Death Comes

by Sue Hallgarth

  Medusa hair. Edith patted the back of her own head to find her short sculpted bob calmly in place. Much easier to care for, a professional woman’s hairdo. Modern, tailored, designed for successful women. No hint of Medusa here. Willa had admired Edith’s bob but exhibited no interest in updating her own appearance or hiding gray strands that were beginning to show, even though Edith teased her about beginning to look dowdy.

  Willa didn’t care. “Just you wait. It’ll happen to you soon enough. Say, in about nine years.” That was the age difference between them, nine years. One of their few real differences. Willa was now over fifty and an established writer of fiction. With no demanding job and no office to go to once she’d left the top editorial position at McClure’s Magazine, Willa decided no one would care what she looked like. She no longer did. Comfort was Willa’s goal now, with flat-soled shoes, no corset, and no particular effort to look anything more than presentable.

  That had always been closer to Edith’s goal than Willa’s. Too shy to call attention to herself as a young girl, Edith had dressed as other girls did during her early years in Lincoln, and once she enrolled at Smith College she became adept at wearing shirtwaists, long belted skirts, and a soft chignon, just like her fellow students. Moving to New York City and into the world of publishing meant little change. Smith had prepared Edith well to be a Modern Woman, although she would never break as free from tradition as her Smith roommate Achsah Brewster. A painter now living as an ex-pat in Italy with her husband Earl and spending increasing amounts of time with Frieda and D.H. Lawrence, Achsah had created her own style with flowing robes and colorful veils. Edith admired Achsah but could never imagine herself or Willa doing anything like that, although she had taught them how to meditate, a facility they found as useful as most people seemed to think odd.

  Willa had been as unconventional as Achsah in her youth, adopting a variety of personae, mostly male — doctor, writer, actor, drama critic — to establish her own identity and independence. That early spurt of rebellion ended during Willa’s freshman year at the University in Lincoln when it became clear that while she could revel in dramatic poses for theatrical roles in college, she would have to dress and act like a conventional woman if she wanted to be taken seriously. Now that, Willa declared at the time, was truly ironic — a conventional woman being defined as someone to take seriously.

  But Willa did want to be taken seriously, to be noticed, heard, and respected. She stopped calling herself William, grew her hair long enough for an Edwardian pompadour and took on the Gibson Girl look. Not only conventional, she meant to be stylish. And smart, too smart to be ignored.

  But it wasn’t until Willa moved to Pittsburgh and became a member of the McClung household that she learned how to dress and behave like an intelligent woman of a certain class. Willa was to tutor Isabelle McClung in foreign languages, but Isabelle, who adored Willa, singlehandedly became Willa’s finishing school, her tutor in gentility. Where Edith had Smith College, Willa had Isabelle. An arrangement Edith thought went a little too far.

  With Isabelle, Willa learned to tamp down her enthusiasms, reform her western ways, and choose among the silverware the proper fork for salad. Congenial companions, Willa and Isabelle travelled widely and together enjoyed each other and the great operas, symphonies, and plays. They read the great works of literature and viewed the great art in museums. Edith found no fault with any of that. She too enjoyed travel, music, theater, literature, and art, and she knew her silverware. But she did find fault with Isabelle and, more recently, with her husband. Specifically with their condescending attitude, which they rarely displayed toward Willa but almost always, Edith felt, toward herself.

  Isabelle was just being herself, Willa had pointed out. Of the three of them only Isabelle had grown up with Old World charm and expectations of wealth. But now, forty-eight years old and ten years into her marriage to Jan Hambourg, a Jewish Russian-Canadian violinist with a great deal of charm and few real prospects even in the world of music, Isabelle’s money and their patronizing attitudes had worn thin with Edith.

  After all, Edith thought, the Hambourgs were living near Paris rather than in Pittsburgh because Isabelle’s family home had been sold after her father’s death. And while Isabelle’s money might buy Jan a Stradivarius, to live graciously they had to stretch every dollar as far as it could go. Joining the ex-pats in France had made that more possible.

