by Carla Kelly
“A blanket,” he repeated in English. “Something.”
He lay down on the floor, unable to keep his eyes open, while Addie sobbed out loud and took the blanket off the foot of Grandma Sada’s bed.
He would have slept then, except that his ear to the floorboard alerted his groggy brain to vibrations that could only be an entire troop of horses thundering toward García. He opened his eyes and looked at Addie.
“Quiet!”
It must have been English, because she was silent, her hand to her mouth, her eyes full of misuse.
“Listen!” he hissed at her.
She did as he said, and he watched the color drain from her face. Without a word, she crawled from the footboard to the open window, where lace curtains fluttered in the breeze. Rising up, she looked out, then sank back, her look of misuse changed into terror again.
“It’s a whole army!” she gasped and crawled back to him. She shook his good arm. “Ammon, an army!”
The news was bad enough to fight against the shock that threatened to send him to sleep. “I wasn’t fast enough,” he said. “Help me sit up.”
Her expression frantic now, she helped him into a sitting position again, then held her hands against both sides of his face until she had his attention. “Don’t you dare go to sleep!” she whispered. He had never heard such desperation in anyone’s voice before, and certainly not from well-bred Adaline Hancock.
“We have to hide right now,” he said, weary beyond belief. He looked at his arm. Maybe he had lost more blood than he thought. Luckily, most of the blood was on his shirt and pants and not the floor.
Addie fumbled in her apron pocket. She held out a piece of paper, much creased and folded. Her hand shook. “It’s a safe conduct pass,” she told him, speaking in his ear so he could not misunderstand her. “From General Salazar. I’ll take it downstairs and wait, then show it to their leader.”
His arm felt like lead, but he latched onto her wrist. “It could be the wrong army out there. Addie, it’s not safe for you to go anywhere. We have to hide right here.”
She looked around wildly, then pointed to a half-size door that he remembered led into a narrow attic that ran the length of the second floor. “It’s full of boxes and trunks,” she said, tugging on his good arm now.
She stopped and he watched the tears well in her eyes again. “They’ll find us in there because they’ve ransacked everyone’s houses, even this one.”
“But not up here, not this floor.”
“No. The doctor—I’ll explain later—the doctor told everyone to stay off this floor.” She couldn’t help her tears then. “You’re sure this is a different army?”
“Sure enough not to want you standing in an open doorway downstairs,” he said. “It’s the attic for us. Help me up.”
She whimpered and put her hands over her ears when the soldados passing down the main street fired their weapons. She burrowed as close to him as she could in the mindless terror of a small, cornered animal.
“They sure are fond of wasting ammunition,” Ammon said in what he hoped was his most casual voice, trying to calm her. He didn’t think Addie was the hysterical type, or at least, he hadn’t thought that until two years ago. “Addie, Addie, it’s a lot of noise. They’re good at that. Help me into the attic.”
“What’s going to keep them from finding us?” she asked as she helped him to his feet.
“Grandma Sada,” he told her, pointing to the still form on the bed.
Addie had pulled the sheet up to cover Sada’s face. He stood there a moment, weaving from side to side, thinking how much he loved the old lady. He wanted to glance sideways at the woman beside him, holding him up with her arm around his waist, but his eyes didn’t want to cooperate. He turned his head to see her.
“You’re not going to like this,” he said and held out his good arm. “Take off my shirt and rub the blood all over her sheet.”
Addie stared at him as though he had lost his senses, and he pressed his hands against her face this time. “They won’t come up here right away. By the time they do, the blood will have dried. Trust me, Addie. We have to frighten them away from wanting to do anything in this room, or they’ll find us.”
He watched her face, then let out a long breath as understanding came into her eyes. She nodded. “I can do this,” she whispered, more to herself than him as she helped him out of his shirt.
Moving quickly, Addie smeared his blood all over the white sheet, squeezing it until the blood dripped. Her hands shook as she pulled back the sheet and gently stretched out Grandma Sada’s arm until it hung off the bed. Her eyes fierce with concentration now, Addie squeezed the blood onto her arm and fingers until it dripped on the floor.
“Take the ring off her finger,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate or question him, removing Grandma’s ring and putting it on her own finger.
“Open the attic door and toss in my shirt.” He chuckled. “It’s the only one I have.”
Addie seemed to catch the spirit of what he was trying to do, to keep her calm. “Ammon, you never were too kind to your wardrobe.”
“You meant my shirts and pants, and that suit that never fit?”
“That one.”
He could tell she was steeling herself for the ordeal to come, on top of this one. “It’ll get better, Addie,” he said gently. “But right now, we have to hide.”
She wiped her fingers on her apron, then used a clean corner of the apron to open the door. She helped him inside the attic, exclaiming when he moaned as she forced him to double over to get through the short door. He dropped to his knees and one arm, and shook his head to clear it.
“Hurry up,” he said. “Don’t … don’t …”
He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He watched as she looked around the room, then flipped over the rag rug to hide the blood. The horses sounded so loud in his ears, and for one horrible moment, he thought the soldados were climbing the stairs on horseback. I am out of my mind, he thought.
“Addie, please!”
