by Braun, Matt;
“Henry, you can’t do it! Not again. It’s unfair, don’t you see that?”
“Fair! What the hell’s fair got to do with anything? It’s business. I set the rates and them that don’t like it can take their trade elsewhere. There’s no law that says they must use my boats.”
“Now there is—your law—Laird’s Law! You’ve all but put them in bondage. The merchants have no choice. The townspeople and all those poor Mexicans have no choice. Either they pay your price or they’ll go hungry, lose everything they own.”
“Oh, they’ll pay well enough, but I’ll not crowd them too close. After all, lively trade makes for full boats, and that’s the whole idea. I’ll merely charge them what the traffic will bear ... and perhaps a bit more.”
“But that’s monstrous!” Angela cried. “It’s what I would expect from some Yankee trash. Don’t you see that, Henry? It makes you no better than those carpetbaggers and scalawags you’ve been talking about. If anything, it makes you worse. You’ll be nothing but a spoiler ... a common robber.”
“God’s blood!” Laird shouted, biting off the words. “I’ll— not—hear—more!”
Standing, he walked stiffly to the door, then suddenly turned, his face ashen. “You’re a miserable excuse for a woman, and what’s worse—you’ve the tongue of a viper! Until I’ve had your apology, you’ll not see me again. And there’s the last of it!”
The door slammed behind him, and Angela felt an almost uncontrollable urge to run after him. To apologize then and there. To tell him she’d spoken in the heat of the moment, too quickly, without regard for his feelings. But she gripped the arms of the rocker and suppressed the urge. Forced herself to sit there and let him ride off, knowing full well that he might never return. Not after tonight.
Yet there was nothing to be done, he was wrong! And she’d spoken the truth! It was a monstrous thing he intended. Evil and mean, almost diabolic in the way he’d planned it. And however intolerant, she couldn’t judge him by any code except the one she’d followed all her life. The code of right and wrong, and do unto thy neighbor. Nor could she make allowances for his own code, the riverman’s belief in dog-eat-dog and devil take the hindmost. He was wrong, and it was just that simple.
Angela jumped, startled by a faint noise. She turned and saw Trudy peering at her from the corner of the hallway. She stood, took a step around the rocker, words forming in her throat, then she froze. The girl’s face was rigid and hard, blazing with fury. An instant of tomblike silence slipped past while they stared at one another. Then Angela collected herself, spoke the girl’s name, started toward her.
Trudy whirled and fled, lost in the darkness.
Chapter 8
The cork floated lazily on the surface of the water. Trudy lifted her fishing pole, jiggling the hook, and settled back with a small sigh. On the creek bank beside her were the Morado boys. The fish weren’t biting and none of them had spoken for a long while. Luis was stretched out, hands locked behind his head, gazing at the sky and whistling softly through his teeth. Roberto sat motionless, seemingly lost in thought. His fishing pole was jammed into the grassy bank and he watched the bobbing corks with a fixed expression.
The weather was unseasonably warm, a listless Indian summer day in late autumn. After the noon meal all activity in the village had ceased. Beneath a cloudless sky, with the sun at its zenith, the people had retired to their adobes for a brief siesta. But Trudy seldom observed the midday interlude, and she was in no mood to return to the house or chance another strained afternoon with her mother. The past few weeks had been an uncomfortable time, the worst of her life, and the thought of being trapped in her mother’s presence any longer than necessary was simply unbearable. She had taken the noonday meal with the Morados and then talked the boys into a fishing excursion. Walking upstream to the swimming hole, a deep pool on the outskirts of the village, they had baited their hooks and entered into a contest of patience with the fish. So far it had been a draw, without so much as a nibble.
As the minutes wore on, the frown lines around Trudy’s mouth deepened. She was in a bleak mood, thoroughly dispirited by events over which she had no control. She felt helpless and alone—somehow forsaken—like an abandoned puppy wandering aimlessly through dense woods. Even worse, she had difficulty separating emotions, balancing one conflict against another. She waffled between anger toward her mother and an aching hurt for her father, uncertain from one moment to the next which bothered her the most. It was all very confusing, a heavy burden for a twelve year old, and one she was ill prepared to handle.
