Deep in the Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  As he rode into the settlement, Clay saw that the inhabitants, all of them Mexicans, were watching him suspiciously. He walked his horse slowly until he came to three men, who kept their dark eyes fixed on him.

  “I’m lookin’ for a man named Lebonne.”

  The three men seemed to relax, and one of them said something in Spanish. Clay did not understand it, but the man turned and pointed to a house, and the word “Lebonne” came out again.

  “Gracias,” Clay said, which was one of the few Spanish words he knew. When he approached the house, he saw a young boy and a girl approximately the same age watching him. He pulled his horse up and said, “I’m looking for Gordon Lebonne.”

  Neither of the youngsters answered him but stood staring at him sullenly. They were both handsome young people, somewhere around fourteen or fifteen. The girl had already begun to blossom into young womanhood. She had jet black hair but disturbing eyes—large, almond-shaped, and almost a violet hue. He had never seen such eyes in a Mexican before. The boy was taller and somewhat older, perhaps fifteen.

  He also had black hair but blue eyes. Clay waited for them to speak, and finally the boy nodded.

  “Who are you, señor?”

  “My name is Clay Taliferro. I’m a friend of Gordon Lebonne.”

  As he spoke, a woman came out of the house, and Clay stepped off of his horse and removed his hat. She was pure Spanish. She wore a simple dress, and her eyes stared at him with the same suspicion he had noticed in the youngsters.

  “I am Lucita Lebonne, señor.”

  “I am pleased to know you, ma’am.” He waited for some sort of invitation, but none came. “My party’s on the way through. I thought I’d stop in and see how Gordon was doing. I hear he had an accident.”

  “He had an accident,” she said evenly.

  Clay stared at the woman. “Not serious, I hope?”

  “Serious enough. He’s dying.”

  The harshness of the woman’s words struck Clay. He swallowed hard and then looked down at the ground, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

  “He’s asleep now, but he wakes up from time to time, if you want to see him.”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  Clay followed the woman inside the house, which was bare except for a table, three rickety chairs, and a door that led off to what was apparently a small bedroom. He followed the woman inside, and a beam of light from the small window illuminated the figure on the bed. Clay had never been particularly good around sick people, and the sight of his old friend lying there struck him hard. He stood still for a moment, noting that the strong form that he remembered was wasted away. Gordon’s face had always been full, but now it was shrunk, and his eyes, which were closed, were sunken in deep cavities.

  “When did he get hurt, señora?”

  “Two months ago now. We had no doctor, but we did the best we could. You may sit if you wish.”

  Clay moved awkwardly over and sat down on the stool beside the bed. The fetid odor stifled him, and he wanted to leave, but he knew he couldn’t. He studied Gordon Lebonne’s face and saw the pallor of death on it. He had been around death long enough to recognize it. “I’m plumb sorry about this. Gordon was a good friend to me.”

  The woman did not answer right away, then said, “I will bring you something to drink, señor.”

  After she left the room, Clay passed his hand over his clammy forehead. I hope this never happens to me. Would’ve been better to get taken out at once by an arrow or a bullet than be helpless like this.

  Gordon’s wife came back soon with a cup filled with water. Clay took it and said, “Thank you, señora.”

  The woman nodded, and the sunlight fell across her face. It was a strong face, beautifully structured with fine bones. There was none of the Indian in her. She was a criolla, pure Spanish. She stood there silent for a time, and finally she said, “You knew my husband a long time ago?”

  “We grew up together, ma’am, in Tennessee.”

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Clay Taliferro.”

  “My husband has spoken of you often. You were partners in the mountains.”

  “That’s right. We both ran away from home a long time ago.” His eyes went back to the dying man’s face, and with difficulty, he said, “Gordie, here, saved my life probably twice.”

  “He spoke of how you saved his too.”

  “I guess we were takin’ turns. I never met a better man than Gordon Lebonne.”

