by Carla Kelly
Pablo had found a cork for the canteen that lacked one, and both were full now. Maria and Addie had slapped out tortillas and cooked them on the griddle until Ammon had to protest that Blanco would be overloaded. She still insisted on a pot of beans that Addie balanced on her lap.
As a parting gift, Addie took Grandma Sada’s ring from the chain around her neck and gave it to Maria, who protested and backed away, but accepted it finally, as she cried some more.
They rode in silence, Addie wrapped in a better rebozo that Maria insisted on giving her to replace the shawl from Grandma’s attic. She shivered in the cool evening air, a plain enough invitation for him to tighten his grip around her.
The valley in front of them was silent and empty. Through the day, he and Pablo had watched the dust cloud of a moving army heading east, traveling fast. He did not understand what it meant. Was the army pursuing? Being pursued? He kept looking over his shoulder to the west, wondering if there were another army just over the horizon.
This uncertainty only added to the mystery he had always known about Chihuahua, a state of vast emptiness and large ranches. There were times he could ride for days and see no one. Other times, he could top a rise and find himself in the middle of a herd of cattle and cowboys everywhere, occasionally a buffalo, relic from an earlier age. Now it was armies everywhere—or nowhere. An army was the last thing he wanted now.
When they came to the four corners, where the Guadalquivir gates still sprouted their tragic crop of dead men, Ammon pressed his hand gently against his wife’s head, forcing her face into his chest. He sang to her when she started to cry.
“Addie, it’s not too late to return to Casa Salinas and Pablo,” he whispered when she was silent. “He’ll get you to the border.”
She shook her head, so quiet, and they continued toward the scene of the battle.
The name may have been grandiose, but Encarnación was just a village, typical of the vastness of Chihuahua. Nothing moved now. He pushed Addie’s face against his chest again as he rode down a side street and came to a flapping circle of vultures, ripping and gulping. They didn’t even fly away as Blanco shied and whinnied. Ammon looked closer in the moonlight, repulsed but curious. When it dawned on him that the creatures couldn’t fly because they were too gorged on dead men’s flesh, he looked away too.
There were no standing buildings. From coop to city hall, every structure had been pounded to rubble by what he suspected was General Salazar’s rebel army, fighting the federales of el presidente Madero, whose powers were weakening.
He rode through the silent plaza in such despair that he swore when he saw the tile fountain blown into shards. The flagpole had been sliced in half and the tricolored flag of Mexico drooped down to the gravel.
From the depths of his serape, where she had turned her face, Addie thumped him. “Am, you promised me you wouldn’t use language like that!”
Trust his wife to keep him civilized in the middle of chaos. What was it about women? “I know, and I’m sorry,” he told her. “I just remember this village as a lovely place with a wonderful fountain. The people were always so kind to me. I used to take a siesta under the trees in the plaza.”
“Maybe you’d better close your eyes too.”
“Wish I could.”
He turned Blanco toward the flag. The gelding picked his way carefully through the rubble. Ammon took out his knife and cut the cords tying the flag to the pole. He pressed the flag to his face—a shell had ripped through the eagle and snake—then tucked it in his saddlebag. Someday, maybe if he lived long enough, and Addie still tolerated him, he could get her to mend it. They could fly it from their own rancho’s flagpole or maybe over his business in Pearson. He looked around at all the destruction and death, wishing such a future were even possible. Right now, he wouldn’t have wagered a centavo on it.
“Mexico is breaking my heart,” he whispered to his wife, and she kissed his neck.
He couldn’t leave the smoldering, silent village fast enough, vowing to skirt around all such places in the future. They rode for an hour, Addie sitting up again. After days of being hobbled for safety in Pablo’s arroyo, Blanco wanted to move faster, but Ammon held him reined in. He knew his lively horse wasn’t accustomed to a slow and steady pace, but slow and steady should see them to San Pedro by dawn.
