by F. M. Parker
"I could stand a rest too," Karl said.
He stepped down from the buggy and fastened the team to the metal ring of one of the tie posts provided by the hotel. He came to Marcella's side of the vehicle and held out his hand. "Let's go inside and get their best."
Marcella took the man's hand and they went through the large front patio of the hotel and inside. Karl had their luggage brought to their rooms, followed by two portable bathtubs, and lastly buckets of warm water to fill both tubs. They bathed and donned clean clothing.
"You rest while I go and see Dubois," Karl said. "I want to see what he's accomplished while I've been gone. Shouldn't take me long."
Marcella nodded assent. Karl had told her that Dubois was overseeing the construction of some kind of large building. She had no details of its nature.
* * *
Marcella sat in one of the comfortable wicker chairs on the front patio of the hotel and watched the long shadows of the evening slip across the plaza. In the lessening heat of the day, more people were on the plaza. Some small boys and girls were running and playing under the big trees. Three women sat and watched and talked among themselves. Two old men played dominoes seated on chairs at a little table, the table and chairs being the fold-up kind they must have brought with them. At the vegetable and fruit stalls, women were making purchases in preparation for the evening meal.
The scene was a peaceful one, yet Marcella did not feel at peace with herself. Everything she had seen since awakening from the unconsciousness of her fall was new to her. At the same time the thoughts that ran through her mind felt familiar, ones she surely must have had in that previous life. The woman who had called "Rachel" to her, and had to be from that same past, had not appeared again after that night on the prairie. There was a growing and frightening belief that with the passage of time with all its new events, broad lands crossed, towns viewed, and people met, the possibly of her recalling her old life was being steadily diminished.
On Marcella's left, the scar-faced man she had seen on the street came out of another entrance of the hotel. He walked with a slow, hesitant step. Yet even as Marcella made that judgment, he straightened and his stride lengthened and he went off with, almost, a jaunty air.
Karl and another man came into the patio. Seeing Marcella, Karl guided their steps toward her. The second man was of medium height and wore a full beard that was trimmed quite short. He had small eyes that shifted from her and off across the plaza and then back to her. Karl and the strange man stopped near Marcella.
"Hello, Mrs. Redpath, it's good to see you again," the man said, and doffed his hat to her. Marcella tried to recall the man, but there was no recollection of having ever seen him before.
"This is Jean Dubois, Marcella," Karl said. "Do you remember him? You've met him many times in New Orleans."
Marcella shook her head and spoke to Dubois. "Good day, Mr. Dubois. Please forgive me for not recognizing you. Karl has probably told you I've had an accident and can't recall things of the past."
"I'm terribly sorry about that, Mrs. Redpath," Dubois said.
Marcella studied the man. By his greeting, he obviously knew her. There was a look in his eyes that she couldn't interpret. Then it came to her. He had the expression of a man lying and not folly able to hide it. If that was so, what was he lying about?
"Mr. Redpath, you'll like what we've already accomplished at the hotel," Dubois said. "The remodeling of the original section is mostly complete and we'll open that part for business in a week."
"Everything is coming along nicely. But, Dubois, don't tell Mrs. Redpath any more, for I want her to see it when it's totally finished."
"Right, Mr. Redpath," Dubois said. He spoke to Marcella. "Mrs. Redpath, I wish to tell you that it's good to see you've made a safe journey to El Paso."
"Thank you." At the man's statement, Marcella saw that liar's look was back in his eyes. Marcella watched Dubois as he hurried away. She thought he seemed very anxious to be gone. It was odd that Karl had brought the man to meet her and then sent him away after little more than a hello. She noted that during the few minutes the man had been here, he had addressed her as Mrs. Redpath several times, even when he had been looking directly at her and there had been no need to.
"I'm sorry you didn't recognize Dubois," Karl said.
"I was hoping another familiar face would help your memory to return."
"I had no recollection of having ever met him."
