“Often,” Edith smiled.
“You do to me,” Nicolai nodded. “It is a magnificent expression, no?”
“I suppose,” Willa paused to examine the sketch again. “And you finished this in just one afternoon.”
“Yes,” Nicolai laughed. “But you will sit for me more, yes? In New York? In my studio? It is a real studio. All my things are there. Bright, bold colors. And in the midst of those colors, I will frame your face in the white of the peasant blouse. Light against dark. A few sittings and you will be vibrant. You like?”
“Yes,” Edith responded quickly.
“Oh, yes,” Willa agreed.
“I love that man. I just love him.”
“Oh, Willa, I was sure you would.” Mabel’s laugh was low and comforting. “Look how he’s painting me. Colorful and majestic, like a queen.” Mabel poured chilled wine into two empty glasses on the low table before her.
The three of them, Mabel, Willa, and Edith, were sitting on the covered deck at the edge of the patio, waiting to be joined by the others before dinner. A ramada, Edith had learned to call it, a rustic structure covered by brush to provide shade and in this case built so that it straddled the main acequia with its stream beneath rushing to irrigate the alfalfa field below. Edith visualized the image Nicolai had painted of Mabel, dressed in black and seated in a wealth of plush purples and reds. Nicolai had gotten the proportions right, and touches of white set off her face. It was an excellent likeness. Edith pushed back with her feet so the double swing she shared with Willa rocked gently. She felt confident Nicolai would do as well for Willa.
“Seated on your throne, surveying all of Los Gallos, like now. Yes, I see it.” Willa took a sip of her wine. “Chilled to perfection,” she declared and raised her glass to salute Mabel. “Your Majesty.”
“I’ll never understand Prohibition.” Edith tasted the wine in her own glass. Excellent. “Why keep us from enjoying something so fine as this?”
“Inconsiderate of our government, to say the least,” Mabel agreed, “and a bad policy for New Mexico, which has always produced fine wines. Fortunately I make my own rules. My kingdom, my rules. Some of the best grapes come from the Rio Grande valley, and a little village named Corrales, not so many miles from here, has a wonderful vineyard. That’s where this came from.”
“Yes,” Willa nodded. “We managed to try their wine when we were in Albuquerque. It was lovely. Do they also supply the gambling halls we’ve heard so much about in, where is it, Red River?”
“Red River, Elizabethtown, and all along the road that drops south to Las Vegas and the lovely Harvey hotel, the Castañeda. You have stayed there? It’s right next to the railroad tracks. Fred Harvey knows how to build fine railroad hotels,” she raised her glass in a side tribute to Fred Harvey and his hotels. “You might find good wine at the Castañeda when nobody’s looking, but you won’t find any kind of wine in Red River or Elizabethtown. That’s Al Capone’s secret world. Whiskey’s more like it. Rye whiskey, believe it or not, from a little town in Iowa called Templeton, I believe. Whiskey, women, guns and gamblers. And lots of money. That’s Red River.”
“What kind of women?” Edith wanted to know.
“What kind?” Mabel laughed. “Well, the kind your mother never wanted you to hear about, of course.”
“Yes, of course, but what do they look like, these women? Where do they come from?”
“Not Iowa,” Mabel giggled.
“Why do you want to know?” Now Willa was curious.
“Ida said something odd this afternoon. I don’t quite know what to think of it. She said her housekeeper told her she had been hearing rumors about women in Mexico disappearing, maybe kidnapped, maybe killed. Ida seems to think they might have something to do with our women’s bodies.”
“Interesting,” Mabel allowed, “but Mexico is a long way off. Why would anyone kill them and bring them here?”
“I doubt that they’d be dead before they arrived,” Willa observed.
“I suppose.” Mabel laughed at her own blunder.
“But why would anyone kill them once they got here?” Edith frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“And how on earth would they get here?”
Mabel sipped her wine. “Yes. How on earth.”