Nearly three weeks had elapsed since her father walked out of the house. In that time he had written her a couple of cheery little notes, brought to the ranch by courier, but there had been no mention of when he would return or if she would be allowed to visit him in Brownsville. Nor had he corresponded at all with her mother. Apparently he was as good as his word, and had no intention of setting foot on the ranch until he’d had an apology.
The thought hit Trudy with a new jolt each time it went through her mind. He might never come back!
Yet she wouldn’t permit herself to believe it. The idea terrified her, left her queasy and light-headed, almost feverish. She couldn’t imagine not seeing him, never hearing his voice again or feeling the strength of his arms when he hugged her. It just wasn’t possible that such a thing could happen, that he would walk out of the house and out of her life and never again return. Still, however much she told herself it wasn’t possible—and she repeated it to herself constantly these days—her every waking moment was filled with a sense of dread. Anything was possible with her father. To her, he was unlike all other men, an almost mystical figure given to acts of loving tenderness interspersed with godlike fits of rage. She wouldn’t let herself believe it, but she knew it was true: Angered enough, it was entirely possible he’d never return.
Her mother, of course, was to blame for the whole thing. Thinking back to that night, Trudy recalled little except his look of fury. Yet one thing stuck out in her mind, an accusation he’d shouted at the very last. You’ve the tongue of a viper! So it was something her mother had said that had touched off his anger. Trudy had heard most of the argument, standing paralyzed in the doorway, but she understood virtually nothing of its substance. In her mind, grown-ups were a mystery wholly as incomprehensible as the Scripture, and it simply made no sense. One point was clear, however, and the more she thought of it, the more vivid her impression became. Her mother was a fool!
Only someone without a lick of common sense would purposely anger her father. And it was clear now, just as it was clear then, that her mother knew what she was doing. Her mother always knew exactly what she was doing! So it wasn’t her father who had caused the argument, and he couldn’t be faulted for slamming out of the house. Or staying in Brownsville all this time. Instead, it was her mother who drove him away, and it was her mother who caused him to stay away. Until she apologized he wouldn’t come home—those were his very words—and in Trudy’s view that simply made her mother all the more a fool. Anyone who could keep a man like him at home with an apology was an absolute ninny to do otherwise. Of course, being a fool in no way excused her mother. She and her viper’s tongue were to blame, and— Valgame Dios!—why didn’t she just apologize, and say whatever needed saying, so he’d come on home?
Suddenly Trudy was more confused than ever. She couldn’t understand her mother, and on those occasions when her mother attempted to raise the subject, it was all she could do not to scream and burst out in tears. As a result, they spoke less and less to each other, and the gap separating them widened daily. Yet Trudy desperately needed to talk to someone. She was lost and groping blindly in a thicket of questions that seemed to have no answers. Which made her feel something of a fool herself.
She darted a glance at Roberto. Though a boy himself, a mere fourteen, he had always seemed much older, and infinitely wiser about all m
anner of things. Besides, he was her best friend—a true compadre—and she knew she could trust him with her innermost secrets. As for Luis, he faithfully followed Roberto’s lead, so there was little fear of him talking out of turn. Then, too, if it became necessary, she was reasonably certain she could whip Luis in a fair fight. So she had nothing to lose, and maybe, with Roberto’s help ...
“Roberto?”
“Si?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Si.”
His expression was one of amiable tolerance. By next spring he would take his place among the vaqueros, and Trudy already considered him a man. She constantly badgered him with questions, for her curiosity about horses and cows was seemingly unbounded. While she was a bother at times, her admiration enhanced their friendship and in no way displeased him. She was, after all, the daughter of El Patron.
“Well, I was wondering—” Trudy faltered, groping for words, then blurted it out. “Do your folks ever fight ... get furioso at each other?”