"It will come with time." Karl took her by the arm. "Shall we dine? Dubois has told me of an excellent place and it's not far."
"Yes, for I'm starved."
* * *
People on the street turned and stared at the large, handsome man and the beautiful woman moving along the sidewalk. Marcella wore a pale yellow dress with a delicate row of ruffles running from her throat to the tail of the dress. The dress was cut to hang an inch above the ground. Her auburn hair was pulled back to fully show her lovely face, and tied with a ribbon the same color as the dress. The simple clothing and hairstyle had been chosen by Karl. She could not know that he wanted her to be the opposite of the overdressed whores he owned.
They entered the restaurant, and a waiter hurried to greet them and guide them to a table. As Marcella was helped to be seated by Karl, her eyes fell upon the man with the scarred face she had seen on the street and at the hotel. He sat at a table on the far side of the room. He was looking at her. She wondered how old he might be. With his damaged features, it was impossible to know with any degree of accuracy. However, there was an aura about him that told her he was a young man. How awful for a young person to be so mutilated.
He nodded at Marcella, in a manner that told her he thought she was pretty. She sensed there was more there, a dare for her to acknowledge him in some manner and not look away.
Marcella applauded the bravery of such an ugly man to hold his eyes upon her. She inclined her head in acceptance of the man's appraisal, and kept her eyes on him as she did so.
She thought he smiled. However, it was impossible to tell because of all the terrible scars.
TWENTY NINE
Evan retreated before the squad of approaching soldiers whose eyes were full of death. They were dressed in moldering uniforms and they were crippled and limping, with white skulls showing beneath old flesh. Every one of the soldiers was looking at Evan and calling out to him in weirdly hollow voices, lamenting at having died so young.
Evan knew he must show bravery before these poor fellows. He forced his legs to halt their retreat and struggled to rid his features of the fear he felt. He must meet them and let them have their way with him, for hadn't he killed them with his saw and scalpel?
"I'm ready to stand punishment," Evan called out to the soldiers.
The four soldiers in the first rank surrounded Evan and caught hold of him with skeleton hands. The remainder broke ranks and swarmed upon him.
"Evan, what's wrong?" John said, shaking him.
Evan fought up out of the frightening pit of sleep and came awake with John bent over him in the night. "Okay, John, okay," Evan said.
"You were talking in your sleep," John said, removing his hand from Evan's shoulder. "Something about being punished."
"It was just a dream," Evan said. He rose to a sitting position and looked about him. "I'm all right," he added, glad it was truly only a dream.
"You sure?"
"Yes. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."
"It's almost daylight. What do you say to us getting started now and making it to El Paso today?"
"Fine with me. I couldn't sleep anymore anyway. We could probably make it there by some time in the afternoon."
* * *
Tattersall and his band of men, and the two Valdes brothers, Carlos and Leo, rode into Ciudad Juarez on the seventh day after leaving Chihuahua. They halted their mounts on the high point of the city from where they could look along El Camino Real and see the Rio Grande, and beyond the river, the buildings of El Pa
so.
Carlos spoke to Tattersall. "Leo and I will stop here. We have some business to do."
"What kind of business?"
Carlos resented being questioned, but decided to answer for he needed the Americans. "Our family has a freight station here with a warehouse, wagons, and horses for our freight line. We want to talk with the men who operate that for us. Also, Leo and I shouldn't ride into El Paso on Valdes horses and in these clothes. We don't want to be noticed before we find and kill Hawkins. We will come across the river later today."
Tattersall nodded, running his eyes over the men's expensive clothing, the silver-decorated saddles, and the prominent Valdes brand on their horses. He tried to read more in Carlos and Leo, but they were as unreadable as their father.
"Me and my men have talked it over and we're going to take a couple of days to let loose and do a little celebrating. Then we'll we go looking for Hawkins."
Carlos shrugged. "All right. I've been waiting a year to see Hawkins dead, so two more days means nothing."