“In a minute.”
She moved out of his sight line then, and he heard her light footsteps in the hall. She came back in a moment with a canvas bag, which she stuffed under Grandma Sada’s body. He heard her sob.
“What … ?”
“Tell you later.” She glanced at him, and the last thing he remembered was her look of real purpose. This was the Addie he remembered. He closed his eyes, feeling reassurance all out of proportion to their situation as she crept into the attic and shut the little door. He decided he was woozier than he thought: For the first time in two years, he felt safe.
B
Ammon had no concept of time. When he woke, or regained consciousness—he didn’t know which— Addie’s hand was suspended just over his mouth. The attic was too dark to see her hand, but he could smell the faintest bitter almond of Jergen’s Lotion, mingled with dried blood—his.
“I’m awake,” he whispered.
“They’re downstairs now,” she whispered back, her lips close to his ear. “I was afraid you might cry out.”
She was shaking; he could feel it. “This is what’s called an adventure, Addie,” he whispered and chuckled when she flicked his cheek with her middle finger.
That went better than he thought it might. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere. He had no idea what Old Ammon the Nephite would do at a time like this, but he had a good idea what he would do.
“Could you stand a little cuddle?” he asked. “I’m just about scared to death.”
“That’s two of us,” she said and lay down next to him, her head on his chest.
The attic was far too hot for a cuddle, but he didn’t care. He raised his arm, wincing with the pain, because he felt something furry near in his face. “What in the world …”
Addie chuckled this time. “One of Grandma Sada’s fox fur stoles, the ones with little beady eyes on each end. I dragged you under a clothes rack.”
She jum
ped when something downstairs crashed, and he tightened his grip on her. “Just breathe in and out, Addie,” he murmured. “Where’s my rifle? And your shotgun?”
“Beside me.”
“Hand mine over.”
She did as he said and couldn’t help her sharp cry when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Ammon put his hand on her head and turned her face into his chest. “Not a word now.”
They were silent as several guerillas tromped upstairs and down the hall, their spurs jingling. Addie winced when they heard them yank family pictures from the walls and throw them to the floor, the glass tinkling. Her tears wet his chest.
He heard them walking from room to room and the tinkle of glass as more pictures were thrown to the floor. Ammon knew when they were in the room they used to sleep in and the room Addie must have been using. She tensed in his arms when she heard the sound of cloth ripping as they destroyed her clothes.
He tensed too when someone banged with a rifle butt on Grandma Sada’s door, the only door on the floor that had been closed, if he remembered right. “Jeez Louise,” he murmured, “just turn the doorknob.”
With an effort, he put both arms around Addie now, because she was shaking so badly. “ ‘Sweetest little feller, everybody knows,’ ” he sang softly in her ear. “ ‘Don’t know what to call you but you’re mighty like a rose … ’ ”
It was the stupidest song, but one that Mama used to sing to Junebug and all he could think of. Please, God, was all he could manage, but he knew Heavenly Father was wise enough to understand their current need.
Then the guerillas slammed open the door and stood in Grandma’s room. Terrified, Addie tried to burrow inside his chest like a frightened animal. He smoothed her sweaty hair, twisting his fingers through her curls. Funny how her hair curled when the weather got so hot.
I know these men, he wanted to tell her. Just hang on a moment longer, wife. I know what they will do.
There. They came into the room no farther than he had before Addie shot him. He heard them whisper to each other, then back out and quietly close the door. They couldn’t get down the stairs fast enough. Thank you, Grandma Sada, he thought, relieved beyond words. I’m sorry what we had to do to you, but we had to do something.
Addie raised up slightly, listening intently now, still shaking. Gently he put his hand against her head and she lay down again with no protest. “We’re not going to move,” he whispered. “For all we know there is someone still standing in the room, waiting for this door to open.”
He knew there wasn’t, but he also knew if they were going to survive to the border, they had to be cautious to the point of absurdity. Addie had no argument with him. She rested her head on his chest again like an obedient child, which soothed him right to his soul.
Silent, sweating, they listened to more banging about downstairs and then another bang as the screen door swung wide and closed behind the soldiers. In a few moments, they heard horses trotting down the street, and then quiet. Ammon waited until wrens began to scold each other in the cherry trees again before he let Addie even sit up.
To his relief, she didn’t question his great caution. She stood up and stretched and went to the little door. She just stood there, her hand on the knob, then sat down beside him again.
“I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m thirsty and I’m dirty, but you’re the one I shot. You need some water.”
He was still too tired to say anything, which made Addie touch his good arm and give it a tiny shake, as if determined to make sure she was not alone. He had to say something in the face of her terror.
“I am thirsty, Addie. Is there anything to drink?”
“There is, but I have to go across the street to get it.” She moved closer to him, then shook herself as though discarding fear.
He had seen her do that before when she was much younger, the time she had jumped into an irrigation ditch in Juárez after her little sister, who had upended herself and went under the water. Of course, the water was shallow and her older sister had only laughed at them both, but Ammon remembered watching determination banish fear when Addie had to act. He hadn’t laughed, and he didn’t laugh now. He doubted supremely that her older sister would even be alive today if she had been left in charge of Grandma Sada and not Addie.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Help me through that door, will you? Then bring out my rifle.”