  The two said nothing else, and after ten minutes of intense silence, Lebonne stirred slightly. A groan passed his lips, and the woman came over and spoke to him in Spanish. “You have a visitor, marido.”

  Gordon opened his eyes and blinked. He could not seem to focus, and Clay leaned forward. “It’s Clay, Gordon. Clay Taliferro.”

  Lebonne licked his lips, and it took a moment to sink in, then he said in a weak, hoarse voice, “Clay, is it really you?”

  “It’s me, partner.” Clay reached out and took his hand. He was shocked with the frailty of it. It was like holding a sack full of bones.

  “Sorry to find you in such poor shape,” he mumbled.

  Gordon stared at Clay. He obviously had a high fever, but recognition filled his eyes. “What are you doing here? Never thought I’d lay eyes on you again.”

  “On my way west, Gordie. Takin’ Jake’s family to the Austin colony.”

  “I’m glad to see you before I cash in, Clay. We had us some good times.”

  “That we did, partner,” Clay said, squeezing his friend’s hand.

  Clay looked up and met the woman’s eyes. She had an inscrutable expression and did not speak.

  Clay continued to hold the sick man’s hand, and then his eyes fluttered and closed.

  “He will not wake up for a time, señor.”

  Clay got up, releasing Lebonne’s hand. He walked out of the room, and the woman followed him. The boy and the girl were in the next room, and the woman said, “This is Mateo, and this is Serena.”

  “I’m glad to know you,” Clay said. He got little response, and he could feel the antagonism of the two.

  “You must forgive them,” Señora Lebonne said. “It is not you personally, señor. But they have found it hard being half-Mexican and half-American.”

  “How is that, señora?”

  “The Mexicans hate them because of their white blood, and the white people hate them because of the Spanish blood.” The words were without emotion, but a fire burned in the woman’s fine eyes. “I will fix you something to eat.”

  Clay started to protest, but she turned and went to a small table. He sat down in one of the chairs and looked at the two youngsters. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I think your pa’s one of the finest men I ever knew.” When they did not respond, Clay turned around and put his elbows on the table and thought about his dying friend. He did not speak until the woman put some tortillas in front of him and a cup of wine. She had not fixed anything for anyone else, and suddenly Clay realized that it probably was because there was no food. He knew it would offend her to refuse it, so he ate it and said, “That’s mighty fine grub, ma’am.” The youngsters went outside and Clay said, “Do you have relatives here, señora?”

  “No. We have no one.”

  “Gordon has people back in Tennessee. At least he did have. Maybe you could go there.”

  “They would not want half-breeds.”

  Clay noted the bitterness on the woman’s face. He stood up and said, “I’ll be camped close by. I’d like to come back and check on Gordon from time to time.”

  Lucita Lebonne said quietly, “He may die at any time, Señor Clay.”

  “What will you do then?”

  “I do not know. The good God, He knows.”

  Clay started to offer help but knew it was not the time. “Maybe I’ll just wait, if I won’t be in the way.”

  “No, you would not be in the
way.”

  Clay stayed the rest of the afternoon, and just at sundown Gordon woke up again. He was more lucid this time, and Clay discovered that they had no resources at all.

  “I lost everything in a bad business deal. This house we live in . . . it’s not ours.” Gordon’s eyes turned bitter, and he twisted in the bed, his wasted frame writhing in pain. “I’ve made a real mess out of things, Clay.”

  Clay Taliferro leaned forward and said, “Look, Gordie, if you’re worried about your family, I’ll help them.” Lebonne lay still and did not look at Clay, but when he did, Clay saw tears in his eyes.

  “That’s worried me more than anything. I put ’em through a rough time. Lord, but I hate to leave them helpless!”

  “They won’t be helpless. I promise you.”

  “It’s askin’ too much for a man to take on,” Gordon said, his voice weak.

  “Me and you are friends, ain’t we? I ain’t forgot the time you stopped that Blackfoot from puttin’ a tomahawk right in my head. I wouldn’t be here talkin’ if you hadn’t jumped on him and stopped his clock.”