Roberto twisted around, studying her a moment. He was startled, but alert to something unspoken in the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just because,” Trudy replied vaguely. “C’mon, you can tell me ... do they?”
“Si” Roberto shrugged, watching her eyes. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes!” Luis hooted, quickly levering himself into a sitting position. “Madre mio! They fight like gato montes ... all the time!”
Roberto silenced him with a frown. “Enough, little brother! You have a loose tongue and the laugh of a burra.”
“But they do fight,” Trudy persisted. “Maybe not like wildcats, but they do fight ... verdad?”
“Of course,” Roberto conceded. “All married people fight. It is to be expected.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Perhaps they enjoy it.”
Trudy nodded, gave him a conspiratorial look. “When they fight ... your folks ... who wins?”
“Mi padre!” Roberto told her. “He’s a tough one—puro hombre!—no one gets past him.”
“Ah, chihuahua!”. Luis laughed, winking at Trudy. “Don’t be fooled by such talk. Our mamacita, she always wins! Not at first, but in the end she leads the old man around like a manso with a ring in his nose.”
“Ramon!” Trudy’s mouth popped open. “She gets the best of Ramon?”
“Si, always,” Luis grinned. “She has magic—like a bruja— all women have it.”
“Silencio, imbecil!” Roberto ordered. “You speak of things that ... have no place here.”
Roberto was alarmed now, wary of the conversation, and disturbed by his brother’s careless remarks. It was no secret that the patron had left Santa Guerra in a rage. Nor was the reason for his continued absence any great mystery. Among Los Lerdenos, there was considerable worry and open speculation that La Madama might never regain his favor. Roberto had suddenly sensed the purpose of Trudy’s questions, and he warned himself to proceed cautiously. Not even his father would dare meddle in the affairs of the casa grande.
A prolonged silence followed, with Roberto glaring at his brother and Luis looking properly abashed. At last, thoroughly bewildered by his outburst, Trudy turned on him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking to Luis that way. It’s not fair and ... I want to know what he meant—!”
“It was loose talk, nothing.”
“He said all women have it. Now, damn you, Roberto, tell me—have what?”
“Por favor, little one. Let it pass. There are certain things ... things such as this ... that you should hear from women. It is not right that we speak of it here.”
“Are we amigos?” Trudy demanded. “Compadres? Are we, Roberto?” “Si, you know we are. But it has nothing—”
“Yes, it does too! There are no women I could ask, and I sure couldn’t ask my mother. So that leaves you, and if you won’t tell me, then how will I ever find out?”
Roberto was quiet so long she began to think he wouldn’t answer. But he finally sighed and spread his hands wide with resignation. “Luis meant that women work their magic at night ... when they are in bed.”
“In bed?”
“Si.” Roberto looked acutely uncomfortable. “In bed with their men.”
“Oh!” Trudy suddenly flushed.
“Comprendes?”
“Mi sabe. You mean like the cows ... the way they tease the bulls ... and finally ... well, you know ... like that.”
“Si, it is the same.”
“And that’s how they win?”
“So I am told.” Roberto gazed out across the creek, thoughtful for a time. “It is said that no man can resist, not if the woman ... encourages him properly.”
“Encourages ... oh, you mean like the cows ... teases him?”
“Aiiii caramba, must I draw pictures?”
Trudy glanced away, then fell silent and stared for a long while at the water. “Gracias, Roberto.”
Roberto merely nodded, eyes fixed in the distance. The silence stretched, each of them lost in their own thoughts, oddly solemn now and yet somehow closer than before. After several minutes, Luis began fidgeting and finally jumped to his feet. A slow smile spread over his face, then he shook his head, mocking them, and laughed.
“What a pair you are! All this talk about companeros and look at yourselves. Cuacha! You act like one broke wind and the other fears to hold his nose.”
