by Ann Rinaldi
From belowstairs came the tinkling of a bell. "Supper," Elinora said.
I put on the dress from Mrs. French, struggled with the buttons, then followed Elinora downstairs. From another part of the house there came the chatter of young girls. I looked out the window on the landing and saw four or five of them crossing the courtyard. I paused. In the middle of the courtyard was a garden with a little pond. In it were floating lotus flowers. In the garden were many fruit trees.
"My uncle brought them from St. Louis years ago when they were but little switches," she said. "There are trees all over Santa Fe from their cuttings. Isn't the garden beautiful?"
I could not deny it. "What are those?" I pointed to a line of trees against the south wall.
"Tamarisk. They are very old. In the spring their blossoms are lavender pink."
"How do you know so much? Have you been here before?"
"No. My mother went to school here. She told me everything."
Chickens scratched in the garden and dogs slept in the shade. I saw two cats washing their faces serenely. One gray and one black and white. And I thought of mine at home. "Oh, I'd love to pet them," I said. There were benches all around. It seemed quiet and peaceful.
"You can pet them tomorrow. Let's go."
EL I NORA WAS POUTING. The Bishop did not come to supper.
"He's away," Mother Magdalena said. "He is visiting far-flung parishioners."
"You see?" Elinora nudged me. "I told you he was important."
To my relief none of the other nuns were at the table. Just our caravan party and Mother Magdalena. A Mexican woman served. At least eight candles in very large tin saucers glowed on the long, polished table and made flickering light over the ceiling beams. The dishes were pewter, the bread homemade, the stew mutton. Wine was served to the men. Old Persian rugs were on the floor.
By the time Mother Magdalena said grace and a whispered prayer for my mother, it seemed that I'd been inside that room forever. That I'd been there before, gone away, and left part of myself there, and now had come back to retrieve it.
It was the mutton stew, I told myself. Or the homemade bread or the cherry wine Daddy allowed me to sip. Maybe it was the sweet-smelling smoke from that strange log burning in the hearth at the end of the room. Its crackling sound mixed with the melodious voice of Mother Magdalena, the faraway sound in a house of someone practicing the violin, the tinkling of glass and silverware, all lulled me into a near trance.
She was telling us about the new chapel that had just been finished. "It took five years and cost the Bishop dearly. And now we discover there was no staircase built to the choir loft. Can you imagine?"
"Oh!" Elinora's fork clanked on her dish. "Where will I sing, then?"
Mother Magdalena smiled. "We've heard about your lovely voice, child. I'm afraid that for now, until we figure out what to do about a staircase to get to the choir loft, the whole choir must be in the back of the church."
"Oh, but my uncle wrote about the chapel being built! I so looked forward to singing in the choir loft. How could they leave the staircase out?"
"Nobody knows," Mother Magdalena said sadly. "It seems that if you don't stand right over these workmen today, you don't get what you bargained for. We are praying on the matter. As a matter of fact, we have started a novena to Saint Joseph."
"I'd like to see what he can do about it," Elinora grumbled, so low that only I could hear.
By that time both Wade boys had to be carried to settees at the end of the room, before the meal was finished. The French baby was set in a nearby cradle. I wondered why they were not taken upstairs. Darkness came upon the land outside, but the candles sparkled brighter than ever on the table, dripping tallow into the tin saucers. There was a special dessert, some kind of cooked fruit with something sweet glazed all over it. And cookies. I was allowed some coffee. There was foamy milk and shaved chocolate on top of it.
I thought of the black bittersweet coffee on the Trail, the times I had to share my bowl of water for washing with Mama. For a moment I looked to the end of the table at Mother Magdalena and could have sworn that it was Mama's face inside that starched wimple, smiling at me.
"Mama?" I heard myself say it. I know I saw her through the tears in my eyes. The tears that blurred out the faces of the Wades and the Frenches and my daddy.