Spud worked late before joining the others for dinner. Mabel was a good writer. Not wonderful and a little gushy at times, but good. And fearless. Spud admired that about her. There were things, revealing things, he advised her to take out, not because they were revealing but because they took her narrative in too many directions.
Complexity in simplicity, he preached. Don’t clutter a manuscript. Look at how your friend Lawrence works. Or Willa. They may have plots and subplots and characters upon characters, but everything moves the story forward. Nothing distracts. Mabel generally heeded his reminders, but she would say, she had so much to tell. Life is not fiction. It goes on and on, mostly without form. Clutter is its form. Perhaps, he agreed, but memoirs are not life, only an echo of life. And as it is, you’ll require several volumes to record yours. Ah yes, she replied. I’ve lived so many lives. You have no idea.
Spud laughed at the memory. Mabel had lived many lives, all of them different and all of them undisciplined. Once her first husband died, she was freed from convention, which never had interested her or served her well. What she got out of her first marriage was a solid financial base and John, her son, who was all grown up now and married himself. She also got the freedom to do as she pleased. Which is exactly what she did, son or no son. So it was that, Spud decided, that made her marriage to Tony different. As a woman with freedom, she was Tony’s equal. She might believe in subservience to men but she never practiced it. Certainly not with Tony, who never expected it from her. That’s not how they connected. The irony is, Spud grinned at the thought, their union is considered unequal because they mixed the red race with white. But exactly that difference balanced them. Mabel respected Tony as he did her, and they learned from each other and together whole new ways of being in the world. What a concept. Spud pushed his chair back from his desk. He was done for the day.
Tony and John Collier and the Fechins entered the room together, John in the lead. Finding only Spud there, they seated themselves and prepared to wait. Mabel was often late and sometimes never appeared, preferring to eat alone in her room where she could think. Think, she would say in a way that made the word linger.
John rose to pour wine for the others. Tony closed his eyes and began to hum one of his pueblo songs. Nicolai sipped his wine and whispered to his wife, who whispered to their daughter. Spud spread his napkin on his knees. Surely, he thought, Willa and Edith will be along soon. They were always prompt. Sometimes even early. And that special agent fellow, he should be joining them, too.
A shout came from the kitchen.
Spud reached the kitchen just ahead of Mabel, running in from the patio with Willa and Edith. Amelia stood at the kitchen door clutching her apron in her hands. Within seconds they were all standing in the driveway outside the door, staring at the buckboard coming toward them at a brisk pace. The lone rider who preceded it shouted “Agent shot, Agent shot.” A second rider cantering just behind led Agent Dan’s horse. The horse was slathered with sweat and dirt. Its saddle listed to the right.
For a moment after the buckboard stopped no one moved, then Mabel yelled “Call Doc Martin,” and everyone reacted at once. Amelia ran into the house to make the call, Spud grabbed Agent Dan’s horse, John Collier caught the bridle of the one of buck-board’s team and helped the driver turn his exhausted horses toward the kitchen door. Agent Dan, immobile and unconscious had been placed on a makeshift stretcher of loose boards and blankets and tied in place with ropes. While Willa and Edith loosened the knots holding his legs, Nicolai and his wife worked on the rope that crossed his chest. Tony and Mabel climbed aboard to look beneath the blood-soaked rags covering the upper reaches of Agent Dan’s chest and left shoulder.
; The bullet had gone through not far from his heart, but it had gone through, Mabel declared, and missed his heart. Tony replaced the rags and added pressure to slow the oozing blood. Agent Dan began to moan.
After the men settled Agent Dan into his bed and Amelia began to wash his wound in preparation for the doctor, the others returned to the dining room.
“Once Doc Martin sees him, he should be fine,” Mabel decided. “Doc has fixed many, many gunshot wounds.”
“Lost lots of blood,” Tony sounded doubtful.
“Seems it was a while before he was discovered.” John Collier, along with Spud and Tony, had taken time to talk to the men who brought Agent Dan in. “Two fellows from the pueblo saw his horse and backtracked after they caught it. Found Agent Dan unconscious on pueblo land.”