Trudy giggled and exchanged a glance with Roberto. She saw a slight tremor at the corner of his mouth, and realized he was trying very hard not to smile. A rush of understanding, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, swept over her. Roberto wasn’t aggravated with her, he was embarrassed! Suddenly she laughed and gave him a rough shove that sent him sprawling sideways. Then she leaped to her feet, jerked her fishing line from the stream, and threw the pole to the ground.
“Sangre de Cristo!” She cursed, kicking the pole. “Luis is right! All this talk bores me, and I’m tired of sitting here. Even the fish have taken a siesta. Valga, companeros, let’s do something!”
“Yes! Yes!” Luis agreed. “Let’s do something. Anything!” He stopped, suddenly at a loss, and looked at her. “But what, Trudy? What shall we do?”
“Well, let’s see.” Trudy frowned, biting her lower lip. She gazed past them, caught up in a moment of indecision, and her eyes drifted to a patch of sunlight on the water. Then her face brightened and she clapped her hands. “A swim, that’s it! We’ll go swimming.”
“No!” Roberto said sharply. “Not today.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like a swim, that’s all.”
“Oh, bull! You’ve always felt like it before.”
“Today is different.”
“Different? Que pasa, Roberto? How’s it different?”
“Things have changed.” Roberto averted his eyes, slowly reddened. “It would no longer be proper ... for you to swim ... that way.”
“Porque no?” Trudy asked with a charming little shrug. “We’re still companeros, aren’t we?”
Trudy began undressing and Roberto kept his head turned away. Luis looked from one to the other, his expression puzzled, then began tearing off his own clothes. “Roberto, are you loco? Nothing’s changed! It’s just a swim.”
“He’s right, Roberto!” Trudy stepped out of her drawers and ran naked into the water. “Anda! Anda! Last one in is a tar baby!”
Her challenge, along with a smug look from Luis, was too much for Roberto. As his brother cannon-balled into the stream, he hurriedly stripped, all the while telling himself it was wrong and foolish and a huge mistake. But he couldn’t back down, even though he knew she’d taunted him, purposely dared him. Perhaps another time, but not today. Finished undressing, he turned and dove off the creek bank, a bronzed streak in the sunlight
, slicing cleanly through the water.
When he surfaced, Trudy and Luis were in a dead heat, racing across the swimming hole. Trudy won by a stroke, neatly reversed course, her bare bottom flashing in the sun, and left Luis panting at the shoreline. She swam toward Roberto, and as she drew closer, he caught a devilish glint in her eye. He backpeddled furiously, but she quickened her stroke and overtook him with a whooping laugh. She lunged, grabbing his hair in her hands, and tried to duck him beneath the surface. He thrashed and shoved, unable to break her hold, then locked his arms around her waist, dragging her underwater as he went down. Her firm young body was pressed against him, thighs splayed around his hips and budding breasts rubbing softly on his chest. Too late, he sensed it, knew it was happening, and even as they floated upward he lost control. His manhood stiffened, engorged with blood, rose thick and swollen between her legs.
Trudy gasped, wide-eyed and breathless, as their heads broke clear of the surface. She felt a strange hardness thrust into the warm crevice of her thighs. The shock rippled through her, mixed with a curious tingling in her loins, and for a fleeting instant she almost panicked. Then she realized it was Roberto, that part of him she’d seen so often, hanging limp and pudgy, like a small brown pickle, whenever they went skinny-dipping. Only now it was long and astonishingly hard, very much like ... like a bull!
With a wild look in his eyes, Roberto pushed away, escaped her arms, and quickly swam toward the opposite bank. She floated on her back, watching him, but even after he’d reached Luis, he kept his head turned away. She saw Luis cast an odd look in her direction, an amazed look not of bafflement but of understanding., he ignored him, turning her face to the sun, floating in lazy circles near the shore. Her body still tingled, and in her mind there was the feel of Roberto’s hardness. She was astounded, really quite proud of herself, and now, more than ever, filled with doubt.
She wondered if that was what her mother had failed to do, the thing she’d done to Roberto. She thought it was perhaps the reason her father hadn’t come home, for now it seemed the simplest explanation of all.