  “You did the same for me.”

  “Maybe so, Gordon.” Clay leaned over and took Lebonne’s thin hand.

  “There’s no preacher, but I hope you’re right with the Lord. It sounds funny, me sayin’ that.”

  “I am all right, Clay. I made my peace with God five years ago. Not your way, I guess. I joined the Catholic Church. That’s the way it is down here.”

  “Now, you set your mind at ease about your wife and kids. I promise to help them.”

  Lebonne lay quietly for a long time, and then he whispered, “That’s like you, Clay. It purely is!”

  Clay had tried to convince Jerusalem and her family to go on, saying he would catch up with them, but Jerusalem had said, “No, we’ll wait right here. And I’m going back with you. If they’re short of food, we’ve got plenty.”

  “My yes, plenty!” Fergus spoke up. “Take what you need from my supply wagon.”

  Jerusalem rode back with Clay to Gordon’s home, and when the two women met, Clay saw a stiffness in Lucita Lebonne. He could tell she had pride, but somehow Jerusalem had been able to bring the food in as if the woman were doing them a favor to accept it. Jerusalem stayed there, remaining quiet, even though the two youngsters stared at her with animosity. Somehow, her quiet and tender help softened them.

  Lebonne woke up twice more that day, and the last time he had been with his wife and children. Clay and Jerusalem waited in the outer room. When Lucita came back out, Jerusalem went to her at once. “I’m sorry, my dear,” she whispered.

  “He is at peace, now. He is with God,” Lucita said. She saw true compassion in Jerusalem’s eyes and bowed her head. “Thank you, señora,” she whispered.

  Clay walked outside and away from the house for a few minutes, mourning the loss of his friend. As he looked back at the house, he said, “Gordon, I aim to keep that promise I made you. I’m gonna help your family.”

  He and Brodie dug the grave, but there was no priest. There was no church either, so the funeral was at the graveside. A few of the villagers, mostly women, gathered, and one of them spoke some brief words in Spanish.

  After the service Lucita and her children turned away, and Jerusalem went back to the camp. When Clay returned a while later, she pulled him aside and said, “What are you going to do, Clay?”

  “I’ll have to stay around here, Jerusalem. I promised Gordon I’d do what I could for his wife.”

  “No, that won’t do.”

  “I have to do it! I promised,” he said determinedly.

  “I talked to Lucita quite a bit, and she’s miserable and unhappy here.

  There’s no place for them. I’ve decided that we’re going to take them with us.”

  Clay was continually being shocked by Jerusalem, and now he suddenly stood up straight and stared at her. “Take ’em where?”

  “Wherever we’re going. There’s plenty of land there.”

  “She’d never do it,” Clay said, shaking his head.

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Mamá, that woman’s coming.” Serena had been sitting outside on the bench. Mateo stood against the wall, his face fixed in a scowl. Both of them were crushed by their father’s death. Now Serena stood up as her mother came outside.

  “I’m sorry to come at such a time, but I must talk with you, Lucita,”

  Jerusalem said.

  “Come inside.”

  “No, I want your children to hear what I have to say.”

  Both Mateo and Serena stared at Jerusalem, but she looked directly at Lucita and said, “I want you and your family to come with us.”

  Lucita was taken aback. She could not speak for a moment. Grief had marked her face, and lines of worry showed the pressure she had been under for the last few months. “Go with you, señora? I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Yes. We’ve talked enough, and it is clear from what you say that there is nothing here for you. I must tell you, I don’t know what we will find.

  I haven’t seen my husband in a long time, but I know he has land, and I have money to buy more. We will make a house for us, and we will make another house for you.”

  Mateo suddenly spoke up. “Why would you do this for us? We are strangers.”

