don’t understand why you should be so hostile toward my mother. I didn’t think there was any brotherly love between you and Leonard.”
“And so you think I should be glad she killed him and applaud her rather than resent her?”
“Something like that.”
“It wasn’t only Leonard she killed—that I could have forgiven. But she destroyed my brother Jacob, too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know nothing about Jacob?”
“Only that he was your full brother and that he, too, wasn’t treated very well by Caleb and Leonard. What happened to him?”
“She didn’t tell you?” When Carolyn shook her head, Laban snorted and allowed his lips to twitch into the semblance of a smile. He seemed to enjoy his next words. “My brother was forced to leave Stoner’s Crossing because Leonard caught him and your mother together. They were having an affair.”
“What makes you think that?”
“They often went off together—alone. I testified to this in court, and I will do so again if I am asked.”
“You’ve got to have proof before anyone will believe you.” But even Carolyn was wondering if it could be true. Why hadn’t her mother said anything about this to her? But why should she believe Laban? If he had murdered Leonard, wouldn’t he do anything to take the attention off himself?
“I know what I saw, and what Leonard saw also. They might not have been caught in the act, but Leonard saw enough for him to nearly kill Jacob, forcing him to flee for his life. Little good that did him; he was probably killed by Indians out on the frontier—why else have I never heard from him since?”
“But you don’t know any of this! In fact, just as good a case can be made indicating that you had the most to gain from implicating my mother in this way. And, after your brother left, you had the most to gain from murdering my father.”
“So that’s what you think. Well, no one believed that nineteen years ago, and no one will believe it now.”
“Back then, everyone believed what Caleb wanted them to believe. It’s different now; my ma isn’t alone anymore. There are people on her side now who will ask the right questions and expect the truth, not Caleb’s distortions. What will you do, then, Laban?”
“I will tell the truth.”
“Did you do that when they asked you at my mother’s trial what you were doing the night of my father’s murder?”
He laughed. “No one asked, because it wasn’t relevant.”
That revelation shocked Carolyn. “Were there no other suspects in the murder?”
“Your mother was standing over the body holding the murder weapon. What other suspects did they need? No, Carolyn, your mother’s cause was hopeless then, and remains so.”
“No it’s not, so be on your guard, Laban—the real murderer is going to be found.”
“Is that a threat?” Laban laughed outright, a humorless, cutting sound.
“Take it however you wish.” Carolyn caught his gaze and held it for a long, torturous moment.
Without warning, he grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully. “I could tear you in two easily. So take care about making threats.”
“Let me go!” She wrenched her arm, and he loosened his grasp. She turned and started to walk away. But then she remembered the unanswered question she had raised. She was afraid of Laban, but she was also cocky enough to believe that he would never really harm her because of the trouble it would bring him. She decided to take a chance and push him just a little more.
“Laban, what were you doing the night Leonard was killed?”
“I am not a suspect.”
“You weren’t then, but don’t count on that now.”
“We shall see, my dear little niece.”
“Yes, we will.”
Lab
an turned his attention back to his work, and Carolyn knew she couldn’t get another word from him.
36
On Saturday of Carolyn’s second week at the ranch, she decided to accompany Ramón to town. Caleb gave his permission to this outing, but declined to go himself because he was feeling tired. He looked tired, too, and Carolyn wondered if he had been sleeping well.
They left in the early afternoon after Ramón finished his chores. It took a little under an hour to get there, and they arrived hot, sweaty, and thirsty.
“Come on,” Ramón said, “we can get a drink at my mother’s place.”
Carolyn followed along eagerly until Ramón stopped at the cantina. When she hesitated, Ramón paused, puzzled. “A minute ago you said you were dying of thirst. What’s wrong?”
“Well, Ramón, I ain’t allowed to go in places like this,” Carolyn answered, uncharacteristically abashed.
Ramón laughed. “The tough cowgirl does have her limits, eh?”