* * *
Marcella moved along the boardwalk on the shady side of the El Paso street. Yesterday Karl and she had arrived late and she had seen little of the town. Today she planned to do considerable exploring.
A scattering of people came and went on the street, some on foot like herself, a few horsemen, some carriages, and half a dozen wagons loaded with freight.
Just ahead of her two young Mexican cowboys were dismounting in front of a cantina. They were dressed in worn and faded pants and shirts, and battered, broad-brimmed sombreros. They wore pistols belted to their waists. Both were quite handsome. They turned and looked at Marcella.
To her surprise, they had blue eyes, which quickly ranged over the length of her with a measuring look. In unison, they whipped off their sombreros and bowed with a graceful bending of their upper bodies.
"Buenos dias, señorita," Carlos said. But was she actually a señorita? She was very beautiful and he wanted to know for certain. "It is señorita, isn't it?"
"Señorita will do," Marcella replied, for she certainly didn't feel married.
"Bueno," Carlos said, and gave her another little bow.
Marcella gave both men a little smile and continued on her way.
She had proceeded but a few steps when a man called out from farther along the street. "Rachel. Rachel Greystone."
Marcella glanced in the direction of the call. Two horsemen had stopped on the street. The taller man was smiling and waving his hand. It appeared that he was looking directly at her. She didn't know him, so she cast around to see who might be near her and to whom he was speaking. There was nobody. The man sprang down from his mount, handed the reins to his companion, and came swiftly toward Marcella.
"Rachel, how did you get to El Paso?" Evan asked. She had that same brilliance about her that had so often been in his mind. He gloried in the sight of her.
"Who are you? Why do you call me Rachel?" As she asked the question, she recalled the image of the woman and her saying the name Rachel.
Evan's smile became one of puzzlement. "Why, that's your name. Don't you remember us meeting in Marshall?"
She was dumbfounded disbelieving what the man was saying. Yet his words had the ring of truth. "You know me? Know me as Rachel Greystone?"
"That's what you told me your name was. Don't you remember me? I'd just got off the train at the station, and when I came into the hotel, you kept me from falling when I tripped."
Rachel caught her head between her hands and closed her eyes. Shadowy figures of wounded soldiers moving on a street were forming. Then she recalled taking hold of the arm of an ill man and helping him into the hotel. "I do seem to remember that. But you look somehow different."
"I've gained some weight as I've healed from my wound. But I'm that same fellow. You were going east to be a nurse for General Lee's army, and to find some of your relatives who were fighting with him."
Rachel stepped forward and clutched Evan by the arm with a hard grip. "Yes! Yes! It's coming back to me. I did talk with you. And I did get on the train."
Her face creased with a fierce effort to see more in that empty gulf of her previous life. The man was stating the truth, and the truth became the key that unlocked her mind, and the nothingness of the past became suddenly filled with people and events.
Rachel's words came with a rush. "Then later the train pulled onto a siding. I fell off, yes, I fell. Then when I came to, Karl was with me. There was no train. He told me I had fallen from the buggy. He told me I was his wife."
"Married? You said nothing about being married when I saw you in Marshall. In fact, from what you said, I was sure you were single."
Rachel's hands flew up to cover her face. "Oh, my God. That's right. I'm not married. Karl lied to me. I've been living with him as his wife and I'm not." A sob of torment escaped her.
Rachel's hands lowered from her tear-streaked face. "How could he do such a thing to me?"
Because you are beautiful and he must be a son of a bitch, Evan thought, but kept silent.
Rachel collected herself and looked more closely at the man who had awakened her memories. He had the most gentle eyes she had ever seen on a man. At the moment they were watching her tenderly and with sorrow. "I seem to recall you said your name was Evan."
"Yes, Evan Payson."
"Thank you, Evan, for not forgetting me. I don't know what might have eventually happened to me if you hadn't come back into my life today."