  Jerusalem turned to face the boy. He was a handsome lad with clear features, but bitterness filled his eyes. “Because Señor Clay promised your father that he would help you. He is practically a member of our family, and families must stick together.” She went over then and put her hand on Serena’s face. The girl was lovely, but her eyes were filled with grief. “I can’t promise you anything except we will be family.” She turned then to Lucita and said, “Please come with us.”

  “We would be a burden.”

  “You would be more of a burden if you do not come.”

  “How could that be?”

  “Because if you do not come, Señor Clay will stay here and do what he can. He’s a strong man, and he intends to keep his promise.”

  Lucita stared at the woman in disbelief. Her lips trembled for a moment, and then she pressed them together. She looked down at the ground and whispered, “Do you want us to come?”

  “Yes, very much,” Jerusalem said, taking her hands in hers.

  Lucita looked up at Jerusalem for a moment, and then she went to her children. She did not touch them, but a silent understanding passed between them. “We will go with this family. They are more generous than any I have seen among the Americans.” She turned then and said, “We will go, and we will try not to be a burden.”

  “Let me know when you are ready.”

  “We will be ready in the morning. We have little to take.”

  “We’ll bring the wagons by then, and we will leave as early as possible.”

  Early the next morning when the wagons stopped in front of the house, it took only a few moments for the Lebonnes to load their few possessions. Clay had been standing beside Julie when Lucita came and stood before him. She fixed her eyes on Clay and said, “You are a kind man, señor. We will try not to be a burden on you.” She turned and walked away quickly, and Julie moved closer, pressing her shoulder against Clay. He looked down at her, and she was grinning at him wickedly.

  “Are you going to comfort the widow Lebonne, Clay?”

  Clay’s face burned. He hated it when that happened, and Julie had a way of causing it. “You’d try the patience of a saint, Julie Satterfield!”

  “Well, you’re no saint, Mr. Clay Taliferro, so watch yourself.” Her eyes were laughing and she pulled his face around to hers. “Now you’ll have three of us women to fight off.”

  Clay had never been able to get the best of Julie and knew that he never would. He grinned, however, and said, “Well, I heard a preacher say once that Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred porky-pines. I’ve always reckoned the porkypines gave him less trouble than all them women. Reckon if King Solomon could put
up with seven hundred pesky women, I can put up with three!”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  A couple of weeks had passed since Gordon Lebonne’s funeral. Clay and Jerusalem had done all they could to try to make Lucita and her children feel welcome. Even Professor Nightingale had tried to interest them in some of his stories about his travels, but they still kept to themselves most of the time.

  “I don’t like Serena, Clay,” Moriah snapped one day. “She’s so stuck up she won’t even speak to me!”

  Clay had been mending a bridle by adding a piece of new leather. Now he looked up from his work and said, “What if you’d lost everything you had, Moriah? And what if you didn’t have any place to go? Would you feel like laughin’ and carryin’ on with someone you hardly knew?”

  Moriah was sitting on the ground across from Clay. She was, as usual, covered with dust, for she was not prone to much bathing except under pressure. “But she’s so mean! I tried to be nice to her, and she won’t have anything to do with me. And Mateo’s no better. I tried to be friends with him, and so did Clinton and Brodie, but he won’t even talk. He just mutters something in Spanish and walks away.”

  “Give ’em time, punkin. They’ll come around. They’re still grieving the loss of their father.”

  Jerusalem had been aware of the estrangement between the newcomers and her family. It did not surprise her, so she had given a lot of thought on how to make a friend of Lucita. She tried to put herself in the woman’s place so she could understood her behavior. If I had to take everything from strangers and didn’t have anything to give in return, I’d be crushed myself, she thought.

  She had been thinking of this a lot the last few days, and when they stopped beside the road to camp for the night, she went to Lucita and said, “I need a little help, Lucita. Would you mind taking care of Mary Aidan while I cook the evening meal?”

  Lucita seemed surprised, but a small smile turned the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I will keep her.”

  Jerusalem surrendered Mary Aidan, who looked up at the face of the other woman, then began to coo.

  “She likes you already,” Jerusalem said, smiling.