Soft but firm hands were lifting me then, out of my chair. I was being carried across the room. From outside the windows I heard footsteps, laughter, scurrying feet; then I heard Mother Magdalena's voice behind. "Oh, you girls, if you hear any screams from the street this night, don't be frightened. At night Santa Fe is a different world."
I was mindful of being carried up the stairs in someone's strong arms. I smelled the tobacco my father used. Why, I thought, Daddy's grown another arm. I knew this place was magic. I sensed we were in the room I was to share this one night with Elinora. Then I was on the bed and someone was removing my shoes and unbuttoning my dress and slipping it off. I was set between sheets that smelled clean, smelled of fragrant cedar, but were rough to the touch. The last thing I heard was Elinora's voice.
"Thank you, I'll put out the candles."
Sleep pulled me into its canyon, which was dark and full of shadows. There was a light at the far end, and outside I could see cactus with bulbs of yellow growth, yellow butterflies, and olive-yellow birds. There was such a yearning in my heart to reach them that I thought I would die. But I did not have the strength. Tomorrow, I thought, I'll reach them tomorrow.
4
THERE WAS A SCREAM, long and fashioned out of agony. It pulled me from my sleep. I opened my eyes. The wagon was flooded with moonlight. Was it a coyote? Who was on guard outside the wagon? I hoped it wasn't Daddy. I heard voices.
I sat up. Everything was in the wrong place. Who had moved me to this part of the wagon? I looked around, saw a large chifforobe, ancient and looming. Saw a window. And then I remembered.
"Elinora?" I whispered.
From her bed came the sound of snoring. She often snored at night. I pushed my covers back and got out of bed. The room was chilled with the breath of my own fear. I walked to the window and looked out.
Below me was the Santa Fe street, rich in moonlight and spilled shadows. People were moving around down there. Their voices carried on the night air, even through the windowpanes.
They were moving around the wagons of our caravan. They were hitching up the oxen and putting the packs on the mules.
Our caravan was leaving!
For a moment I could not think. Was it morning already? Who had screamed? I remembered then what Mother Magdalena had said about Santa Fe being different at night and that we shouldn't be afraid if we heard screams from the street.
Had my people made arrangements to leave before first light? That was it! They'd made arrangements after I fell asleep and had forgotten to tell me. Or would soon send the Mexican woman to wake me. I must dress!
I stood in the middle of the room in confusion and terror. Where were my traveling clothes? My hands fumbled as I lit a candle. Fd wake Elinora, but too bad. The candle gave scant light, but I could find my way around better. Where had I put my traveling dress yesterday? On that chair by the chifforobe. I turned to get it.
It was not there. Only the purple school uniform lay neatly over the back of the chair with my petticoats and shoes nearby. Very well, then I'd wear the calico Mrs. French had made for me. I whirled around, holding the candle. It, too, was nowhere in sight.
I ran again to the window. I could make out each of our party by the way they walked and held themselves. Mrs. French was holding the baby. The two Wade boys were being lifted into the family's wagon. And my daddy, tall, lanky, with one arm and that odd way he had of walking, as if to diminish his size, like an apology because he was always taller than everybody.
I ran then to the chifforobe and pulled at the door. My traveling dress would be inside. I must dress quickly. But the door would not open. I pulled and pulled at it, bro
ke a nail, then banged. "Open, damn you!"
Elinora sat up in bed. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"They're leaving! Our caravan is leaving. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know."
"Liar! Stinking, prayer-lips liar!"
She got out of bed. "Lizzy, stop it."
"Get away from me; I've got to get dressed." I sat down and began to pull on my shoes, to button them up. I was still in my pantalets and chemise. Then I grabbed the purple school uniform from the chair and flung it over my head, grabbed my portmanteau and dragged it from the room.
"Lizzy, don't go like that. It's dark. You'll kill yourself."
"Not likely with all these damn candles in front of these saints in the walls," I sputtered as I went down the stairs. In the large foyer, I set down my portmanteau and ran to the immense grillwork door. I pulled on the handle.
It would not open. It was locked. Damn!