  When Isabelle had decided to marry Jan, both Willa and Edith were appalled. Of course, Isabelle had to do something. Isabelle’s younger sister had trained as a nurse, married, and moved to upstate New York, and her brother had married one of the Mellons and taken a banking position in New York City. Isabelle had no occupation, no husband, and once her father died, no home.

  For years, Edith knew, Isabelle simply worshipped Willa and did all she could to further Willa’s career as a writer. When Willa was finally established as a novelist and living with Edith in New York, she feared that Jan, with little social standing, was an opportunist who, rather than taking care of Isabelle, would take advantage of her. But when it became apparent that Jan did have some standing in the world of music, a world Isabelle had always loved, and that he would care for Isabelle, Willa warmed to him. Edith did not.

  With Isabelle, how they dressed and wore their hair still mattered. With Isabelle and Jan, what they did for a living mattered, too. Isabelle was enormously proud of Willa. No one could have been more enthusiastic about Willa’s success or more encouraging than when Willa dropped her reservations about Jews and shifted publishers. At the time, Edith had pointed out how Harcourt Brace, the Boston-based company that published Willa’s first three novels, never provided adequate marketing support. When Willa agreed and gave One of Ours to Alfred Knopf, Knopf nominated the book for the Pulitzer Prize, which made Willa famous and finally stable financially. Edith’s fortunes too improved when she left her editorial job at Every Week Magazine to join the staff at J. Walter Thompson. Less exciting work, but her position was more secure and the company valued her expertise. Isabelle and Jan were polite about Edith’s success, but neither was effusive in their praise and Jan, at least, seemed to think women in professions were not to be encouraged.

  At times Edith envied the no-office part of Willa’s working life, but she enjoyed her job in advertising. And while Willa had finally become financially stable, even verging on wealthy, Edith’s income had always been enough to pay the rent. Recently the J. Walter Thompson agency had given Edith a thousand-dollar raise and assigned the accounts of such important companies as Jergens and Kodak to her. Usually, teams handled accounts at J. Walter Thompson, but despite the added workload and responsibility, Edith was delighted. The assignment meant she had more control over her schedule. She could take off whatever time she needed to travel with Willa. Together they had created a perfect life — never dull, always creative, with lively companionship and plenty of freedom to roam and think and write.

  When Tony did not return in time for dinner, Mabel sent word that she would take her meal alone in her room. The Fechins planned to be out for the evening.

  “Spud should be along soon, don’t you think?” Willa settled into the chair next to Edith at the big dining room table.

  “I hope so,” Edith nodded. “I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.” Agent Dan, taking one step at a time, came down the stairs leading from the living room. Spud followed on his heels.

  “And me,” Spud exclaimed. “I could hardly be hungrier or more pleased that Agent Dan feels strong enough to join us.”

  “What a nice surprise,” Willa clapped her hands together.

  “Wonderful,” Edith half rose, thinking Agent Dan might need an extra hand.

  “Please, please, stay seated,” Agent Dan waved Edith off. His face was pale and his body stiff, but he was steady on his feet and had no trouble taking the seat opposite Willa’s. “Nobody and nothing is going to keep me down. Bandages are all I need to hold me together, and I’ve
stayed in bed too long as it is.”

  Spud let Amelia know Dan was joining them and then pulled out a chair for himself across from Edith.

  “I told Agent Dan you were talking about driving to Red River. Are you still planning to go?” Spud directed his question to Edith, but Willa picked it up.

  “If we can convince Mabel to take us. She seems to think the place is too dangerous, especially now that we know at least two of those killers are headed in that direction.”

  “We don’t know for certain that’s where they’re going,” Edith corrected. “It’s really just a guess.”

  “That’s what most detective work is,” Agent Dan smiled. “But don’t tell anyone. People think we’re awfully intelligent.”

  “Well, we think you are. But it’s just a matter of logic isn’t it, after all.” Willa was stating a fact, not asking a question.

  “If Mabel agrees to drive, would you join us?” Edith asked Agent Dan. “If you can. Mabel would feel safe with you along. She’d have little reason to say no.”

  “Great idea, Edith. Yes.” Willa’s enthusiasm gathered steam. “She would surely agree to take us if you go.”

