by Judith Pella
Ramón stopped reading and looked at Carolyn. She shook her head and shrugged ignorance, as surprised as he that his surname should be mentioned. He continued, now with keener interest:
The family lives in another village, but they were not too hard to find. They are shopkeepers in their village and so of a little better station than those of us that work the dirt. They did not much like me asking about the daughter, Eufemia, and it was hard to get information. Then I met a cousin who is not on good terms with the family and was willing to talk. It seems Eufemia Mendez did come to the village last summer and stayed for almost a year. She never married here, but did give birth to a child. The cousin swears that the Mendez girl was in a family way before she came to the village. He says the child, a boy, was born in January of this year. You, of course, can cipher these things better than I. I checked at the church, and no marriage is recorded. The baby was baptized on February the third.
Ramón had a difficult time reading the last part of the letter, and when he finished he stared at Carolyn as if he hoped she’d assure him that none of this had anything to do with him. But when Carolyn made no such assurances, he said, “This can’t be my mother. How could she have a baby in January and then another in April, when I was born?”
“I don’t know, Ramón. But you didn’t hear your mother’s testimony in court. She said she had a child in Mexico, but that she also married.”
“Then there is some mistake!” Ramón argued. “I won’t believe the word of some stranger over that of my own mother.”
“Why would he lie?”
“He just got wrong information, that’s all.”
“He got this information from a church—they are very careful about such things.” Carolyn sighed, hating to see the distress this was causing in her friend. From her own experiences, she knew exactly how he must feel, and felt terrible that this news should come through her. “Ramón, I don’t know what it all means. I don’t want to see you or your mother hurt. But can you try to understand how this might be important to me.”
“I don’t see.”
“Your mother lied in court. She said she had been married in Mexico—it’s only a small thing, but one lie could discredit her entire testimony.”
“Why should her testimony be so important?”
“She was the one witness whose clear objectivity would have a lot of weight with the jury.” Carolyn paused and eyed Ramón curiously. “But, aside from all that, Ramón, don’t you want to find out why your mother lied about such a thing? Don’t you wish to know the truth about yourself?”
“I’m not like you, Carolyn; I think sometimes the truth is best left alone, hidden—like Maria wished.”
“I’ve got to show this letter to Mr. Barnum. It might be nothing, but—” Suddenly Carolyn broke off, her hand going to her mouth as a new and shocking idea occurred to her. “Ramón, if your mother was in a family way before she left Stoner’s Crossing, aren’t you curious about who the father might have been? Your father, Ramón! Perhaps it was someone right here in town.”
“I don’t care. That is past and has nothing to do with me and with now.”
“Perhaps none of that needs to come out. But that is where you and I differ. I must know everything.” She thought of her grandmother’s diary and Jacob’s letter. “I’m tired of secrets.”
“What will you do, Carolyn?”
“I’m gonna tell Mr. Barnum about this, and I suppose he will question your mother again. I’m certain he’ll do so with compassion, because that’s the kind of man he is. But first, I am going to see my grandfather.”
“What has he to do with this letter?”
“I found some other things at Maria’s, and I want to talk to him about them.”
Ramón shook his head. “Sometimes, Carolyn, I don’t think you know what’s good for you.”
“Probably not.”
70
Carolyn found her grandfather in his study, sitting in one of the leather chairs and smoking a cigar. He told Carolyn to come in and offered her the chair opposite his.
He held a nearly empty glass of whiskey in his hand, and he looked tired and pale. Why didn’t he look like the monster all the evidence painted him to be? Why did he have to look so vulnerable?
“Grandfather, I found some things that I have questions about,” she began in a gentle tone.
“You always have questions, don’t you, Carolyn? It’s your greatest fault, even more so than your infernal independence.” There was affection in his voice, and Carolyn felt even worse about the subject she had to broach.
She held up Elizabeth’s Stoner diary. “Do you recognize this?”
He nodded. “Where…where did you find it?”
“Maria had it. I think she had wanted to hide it, with some other things.”
“I remember telling her, years ago, shortly after Elizabeth’s death, to get rid of everything. I don’t know why she didn’t.”
“She’s a funny lady,” said Carolyn. “She’s so loyal to you, yet I suppose she feels a certain duty to the truth, also.”
“What truth?”
“What happened to my grandmother? What is Maria trying to hide?”
“Your questions, Carolyn…will be the death of us all.” He drank the rest of his whiskey, then with a tremulous hand, refilled his glass. “Did you read the diary?” After Carolyn’s affirmative nod, he went on. “I loved her dearly, but life on the frontier did not always allow a man to properly display such love. She was a self-centered girl—oh, I don’t blame her. She was from a very wealthy family, and always had her way. The rigors of the frontier were too much for her, and she complained so much; never a day passed without one complaint or another. It drove me to work harder to raise our income. I had to go farther and farther afield to hunt and trap. I desperately wanted to give her the things she desired. When I returned that day and found her with another man—in his very arms!—I went crazy. I never meant to hurt her. Do you understand, Carolyn? It was an accident. I was firing at him—the stranger in her bed—but she threw herself in the way.”