“Took time to get the buckboard, more time to get him on it. Big man.” Tony added to the narrative while helping himself to green chili. He turned to Edith, “Found Agent Dan lying under sage near the trail to hunting camp you saw.”
Willa’s sharp intake of air startled Edith.
“That hunting camp? But you said you’d never seen it. What were those men doing there?”
“I sent them to look where Edith said. Never found the camp. Found Agent Dan.”
Edith again felt Jesse tremble between her legs and smelled the scent of dried blood and dead ashes. The horses had been as anxious to leave that place as she and Willa had. How frightened they all were. But why? They had found no one there. No one or thing actually threatened them. But they felt it. They felt terrified.
“Sounds like we’d better have another look.” John Collier’s voice was steady, his expression grim.
“Perhaps the sheriff would …,” Spud’s voice trailed off.
“A posse …,” John Collier tried again.
“What is posse?” Nicolai wanted to know.
“Tony will call on more men from the pueblo.” Mabel’s tone was decisive. “That’s all the posse we need.”
“But this camp is beyond the boundary of pueblo land. I think Spud’s right, perhaps we should ask the sheriff.” John Collier ladled beans onto his plate and began to eat them using his tortilla as a scoop. “Or at least inform him,” he spoke around a mouthful of beans and tortilla.
“Inform him, then.”
“You don’t trust him to do the job?” Willa turned her full attention to Mabel.
“Hardly.” Mabel responded. “He may intend to do it, but he just can’t seem to get it done.”
“Dishonest, you think? Or incompetent?”
“May depend on the circumstances. I am sure he does not care about victims who are female and Mexican. Of course, that’s pretty typical around here. This sheriff doesn’t care much about victims who are American, either. The female part goes without saying. It’s just a good thing he doesn’t have anything to do with the pueblo.”
Edith noticed that John Collier had continued to eat in silence but he nodded now, agreeing with Mabel about all things related to the sheriff.
When Adam sat down to eat his beans and tortillas, his appetite surprised him. Muscles ached throughout his body and he was fully aware of how tired he felt, but he had ignored hunger. Now here it was, waiting for him. Dinner and sleep would restore his energy. He was sure of that and thankful for it. He saluted Maria with a raised fork filled with beans and gave her his broadest smile.
When she returned his smile, Adam realized the bond between them. They had earned each other’s trust. Earned, not just given. They were equal, partners, in this together. Amazing, he thought. They couldn’t even talk, couldn’t have a conversation, but they could eat and work together in comfort. Adam felt the day’s tension drain from his shoulders while the food eased his hunger. A good day’s work was behind them.
Adam and Maria had spent the day doing what they could to add to the security measures Adam had installed immediately after arriving at the ranch and meeting Blade. He was glad he had the foresight to bar the door and cover the windows that first day with what loose boards he could find. Flimsy barricade but it worked. Without it the previous night’s visitors could have walked in with no warning. He was pretty sure if they had, neither he nor Maria would be alive now.
How the two of them might have died or why, Adam had no idea. But he felt it with a certainty that made his skin prickle. Those late-night riders were no rowdy boys or young fellows on a lark after a long night at the saloon. They were clearly serious and experienced trouble, and they were looking for Blade. Were friends with Blade. Expected Blade to be there. There, in the very house where Adam was to sleep.
Thank heavens for Maria. But how did Maria know to wake him? Know they were approaching in the night? Know they meant to harm them? Had she seen them before? Did she know when Blade left that they might arrive? Adam wished desperately Maria could answer his questions. Spanglish was far from enough. But Spanglish and smiles were all they had. At this point all Adam could do was say Gracias and smile as Maria placed his coffee next to his plate.