"Lizzy!" Elinora's frantic whisper Mowed me. "Hush, you'll wake everyone."
"I'll wake the dead if I have to." I struggled with the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Where do they keep the key?"
"I don't know."
"Stop lying to me, why don't you! I know you want me to stay here. Likely you fixed it with my father! Well, I'm not staying. Do you understand? Daddy!" I pounded on the door and pounded. "Daddy, I'm coming. I'm coming! Wait for me!"
If somebody would only stop that screaming, I thought, he could hear me. Who is that screaming out in the street, anyway?
And then, in the next instant, I knew. Great black wings came down as if from heaven and enveloped me. I smelled the mustiness of a nun's habit.
"Hush, you'll wake the whole house."
It had been me screaming. My throat was hoarse. I looked up into the stern face of Mother Magdalena.
"I want my father," I said. "Go outside and tell him I'm coming along directly. Please."
Her great blackbird arms held me close. She was all bosom and softness, and for a moment I thought, Nobody has held me like this since Mama died. And I near let her black wings carry me off. Then I caught myself and struggled. "No, no, you don't understand; they forgot to wake me. It's dark out there. My daddy thinks I'm in the wagon already. Go and tell him I'm not. Go and tell him he's forgotten me."
"He hasn't forgotten you, Lizzy. He has decided to leave you with us. He couldn't tell you himself. He thought this was the best way."
I knew it, of course. The knowing had been like a knife cutting into me for days now. I'd been bleeding for days from the knowing, and had refused to acknowledge it.
"Please, please, please," I sobbed. "Tell my daddy I have to go with him to Colorado. He needs me. Tell him I can't stay here."
"He needs you here, Lizzy," Mother Magdalena said. "He needs what's best for you."
"Please, just let me out to say good-bye then. Why didn't he even say good-bye?"
"I told you. He couldn't."
I sobbed. I begged. I, who had Cheyenne and Blackfoot in me, which was the part that never cried. I, who never begged for anything. Then all of a sudden I stopped. From outside came the shouts of "gee" and "haw" and "wo ho."
They were leaving.
"Noooo!" My scream was now as piercing as the one in the street before. Mother Magdalena held me while I struggled. Finally I managed to break free, and when I did, I went at Elinora. "I hate you!" I screamed. "You pious little buffalo chip!" I smacked her right in the face.
Such howling you never did hear, then. It was better than the poor soul who'd woken me from the street.
"No, no, that is no way to solve our problems," Mother Magdalena said severely. "Violence is no solution to anything."
"It is for me."
Elinora was sobbing, like she'd been scalped by a Comanche. And the sound of it did my soul good. Nuns came running from all directions then, it seemed, and helped Elinora off to bed. But before she went she turned at the foot of the stairway and aimed her words at me like arrows. "Why? Why would you want to go with a father who sneaks off without even saying good-bye? That's what I want to know!"
I slumped to the floor. Moonlight flooded in all around me. From outside came the last of the sounds of the caravan, the jingling of harnesses and creaking of wagon wheels. Then it was silent. Except for another piercing scream. But I knew from the way my throat felt now that the scream was not from the street outside but from me.
I WANTED TO STAY in bed the next morning, but they wouldn't allow it. As soon as I opened my eyes I saw a nun bending over me with a candle, saying something about holy mass. I pulled the covers over my head. I hurt; my throat hurt from screaming, my head hurt from not enough sleep, and my heart ached from betrayal. To think that everyone in the caravan knew my father was going to leave me! How long had they known? And Elinora! Of course, she'd known. Likely she'd talked him into it!
I hated her so much, it throbbed in my blood. Had everyone in the convent known, too? Oh, the hurtfulness of it! I was so shamed!
They made me get up. Elinora was dressed already, prattling on about singing at mass. Were they crazy? It was still dark. I stumbled, caught myself, and sat down again on the bed. The room was freezing with the night's chill, the fire in the grate low. Somehow I dressed and combed my hair and used the chamber pot. They were waiting for me in the hall.