She smiled at Evan, a frail smile, but a gift of pure gold to Evan.
"You seem to be in a bad fix," Evan said. "Is there something I can do to help you?"
"I must get away from Karl," Rachel said. "Go someplace where he can't find me."
"Must you hide from him? We'll tell the sheriff what he has done to you and let the law handle it. What's his name?"
Rachel shook her head, and her hands came up as if to ward off something terrible. "No one must ever know that this has happened to me. No one. Promise me that you won't ever tell."
"I promise." Evan understood the disgrace that Rachel would face from having lived with the man without being married to him. Never had he hated a man like he did this one who had so abused her.
Rachel looked around to see who was close. Two women had stopped on the boardwalk and were looking at them. They were too far away to have heard. Evan's friend and the Mexican cowboys were watching, but at a distance. She looked about in a larger radius for Karl. He wasn't in sight.
"Who is Karl?" Evan asked.
"His last name is Redpath. He owns the Handford Hotel."
"I'll go and have a talk with Redpath. Tell him I know what he's done and that he must never bother you or speak to you again."
Rachel knew Evan, with his youth and slight build, could never stand against Karl Redpath. "He's a dangerous man," she said. "I saw him shoot four men, and he did it easily. He laughed about it afterwards."
"Even so, I should still have a talk with him."
"I don't want to see you hurt."
"All right then," Evan said. He would have that talk with Redpath later. "I'll help you, if you'll let me."
"Would you? I can't pay you for I have no money."
"I don't want payment. My folks own a ranch a few miles west of town. They'd be glad to let you stay with them until you decide what you want to do."
"Thank you. I accept gladly and will always be in your debt. Can we leave right now?"
"Sure."
He took Rachel by the hand and they went quickly to John. "Can I borrow your horse?" Evan asked John. "Rachel and I want to ride to my parents' place."
"Sure," John said, and swung down to the ground. From the tense expressions on the faces of Evan and the woman, John knew something was wrong. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Just let us use your horse," Evan said. He spoke to Rachel. "Give me your foot."
Rachel hoisted her dress to mid-leg and gave Evan her foot. He lifted her astride. She
tucked the tail of her dress under her for protection from the saddle, and took the reins John was holding out to her.
"I'll bring your horse back to you later," Evan said to John.
"No hurry. I can walk home from here."
"We mustn't go past the hotel," Rachel said to Evan.
"Won't have to." Evan led off.
Neither Evan nor Rachel saw Carlos and Leo mount their steeds and follow after them.
THIRTY
The laughter of a woman came to Carlos and Leo where they lay hidden and spying on the ranch house. A man's deeper voice joined with the woman's and they laughed happily together.
"The man's sure enjoying himself with the woman," Leo said.
"Who wouldn't with such a pretty one," Carlos replied.
Carlos and Leo had followed Rachel and Evan from El Paso to the ranch house where they had stopped. The house sat at the base of the south end of the Potrillo Mountains. It was a long, rambling structure made of adobe and stone and containing several rooms. The house had a red tile roof and a large patio on the east end where the evening sun could not reach. Rachel and Evan were in the patio. A live stream came down from the mountain, flowed past the house, and onward deeper into the valley. Cottonwoods and willows lined the creek. The two Mexicans had stolen unseen through the strip of trees until they were now within hearing distance of Rachel and Evan.
"What do you think the man is to her?" Leo asked.
"I've been trying to figure that out," Carlos said. "I'm sure their meeting in El Paso was unexpected."
"Yet they borrowed the other man's horse and left together."
"And very quickly as if maybe trying to not be seen by someone," Carlos said. "I wish I could have heard what they talked about."
"I think father would approve of her," Leo said.
"I know that I do. She'd make all the other women at the rancho jealous."
"Then you think as I do that we should take her home with us?" Leo said.
"The oldest brother gets first choice," Carlos said. "And I choose this one."