D.H. Lawrence Ranch House
Tonight the ranch house was tighter, and they had moved Maria’s bedding from the little cabin into the ranch house. She might use the cabin if she liked during the day, but Adam didn’t want to chance their being separated at night when it would be almost impossible to keep watch over both places. Maria had made him understand that she heard the intruders’ horses when she was starting back to her cabin after using the outhouse. There was enough moonlight so she could find her way without using a flashlight, and she had managed to slip into the ranch house without their seeing her.
It was just luck, then, that Maria was able to wake him when she did. Luck and guts. She must have been very frightened. It was late when she heard them, too late for anyone to be on that trail. That had to be unusual and unnerving and frightening even before she recognized who they were. And Adam guessed that she did recognize them, though she couldn’t tell him that she knew them any more than she could tell him who they were. The fact that Maria chose to enter the ranch house and shake him awake told him how frightened she must have been. Terrified, actually. Adam appreciated her courage and her good sense. She could have run off and hidden, but she didn’t.
Instead Maria had trusted him. And now they really were in this together, and they had taken what precautions they could for staying, but Adam knew that wasn’t enough. He needed to do more, needed to figure out how to get word to Spud, to get help, to get them to a safer place, and then to deal with Blade and his friends. It was a tall order.
Adam pushed at the few beans still on his plate with the remains of his tortilla. Maria had already risen from her stool near the shelves. She was getting ready to wash their few dishes, and then she would save some of the heated water for each of them to use getting ready for bed. Adam must think through all that he had to do. Spud would have no way of knowing what was happening at the ranch. Nobody in Taos would. It was up to Adam to let them know. He realized that he knew where to start, but he didn’t quite know how to begin.
X
WHEN WILLA AND Edith crossed over to the main house before dawn, Amelia met them at the door to the dining room.
“Mr. Dan slept through the night,” she told them. “He is still asleep and so is everyone else except Tony and Spud.”
Spud, they learned, had stayed up to watch over Agent Dan, and Tony, up well before dawn, had gone to the pueblo to raise a posse. Now that Willa and Edith were there, she told them to help themselves to coffee and she would fix breakfast. Amelia knew exactly how to cook Willa’s eggs and took special care to do her bacon underdone, precisely the way Willa liked it.
“What would you think of asking Long John Dunn to take us to Red Rover?” Willa carried her cup to a table near the kitchen.
“Red River.”
“Pardon me?”
“Red River. You mean Red River.” Edith spread butter on a piece of toast. “Why Long John Dunn instead of Tony?”
“Mabel said Joh
n Dunn owns at least one gambling place in Red River and has owned others. He would be a more knowledgeable guide than Tony in a place like that, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” Edith considered. “But why do you want to go to Red River? I thought our next excursion might be to the Lawrence ranch. We talked about asking Tony to take us back there.”
“Yes, I know.” Willa took a sip of her coffee. “But I can’t imagine that we would find a number of Mexican women at the Lawrence ranch. I can imagine them in Red River. Just seems a likely place to have a look around.”
“Mexican women?”
“Well, yes. Isn’t that why you were asking Mabel about the women in Red River? And where else would we find the three women we know about if, in fact, the rumor Ida’s maid mentioned turns out to be true?”
“I didn’t realize you were getting so interested in this mystery.”
“Why not? It needs a bit of prodding, and from what we heard last night everyone but the sheriff might well be the ones to do the prodding.”
“Well then, I suppose you think we should stir some up some action?” Edith took a sip from her cup. “Mmmm, too hot.” She blew on her coffee. “Don’t want to stir up much in Red River, though. Despite Mabel’s story, that place sounds dangerous.”
“I agree,” Willa nodded. “And especially for women. But we managed that awful hunting camp all right. I’m sure we can manage Red River. Don’t you think?”
“Mmmm.” Edith put her cup down. She preferred not to think about Red River and its dangers, at least not until they finished their breakfast.
When Doc Martin finally arrived, he took forever treating and bandaging Agent Dan’s chest and ribs. The bullet, from a fairly large caliber rifle, had passed through the upper left side of Agent Dan’s chest.
Death Comes Page 11