By candlelight the statues in the wall crevices seemed to leer at me. This is a convent, they seemed to say. You are here, whether you like it or not. A convent.
I felt nauseous. My head throbbed. Weren't they even going to have breakfast? I longed for a cup of tea. I allowed Elinora to lead me to their new chapel for mass. I did not know about mass. I'd never been to one. The church was small, and I don't know why they called it a cathedral. But with these Catholics, you never knew anything.
The girls who didn't board at the school were coming in from outside. Some with parents. There seemed to be an army of them, all in purple uniforms with blankets around them. They all looked the same.
The incense gave me a headache. The mumblings of the priest sounded like Indian chanting. All they needed were some drums. On the altar there were boys in dresses, kneeling, ringing bells, and once when one turned around, I caught him winking at me. Oh, the brass of him! I turned away as if to escape, but I was in between two nuns. The mustiness of their habits filled my nostrils. They made responses to the priest in Latin.
They pulled me up and down, to stand, to kneel, to sit, to stand again. Couldn't they make up their minds? All this yanking of me was making my nausea worse. Serve them right if I throw up on them, I thought.
I looked for Elinora. I'd rather throw up on her. But as soon as we'd come in, she had disappeared. Now I knew why. From behind me came singing, soft at first. It was in Latin and the sound was like that which came from behind stone walls, down the centuries. Then I heard Elinora's voice, clear, piercing, reaching impossible notes. I turned. She was standing out in front of the others, her mouth making round exaggerated movements. Well, so she could sing. She was still ugly. Her nose was too big and her spectacles made it look bigger.
Who cared if she could sing, anyway?
My head hurt, and I wanted to throw up and go back to bed and run out and grab Ben and follow Daddy, all at the same time.
Ben!
Where was Ben? The thought of him left me stunned, as though I'd run into a brick wall. Last night I'd been too dazed, and this morning too sick, to ask about him.
Was he here? With me? Or had my father taken him? I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember what I'd seen out the window in the middle of the night. Had Ben been tethered to the back of our wagon? I couldn't remember!
The nun jerked me to my feet. I stood as if in a trance, the candles and their reflections in the large gold cross on the altar blinding my eyes. I must get out of here. I must find Ben. If he wasn't here, I would die!
What kind of a person was I that I hadn't even given a thought to Ben until now? Suppose he needed me?
I started
to move, but I was blocked in by nuns. "I'm going to be sick," I said.
The nun on my right took me out into the aisle then, stood with me next to her and knelt on one knee. They were always kneeling on one knee. Genuflecting, they called it. Then she turned and brought me out the side door and into the vestibule, where she turned me over to a servant. "Ramona, show her the privy."
The woman led me outside. Light was just streaking the east, and I could scarce see the outline of the outbuildings, like a child's charcoal drawing. "Where's the barn?" I asked.
She shrugged.
"I need to find my horse. Horse," I said again. And I neighed.
"Ah." She nodded. "Caballo."
"Yes. Caballo."
She pointed to the largest building, patted me, and said, "Bonita, muchachita." And I ran.
Servants were cleaning out the stalls, feeding the horses. There were several, and I ran through the center of the barn, dodging piles of manure and hay.
"Ben, Ben!" I called.
Oh, if he wasn't here I would die! I wouldn't stay another minute! But he was. I heard him neigh before I saw him. He was in the last stall, and I flung my arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. "Oh, Ben, Ben, I am so happy to see you! Ben, I'm sorry I didn't see you to bed last night. I didn't even think of you until just before! Oh, Ben, I don't deserve you. But if you weren't here I would just wither away."
I hugged him. I drank in the familiar scent of him, the smell of horse and all it meant to me. Rides at home in the fields outside the town limits of Independence. Rides with Uncle William when he was home. Rides with Daddy. And all the time I spent with Ben on the Trail. All the special treats Mama had given him. How she taught me to weave ribbons into his mane.