“Oh, Grandfather!”
“I loved her and would have done anything for her. But I hated her also for what she did to me, to our son. He saw it all, Carolyn.”
“And because of that, you both came to hate all women?”
“Not all—”
“Only the ones who would have loved you,” Carolyn said bitterly.
“Your mother did the same to your father as my Elizabeth did to me.”
“That’s what you wanted to believe. My father never gave her a chance, any more than you gave your second wife. You both assumed from the beginning that they would be faithless, and you held them like prisoners in your awful jealousy. It was almost like you were doing everything you could to prove over and over again that all women were like Elizabeth.”
“No! They are all faithless creatures; there is only one way to deal with them.”
“To beat them, grind them into submission?”
“We had no choice.”
“And what of me, Grandfather? I’m a woman, too. Why don’t you beat me into submission?”
Caleb looked deep into his glass of whiskey. Then, as if the answer he found there was too much for him, he brought the glass to his lips and in one swift motion drained it. At last he seemed to have the courage to look into his granddaughter’s eyes.
“You were different,” he said softly. “You were Leonard’s child. How could I hurt you without hurting all that was left of him? It was always about Leonard, you know…protecting him, supporting him, avenging him. I will never be able to do enough to wipe from my memory the sight of that little child watching his own mother being shot to death.”
Tears streaming from her face, Carolyn took Caleb’s trembling hand in hers. “Hasn’t it gone on long enough?” she entreated.
He shook his head. “It cannot end until I am in my grave.”
“Grandfather, do you ever wonder why Leonard’s o
nly child was a girl?”
“A cruel joke of the fates, I suppose.”
“No, I don’t believe that. It think it was the merciful hand of God. Don’t you see? Only a daughter, a girl, could break the terrible grip of the past. A son you might have taught the same errors; but what can you do with a daughter? You can’t hate your own flesh and blood.”
“You are right about that. I don’t hate you. I hope you can believe that no matter what happens.”
“I do, Grandfather.”
A long pause followed. Caleb puffed on his cigar; Carolyn wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She wanted to believe that a breakthrough had been made with her grandfather, yet she could feel that tension remained. She knew there was more to be said, and she feared it would not be what she wanted to hear.
Caleb broke the silence. “You said you found ‘things’ you had questions about. What else did you find?”
Carolyn held out Jacob’s letter. “This is a suicide note from your second wife to Jacob and Laban.”
“I never heard of such a thing.”
“She left it for Jacob secretly, and he hid it away.”
“How do you know of these things?”
“Jacob is back, Grandfather. I have seen him and talked to him.”
“So, he’s not dead after all.” Carolyn could not believe his dispassionate tone. “And what will you do about all this, Carolyn?”
For a moment Carolyn lost all her sympathy for the man. Apparently he was cold and heartless after all. “I’m going to give all this to my ma’s lawyer,” she said as harshly as she could, “and he’ll use whatever he can to get my ma free.”
“You don’t care what this will do to your father’s reputation?”
“Why should I? What did he ever do for me?” she retorted angrily.
“None of it will be admissible in court.”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“You will be destroying your own name, Carolyn Stoner.”
“I don’t care anymore. It’s not a name I’m much proud of. All that matters is my ma.”
“None of these things will help her.”
“How can you still be so blind?”
Caleb poured himself another drink. “Did you think any of these discoveries of yours would change the truth? Your mother killed Leonard. Nothing has changed that. And even if I should risk losing you, Carolyn, I cannot waver in supporting that fact. And I will not rest until she is properly punished for that crime. I owe that to my son.”
“Then I have nothing more to say to you, Grandfather. I’m going to pack my things and leave.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Tears once more flowed from Carolyn’s eyes. “I wanted it to be different. I wanted to be your granddaughter.”
Carolyn stumbled almost blindly out of Caleb’s study. Within fifteen minutes, she was packed and in the stable saddling Tres Zapatos.
Part 15
Frontier Justice
71
They gathered in Deborah’s prison cell. The sheriff didn’t normally let so many people visit a prisoner at one time, but Mrs. Killion and her family seemed to be good folks, even if she was accused of murder.
Jonathan, Sam, Sky, and Deborah listened attentively as Carolyn told them all that had happened since she had last seen them at the trial. Sam was upset that she had taken so many risks and kept the knowledge of her danger from them. But Deborah took his hand, shrugged resignedly, and smiled.
“She is a grown woman, Sam. And God has protected her.”