He smiled to himself when they came to a series of low rises and falls in the land that always made him wonder if this was what the ocean was like—wave after wave. He knew this stretch of road had lulled him to sleep more than once. Good thing his freighting team was smarter than he was. A shake of the harness by his lead horse was usually enough to keep him alert. Still, he felt his eyes growing heavy at the undulating sameness.
Sleep vanished after midnight when they topped yet another rise and blundered into the rear of an army. Without a word, he pushed Addie’s face against his chest again. “Put your rebozo over your head,” he whispered, his eyes on the soldados, who were looking back at them in what he hoped was only curiosity. Or not. He heard clicks as Mausers were taken off safety, sending gooseflesh marching down his spine in ranks like soldiers.
To turn back meant death. He willed himself calm and said a silent prayer that was a jumble of Spanish and English, relying on the Lord’s linguistic abilities to turn it into good sense and as sincere a petition as he had ever asked of Deity before.
Keep riding, he told himself. “Addie, pretend to sleep. Don’t show your face,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
“Hola, hermanos. ¿Qué pasa?” Might as well brazen it out and speak first.
The soldier closest to him smiled and rested his Mauser in his lap again. Good thing Addie’s Spanish was practically nonexistent. She wouldn’t have enjoyed that much profanity at once, as the soldier went through his salty version of the battle that had raged in the village of ghosts behind them. Ammon nodded and threw in a comment only when the narrative lagged, which wasn’t often. The soldier seemed to think he had destroyed Encarnación by himself and didn’t require much commentary.
Ammon listened, his arms tight around Addie, who shivered with fear. If the man was even telling half the truth, the battle had unfolded as he and Pablo had thought, watching it from a distant hill. Salazar’s forces had blasted away at a village loyal to Madero and sent the federales fleeing east toward Namiquipa, where the guerillas were heading now.
“But you know how it is,” the soldier concluded, with a great yawn. “We will follow and some of the federales will join our ranks. They always do.”
Obviously trying to keep himself awake, the soldado leaned so close to Ammon that he could smell the onions on his breath. “And what have we here?” he asked, poking Addie.
“Hermano, ten cuidado,” Ammon chided, deciding to become the greatest actor since Edwin Booth had toured the West. “Mi mujer está embarazada.”
The soldier laughed and moved away, joining his compadres again. He repeated what Ammon had said, and they all laughed that sleepy laugh of men too long in the saddle, trying to stay awake.
He watched them move along so easily, men accustomed to the saddle like he was. Most were mestizos, the mixture of Indian and Spaniard that made Mexico what it was. Here and there, he saw Indians riding bareback, some with guns and some with bows and arrows. And there were the soldaderas, some with children. Dogs trotted along too.
The urge to bolt and run was so strong that Ammon could barely restrain himself. For the longest hour of his life, he rode beside the rebels, laughing and joking as Addie shook in fear and burrowed into him like a frightened animal. He whispered to her once, “Is this mi mujer who killed the biggest cougar ever seen in Chihuahua?” which earned him a pinch in a sore place. At least she quit shivering.
As the column moved slowly in a direction he wanted to avoid, he gradually slowed down Blanco until they had fallen back to the even more sleepy rear. After another careful fifteen minutes, they were alone in a valley of undulating slopes again. He reined in Blan
co, his eyes on an Indian on horseback who watched a moment, then continued with the army.
“You can sit up,” he said in English.
She did, looking at him with old eyes. He kissed her forehead, and her eyes softened, to his relief.
“I’ve never been so frightened,” she said.
“That’s two of us.”
“What did you tell that awful man after he poked me?”
He chuckled. “I told him you were expecting. Must’ve worked.”
She nodded, not even batting an eye. “Where are they going? I hope not to San Pedro.”
“He said they’re heading to Namiquipa, where the bulk of Salazar’s bandits are, just a jump behind the federales. Apparently Encarnación was a federal stronghold.” He sighed. “No longer. They wiped it off the map.”
“Will they attack San Pedro too?” she asked.
“No. Apparently it belongs to Salazar already.”
Addie had that distant look in her eyes again, the look he hated to see on a woman’s face, especially his wife’s. Maybe he could distract her.