She took his arm and guided him through the small door, mimicking his own sharp intake of breath with one of her own, as though she felt his pain.
The room spun around a few times, but Addie held him steady until the furniture quit sliding across the slanted floor.
“That’s better,” he said finally.
She looked at him as though she didn’t believe him.
“Really, Addie. Maybe all I needed was a good rest in a hot attic with fox furs just overhead looking at me with beady eyes.”
She smiled as he hoped she would, and it was a genuine smile.
“You’re too much.”
She went back for his rifle and brought out both weapons. Then she stood beside him, both of them looking down at Grandma Sada.
The blood all over the sheets had dried to a dark brown now, and Grandma’s features, usually so firm, were starting to slide. Ammon sniffed. “It doesn’t take long in a hot climate,” he whispered, as though he didn’t want the usually impeccable old lady to give him one of her stares.
“It’s not Grandma yet,” Addie told him. “It’s what I put under her before I went into the attic.”
While he watched, mystified, she took a deep breath as though steeling herself, then pulled a canvas bag out from under the dead woman. “I knew it would be safe there.”
“Bravo, Addie,” he said, proud of her ingenuity.
The canvas bag looked familiar to him. “Uh, where did you get that?”
She held it at arm’s length away from them both, her face turned away. “It stinks, but it has some dollars and pesos in it. The doctor who looked at Grandma gave it to me to take to his wife in exchange for the army leaving us alone. General Salazar wasn’t happy at all, but the doctor insisted.” Addie looked at him, uncertain. “I know you want to get us out of here as fast as possible, but I gave my word, Ammon. I have to take this stinky money to his wife.”
Ammon laughed out loud; he couldn’t help himself. Addie glared at him, reminding him immediately of the dear old lady on the bed in front of them.
“Addie, turn over that bag. Do you see a double H?”
She did and held it closer to him. He laughed harder, wishing laughter didn’t make his arm hurt. He wanted to sit down on Grandma’s bed, but that seemed inappropriate. He leaned against the bureau instead and took the bag from Addie.
“Addie, the HH stands for Hancock Haulage. The good doctor stole it from my privy in Pearson and gave it to you to give to his wife, who lives where?”
Addie stared at him, her eyes wide. “You won’t like this. In San Pedro, some distance south of here. Your money?”
“Some of it. I adopted that design and name, after I … we … after I moved to Pearson,” He thought of days hauling lumber, sleeping under the wagon, slapping mosquitoes, mooning over Addie, dodging guerillas, avoiding Indians. A week ago he would have been incensed that a rebel doctor had swiped money he worked so hard to earn. Today, it made him laugh. “Trust a doctor to actually use my privy,” he told her. “I knew the guerillas would never go in there. That’s what happens when you give a man an education, I suppose.”
Addie stared at him, mystified, then shook her head slowly. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“After you get me something to drink.”
He must have looked convincingly pathetic because she nodded. She put her arm around his waist and led him toward the window overlooking the empty street. He nearly told her he thought he could stand by himself, but he stopped in time, content to relish her nearness.
“You see the Thayns’ back porch? That’s
where I’m going.” She gulped and took a step closer to him. “I’m still afraid to leave the house.”
“I’m going to sit right in the window with my rifle. I’ve got you covered, Addie.”
She gave him such a look then. It took away the sting—if it was a sting—of losing some of his outhouse money. He looked out the window, almost content for someone who had been shot by his wife and now had to go with her even farther into dangerous territory.
“You’re going to find water on a back porch?” He kept his tone light and teasing because he knew she was steeling herself to leave the house now.
He knew Addie. She raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and went to the door. “You’re not the only smart Hancock.”
She left the room and he nodded. So you’re still a Hancock, he thought, pleased and touched at the same time.
NINE
AMMON HEARD ADDIE sob out loud when she saw the damage in the upstairs hall, but she didn’t hesitate. She was quiet on the stairs and out the front door with no hanging back. She looked up at him once—for reassurance?—and he waved to her, his rifle on the window ledge.
He watched the street for any movement. The only sound was the distant rumble of thunder. Curious, he watched his wife reach under the steps on the Thayns’ side porch and take out a pry bar. Deftly, she pulled up two of the boards and reached down, taking out two quarts of something dark. He couldn’t tell what it was, but his saliva started to flow. It had to be better than his diet of nopal and nothing.
From the far end of town, rifle shots rang out. Addie looked up, startled, then pulled out another quart that looked like apricots. Working quickly, she replaced the boards and tamped them down with the pry bar, then hid it under the porch steps again. She picked up the three quarts and stood there a moment as more shots sounded. Looking both ways, she darted back across the street and was upstairs in moments.
She set the jars on Grandma Sada’s bureau. “The Thayns hid all their bottled fruit under the porch before they left. I watched them from where you’re sitting. They were so secretive.” She grinned at him. “I’m worse than a soldadera!” She grew serious quickly, anxious now. “I don’t think the Thayns will be back. Ammon, do you think anyone will return here?”