“Aw, come on! My ma would tan my hide if she heard I went into a saloon. I’m surprised your ma don’t mind. Let’s just go find your mother. She’ll have something to drink, won’t she?”
“Of course she will. That’s her business—to quench the thirst of cowboys…and cowgirls. This cantina is her place.”
“Really?”
Carolyn had heard all kinds of stories about women who worked in saloons, none of them very positive. Of course her mother and Sam had always stressed not judging people, but it was hard not to when everyone else had little good to say about such women. To think that her new friend’s mother was a saloon girl added an entirely new dimension to the matter.
“Well, are you going to come? It’s not such an evil place, really. After all, I grew up here, and I’m not such a bad person, am I? Besides, it’s quiet inside now, and we can leave before the rowdy Saturday night crowd shows up.”
Carolyn had been rather embarrassed by the silliness of her initial hesitation, so now she assumed her bravado and marched in. A slight smile on his face, Ramón followed.
The interior was dark after the brightness of the sunlit afternoon, and an unsavory odor of stale remains of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat, with a peculiarly unsettling fragrance of cheap perfume, permeated the place. When Carolyn’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw a typical saloon—she had once or twice peeked into the saloons in Danville. Besides the expected long bar and tables and chairs and piano, there were several woven Mexican blankets and sombreros hanging on the walls, giving added color and warmth that other saloons lacked. There were no customers in the cantina. A man stood behind the bar cleaning glasses.
Carolyn heard the music, something soft and dreamy, before she turned toward the sound and saw the woman seated at the piano. Ramón tugged at Carolyn’s arm and put a finger to his lips.
The music was far different from the bawdy tunes Carolyn had heard coming from the saloons in Danville. She thought the woman was playing something classical, though Carolyn wasn’t enough familiar with such music to be sure. It was beautiful, that much was certain. It made Carolyn think of a gentle breeze softly bending the heads of the prairie grass on a spring morning. She wanted to sway like the grass, and she closed her eyes and imagined a spot near the Wind Rider Ranch where she liked to go and lie in the grass on a warm day under one of the few big oaks on the land. When the music picked up tempo, she thought of a jack rabbit racing by. Then another series of notes made her think of the leaves of the oak rustling overhead.
She was wondering what Ramón was thinking and what images, if any, the music evoked in his mind, when the lovely music stopped. Apparently the woman finally realized she had an audience. She looked up at the two young people just as Carolyn opened her eyes. The woman seemed neither embarrassed nor annoyed, and though she didn’t smile, there was a welcoming expression on her face.
“Ah, Ramón, mi muchacho!” she said with affection.
“Mamá, por favor! I’m not a little boy.”
“Well, you are not ‘mi hombre’ either.” The woman gave an affectionate wink at her son.
He shrugged and glanced at Carolyn as if she would understand how mothers were. Then he said, “Mamá, I have a guest from the ranch.”
“I see,” said the woman, giving Carolyn a careful appraisal with an arched eyebrow, which Carolyn couldn’t tell meant disapproval or merely curiosity. “You are the Patrón’s granddaughter?” To Carolyn’s surprised response, she added, “It is hard to keep such news quiet in a small town.”
“Well, it’s no secret, anyway,” Carolyn said, not knowing why her tone became slightly defensive. To make up for this, she held out her hand and said, “I’m Carolyn Stoner, señora…” Then she realized she didn’t even know Ramón’s surname.
“I am Eufemia Mendez.” The woman took Carolyn’s hand in a limp grasp, with cool fingers.
For the first time Carolyn took a close look at Ramón’s mother. She was not old—perhaps in her early forties—and still had a rather youthful appearance, with smooth skin that was unlined except for fine spidery tracings at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were wide-set, very dark and very beautiful. In fact, Eufemia Mendez was a beautiful woman in all respects except one: there was a sharp aspect to her beauty which, if it did not exactly detract from it, gave her a mysterious and somewhat cold look, in odd contradiction to the beautiful, gentle music she had just produced on the piano. Only when she addressed her son did she appear to soften. To others, she seemed to surround herself with a chilly north wind. The touch of her icy fingers combined with the chill in Eufemia’s eyes made a shiver run through Carolyn’s body, but she smiled in spite of it as she dropped her hand.