“Do you know the doctor’s name?”
“Menendez. He even bowed and introduced himself, after he kicked those men down the stairs.”
“His wife’s name?” Maybe he was trying to distract himself. It wasn’t working, as he thought of the bruises on Addie’s arms.
She gave him a wry smile. “All he said was Señora Menendez. I’m to take the money he stole from your privy to a panadería near the plaza. I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s a bakery. If the soldiers haven’t stolen everything but the mixing bowls, we’ll buy some pan dulces and beat it for the border once we’re done. You’re under no obligation to do anything else, are you?”
Addie shook her head. “He told me to give it to …” She looked at him. “He did say her name! ‘Give it to Graciela and tell her to take the train to El Paso at once.’ Could that be our Graciela?”
“Maybe. I had heard a secondhand rumor that she married a doctor from Chihuahua, and there aren’t many doctors in this state.”
“But one involved in the revolution?” Addie asked, skeptical. “Surely she married a wealthy man who would have nothing to do with a rebel cause. You might be mistaken.”
“I might be. You remember Graciela, don’t you?”
Addie nodded, that patient smile on her face again, the one that made her always seem wiser than her years. “I already told you I did! All you boys in the eleventh grade were in love with her that term she spent at Juárez Stake Academy.”
“That we were,” he agreed. He was thinking out loud then. “I wonder—well, we know the doctor is with Salazar’s insurgents and San Pedro belongs to Salazar. What does he look like?”
“He’s tall, for a Mexican, and his English is good. I was frightened and I don’t remember any more than that. Why does it matter?”
“I’m starting to wonder if he fixed my busted leg.”
“Well, what did your doctor look like?” she asked so patiently as though he were deficient.
He rubbed her head the way he used to when she teased him. She just grinned at him.
“I was almost out of my mind with pain. I do remember he spoke English, but as soon as he knew I spoke Spanish, that’s the language we used.” He gave what he knew was a put-upon, theatrical sigh. “And we know he prefers privies for peeing and doesn’t mind stealing money.”
Addie patted his chest. “Am, he told me explicitly that she was to use the money to get out of Mexico. If this is your Graciela, he wants her to be safe.” She said something low in her throat. “I was so frightened by those other men. I suppose he didn’t think I was listening.”
This time, he pushed her head against his chest gently, keeping his hand on the side of her head, liking the familiar feeling of her hair. “Go to sleep, Addie. After all, you’re embarazada and need your rest.”
She pinched him again in that sore place and laughed.
B
They arrived in San Pedro as the sun was rising over the eastern mountains. It wasn’t far from where the roads split toward San Pedro one way and Namiquipa the other, but Ammon had taken his time, dismounting and walking to the top of each rise before motioning Addie forward on Blanco. He vowed never to be so careless again.
The directions the doctor had given Addie to the panadería were rudimentary, at best, but he knew the town. He easily supplemented her directions, which made her lean down from her perch on Blanco and pat the top of his sombrero to get his attention. He looked up at his pretty wife, pretty despite dirt on her face, tangled hair that would have sent her into mild hysteria a few years ago, and mud streaked on her skirt.
“What is it, my lovely little thing?” he asked in Spanish.
She blushed, which made him wonder just how much Spanish she really knew. “Nothing much, Am,” she replied, her voice gruff. “I used to wonder why you wanted to do something as hard and dirty as freighting for a living, but my goodness, you know every little town in Chihuahua, don’t you?”
“Almost. Could be it’s paying off.”
He looked at her, until she looked away in that touching sort of shyness he remembered from their earliest days of marriage, when they were still dazed and getting used to the whole business of loving each other.
“Thanks, Am,” was all she said, but it suddenly meant more to him than any freighting contract.
“Here we are,” he said two blocks later and helped Addie down. She winced from so many hours in the saddle. She bent down and then stretched and peered into the window.
“I think I see a light in the back.”
He nodded and led Blanco to the rear of the adobe and wood building, breathing in the fragrance of pan dulce, every Mexican’s favorite breakfast, his included. He knocked, just a soft tap, as uncertainty flooded him. He wondered if the time would ever come again when he could knock on a door, or just answer one, without gnawing doubt.