Her mother’s words resounded in Carolyn’s heart. For the first time she realized that despite all the frustrating and discouraging things that had happened since her arrival in Stoner’s Crossing, she had learned much—and, according to her mother, perhaps had matured a little. That helped to salve the hurt she felt from the severed relationship with Caleb.
Meantime, Jonathan was examining the articles from Maria’s trunk. When he finished, he passed them to Deborah. It was several minutes before everyone had a chance to appraise the content of the items; then Jonathan opened discussion.
“I’ll comment on each item, if you don’t mind,” Jonathan said. “They’re all significant, in their own way, but I’m sure, Carolyn, that none is in itself conclusive. Actually, I doubt any item could be used as evidence in the trial. However, they raise questions and give me some new directions to pursue. The diary, of course, will not be useful at all, but I’m sure that’s not why you included it. Jacob’s letter is most interesting—it indicates a history of violence and danger in the house, but still it is not going to be accepted by the court. I, however, am going to rack my brain to think of some way at least to present it to the jury, even if the prosecution has a fit and throws it out the window.”
He paused, took a breath, then opened Maria’s letter. “This is the most intriguing bit of…if not evidence, then information. It raises questions about Eufemia Mendez’s testimony. But at most, we will only be able to show that the poor woman lied about the marriage in Mexico out of shame. To make too large an issue of this might only serve to alienate the jury from us.”
“You mean you won’t use it even for that?” asked Carolyn, somewhat deflated.
“I really don’t think it will do us any good,” answered Jonathan. “It appears she only lied to protect an illegitimate child. But there is a question raised by this letter that bears investigation.”
“What’s that, Jonathan?” Sam asked.
“Simply this: What prompted Maria to write the letter in the first place?”
“I never thought of that,” said Carolyn.
“Ah, and it’s the key consideration!”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me about Maria,” Jonathan said, directing his question to both Deborah and Carolyn, who were the only ones who knew the housekeeper.
They both agreed that Maria was kind and sincere; however, neither could say they knew her well.
“She does her work in the house,” said Carolyn, “but in a quiet way. Most of the time I don’t even know she’s around; she sort of minds her own business, I guess.”
“Yes,” said Deborah. “In all the time I was there, I don’t recall having a conversation with her of a personal nature. She did her work and kept to herself.”
“She doesn’t sound like a busybody,” Jonathan said. “Like the kind of woman who indulges in gossip or interferes in other people’s affairs.”
“That was never my impression,” said Deborah.
“Do you see what I’m driving at?” asked Jonathan. “Take these letters—none are filled with answers to her endless inquiries of all the village goings-on. Granted, they are only replies, and written by a man, who might tend to ignore gossip, yet this mention of Eufemia Mendez has the sound of being out of the ordinary. The brother takes it quite seriously, not just the request of an overly inquisitive woman.
“Also, look at the date on this letter—September of 1866. We know that Mrs. Mendez returned to the States in May, four months earlier. Let’s assume for a minute that Maria wrote her letter inquiring about the Mendez woman after she returned to Stoner’s Crossing. Something about her return must have triggered such an inquiry.”
“Something about the baby,” mused Deborah.
“Why do you say that?”
“Besides the money, her so-called inheritance, that would have been the biggest difference in the woman. And a woman like Maria would most likely be able to tell the difference between a four-month-old and a month-old child.”
“So Maria suspected a discrepancy in Eufemia’s story about marrying and having a child and being widowed during her trip to Mexico.” Jonathan’s eyes flashed; he obviously loved the detective aspect of the legal profession. “But Maria isn’t a busybody that she’d bother to write all the way to Mexico to clear up a matter of sheer gossip.”
“Why, then?” several voices interjected at once.
“That�
�s what I want to know,” answered Jonathan. “We could speculate until the cows come home, but there is only one way to know for sure, and that is to question Maria.”
“Then let’s get her here,” said Sam, eager to do something immediately.
“We could send a telegram and subpoena her to come, but that could take several days, taking into consideration that she is an elderly lady—”
“I could ride there and back in less than two days,” put in Sky.
“That would be the most efficient way,” agreed Jonathan. “You could get a written statement. Of course, that alone would not be admissible unless the prosecutor were present. But, if I feel her remarks will have a bearing on the case, I will request a lengthy recess so Maria can travel here to testify. The written statement will give my request more weight, and we won’t have to get the woman here in such haste for nothing. But, Sky, I think it would be best if your sister went along.” Barnum looked at Carolyn. “You know the woman, Carolyn, and, as you have mentioned before, she does sympathize with you. I would prefer taking a gentle approach with her.”
“Yes, I think you’re right,” said Carolyn. “Maybe I can do better this time than when I spoke to her before. I spooked her off then.”
“I have every confidence in you, Carolyn, and I think your going would be better than if a stranger approached her.”