“So, does the Patrón give you an afternoon off?” Eufemia asked her son.
“Sí, and tomorrow also. I thought I would stay in town tonight with you, Mamá.”
“And your friend also?”
“Oh no,” said Carolyn. “I just came in to do a little shopping and have a look around. Thanks, anyway.”
“You will have something to drink?”
“Now, that I’ll accept gratefully!” said Carolyn. “It’s hot enough to wither a fence post out there.”
Eufemia led them to the bar. “Al,” she said to the barkeeper, “do you have something for the youngsters?”
“How ‘bout some ginger beer?” He took a couple of tall glasses and filled them from a jug under the counter.
When Carolyn and Ramón had taken the frothy drinks with thanks, Eufemia asked them to follow her. She took them through a door adjacent to the bar, which led into a short corridor where there were two or three other doors. She opened one of these onto a small parlor that was simply but nicely furnished.
“I think you will be more comfortable here than in the cantina,” said Eufemia, motioning for the two young people to sit on the divan. She sat in a red velvet wing chair opposite.
“Thank you,” said Carolyn. But as she looked around, she sensed the same ambiance in the room as she had in the woman—tasteful, lovely, cool, and guarded. She didn’t feel very comfortable at all.
“So, what brings you to our little community?” asked Eufemia.
“You mean the town rumors left that part out?”
“No. It is said you are the Patrón’s long-lost granddaughter; it is speculated that you are here on behalf of your mother, perhaps to prove her innocence of a crime committed many years ago.”
“Well, that’s partly true. The last thing my ma wanted was for me to come here. She’d rather see the courts prove her innocence. But I want to do what I can to help her. Mostly, though, I just wanted to meet my grandfather. It’s a strange thing to learn you have a family that you don’t even know. I couldn’t rest until I’d done something about that.”
“I imagine the Patrón was shocked when you showed up. Or did he know about you?”
“Not a thing. I reckon he was just as shocked as me.”
“But you have had a good reunion?”
“Mamá,” Ramón put in, “you should see; the Patrón has given Carolyn her pick of the horses and allows her to ride freely all over the ranch. She even rode out to the roundup camp and roped a calf.”
“That is astonishing. It is well known that the Stoners have no use for women except as pretty parlor baubles.” Eufemia’s right eyebrow arched once more, but her demeanor remained cool and unperturbed.
“Have you known the Stoner family long?” asked Carolyn, unable to restrain her driving curiosity in this area.
“I have lived in this town many years, and there is no one here who doesn’t at one time or other come into my cantina.”
“Then the cantina belongs to you, señora? That’s very impressive.”
Eufemia shrugged. “Impressive, if not respectable, eh?”
“I wasn’t raised to judge folks, señora. I reckon you’ve done the best you could. And you must have had to work hard to get this place.”
“In that, I must disappoint you. I bought this with a small inheritance I received about eighteen years ago when I was very young.”
Ramón said, “My mother’s family in Mexico is one of some stature.”
“But my son is only a stableboy.” The rancor was evident even if Eufemia’s tone remained as cool and controlled as always.
“I don’t mind so much,” said Ramón. “And I will soon advance to a higher position.”
“We all have ambitions,” Eufemia said rather vaguely. “Nevertheless, I didn’t earn the cantina at all. And perhaps I could have used the money in a more worthy manner. But it isn’t easy for a woman alone to make a living.”
“Then your husband is dead?”
Eufemia’s eyes darkened as if a cloud had passed overhead; then they cleared and she answered, “Ramón’s father is dead.”
In those words Carolyn detected the first note of emotion in the woman’s voice or expression—bitterness. But that passed as quickly as the cloud, and her cool wall was shored up and secure once more.