From the flour on his soiled apron to the dough clinging to his hands, the man who answered the door could only be a panadero, and an overworked one, at that. He rolled his eyes and started to close the door. “We open at seven.”
“We’re not here for bread,” Ammon said as he put his foot in the door. “Please, we have some money for the wife of a doctor.”
The panadero opened the door wide and ushered them in, after a careful look behind them in the alley. Ammon tied Blanco’s reins to an iron ring by the door and closed it quickly. Maybe he had misunderstood the soldados who had told him this was a Salazar town. Why the concern?
And what was it about Mexican women of a certain age? Like Pablo’s mujer, this wife of a baker he didn’t know had already sat Addie down and was handing her pan dulce carved like a flower and coated with pink sugar. There was also no misunderstanding the critical look the woman flashed his way, as though wondering how a tonto as old as he was could possibly mistreat a woman so badly that she had no time to wash her face or put on a clean dress. And trust Addie to suddenly look so sad and helpless, and not the mighty hunter who had stalked and killed a man-eating mountain lion. Not a word had been exchanged, but the whole thing made him smile. Pa had joked once that women were a separate species, and Ammon had to agree.
“My wife is in good hands,” Ammon said to the baker, who brushed the little pills of dough from his fingers. “You have a fine woman.”
The baker beamed at the compliment. He perched himself on a stool, obviously ready to indulge in that Mexican pleasure of spooling out a whole morning, if necessary, making sociable chat and eventually working around to the reason for the visit. Ammon hated to disappoint him because he had come to enjoy leisurely conversation too, more evidence to him that he was more Mexican than American.
“Señor, it is this way—my wife was under an obligation to give some money to the wife of a doctor, and this was the address. Is there such a woman under your roof?”
The baker nodded, his eyes wary now. “And … and
what is she to do with this money?”
“She is to use it to leave Mexico.”
There was no mistaking the enormous relief that filled the baker’s whole face, as if he had won a lottery, found a silver mine, and been declared chef to the pope all at the same time. The baker reached for Ammon’s hand and pumped it up and down.
“This is music to my ears!” the man declared, tears in his eyes. “Soon?”
“Probably,” Ammon said, wary now. “Our only instructions were to give her the money. When she leaves is her busin …”
“Wife! Wife!” the baker shouted. “The Empress of Siam is going to leave us!”
Ammon stared as the man and his hefty woman grabbed each other like children and started to dance. Addie stared too, open-mouthed. Giving the dancing couple a wide berth, she edged around the kitchen until Ammon had his hand on her waist.
“Maybe you should get the money and leave it on the table,” she whispered. “I’ll hang onto Blanco. Are you sure panadería means bakery? This is a lunatic asylum.”
By unspoken consent, they both edged toward the door. Ammon was turning the knob when the baker clamped his hand—strong from kneading dough—on Ammon’s shoulder. He held his breath, but the baker just gave him a friendly shake that made him wince.
“Bring in the money. The Empress is still asleep upstairs. She never rises before nine o’clock.” The man clapped his hands. “You have made me a happy man!”
FIFTEEN
THE EMPRESS OF Siam did turn out to be Graciela Andrade, but not quite the Graciela he remembered from Juárez Stake Academy. Her eyes full of fire, this Graciela stomped down the stairs, ready to scour the peones who had dared to make so much noise and wake her up before nine in the morning. She was dressed in a robe that might have been impressive once. Like most of Mexico, Graciela Menendez Andrade, physician’s wife, had fallen on hard times.
Ammon understood why the baker called her the Empress of Siam. Under the protection of his English in Our Modern World textbook in the eleventh grade, he used to take sneak peeks at her lovely eyes, tilted in a way reminiscent of Oriental potentates. He also understood why the baker was so eager to see the back of her, and soon. In the fractured Spanglish his Academy friends all spoke to the irritation of their teachers, his best friend had called Graciela Andrade a “complicated chica.”