  “If,” Spud broke in. “If Agent Dan feels up to it in the morning.”

  “Of course,” Willa spread her napkin on her lap. Edith followed suit.

  “He will be fine. His worst problem was losing so much blood. Now he has blood again.” Amelia carried a sizzling platter of beefsteaks in from the kitchen. She placed the platter in the middle of the table. “Don’t let it get cold.” She glanced at Agent Dan. “Eat. You’re a big man. You need to eat. Food will give you strength.”

  Mabel changed her mind when Amelia, fresh from the dining room, told her the agent was up, having dinner with the others in the dining room, and they were all talking about going to Red River tomorrow. Within minutes Mabel joined everyone downstairs and arrived in the dining room just as a courier from the pueblo arrived with word that the posse had returned empty-handed. Tony was on his way home.

  “That decides it, then,” Mabel declared. “Who wants to go to Red River with me tomorrow?”

  It was almost ten o’clock when Tony joined the others in Mabel’s Rainbow library. Mabel had already finalized arrangements for the next day’s drive to Red River. Neither Tony nor Spud was to be invited. Tony would be too conspicuous and Spud too nervous, Mabel declared. Instead, once Agent Dan said he was strong enough to make the trip, the intrepid four — Mabel, Willa, Edith, and Agent Dan — would comprise the scouting party. The women would present themselves as harmless tourists, with Dan, who turned out to know some Spanish, as their guide in the wicked world of Red River. The women they hoped to find would speak only Spanish.

  “Sleep in a bit,” Mabel advised. “Agent Dan can use the rest and it won’t do much good to arrive early in the day. Red River is definitely not a morning town.”

  Using gestures and pantomime, Maria tried to show Adam how dangerous she thought their situation was. Inside the tiny cabin where she was living before Adam arrived, she pointed again to the seven scratches low on the wall behind the door, a cluster of six and another single one. Maria put her head against her hands as if she were sleeping and then simulated yawning and waking up before pointing to the scratches again.

  “Days?” Adam guessed. “Nights?”

  “Sí. Dias y noches.” Maria nodded.

  “Did you make the marks?” Adam pointed to the scratches and then at her.

  Maria shook her head no.

  “Seis mujeres.” She held up six fingers.

  Adam frowned and shrugged. He didn’t understand.

  “Seis mujeres,” Maria repeated. This time she pointed to herself and held up seven fingers.

  “Six señoritas, señora?” Adam gave her a hopeful look.

  “Sí. Sí. Seis mujeres.” Maria nodded and gave him an encouraging smile.

  Six women, Adam repeated to himself. Six women and Maria was one of them. He shook his head. Seven days. Stuffed into this little cabin, hardly bigger than a jail cell. How on earth. But Adam had no time for wonderment. Maria held up two fingers and drew them slowly across her throat.

  “Dos mujeres asesinadas.”

  “What?” Adam choked out the word, drew his hand across his own throat and mimicked falling on the floor.

  “Sí.”

  Adam flinched at the word and the terror in Maria’s eyes.

  “Que descanse en paz.” Maria bowed her head and made the sign of the cross. When she raised her eyes again, the terror had given way to intense determination.

  “Yes.” Adam let the word slide into silence and bowed his own head for a minute. He had been thoroughly frightened by his encounter with Blade and his friends, but he never imagined anything like this. Had Maria actually seen them slit the throats of those poor women? What about the others? Were they dead, too? Why had Maria been spared? Why had Blade kept her at the ranch? So many questions still and all the possible answers were terrifying. Adam had no idea how to ask or what to do next. But he hardened his resolve. He had to get the two of them out of there as soon as possible.

  Brett’s Cabin, D.H. Lawrence Ranch

  Adam had expected to begin the day by familiarizing Maria with mule and saddle, but once he haltered the mule and prepared to put the saddle on, he realized how complicated his plan was going to be. The mule had no problem with a packsaddle but wanted nothing to do with saddle and rider. Adam spent the rest of the morning negotiating with the mule. Finally around noon the mule decided that carrying a rider was not all that different from hauling a sack of beans or transporting firewood. Despite his sense of imminent doom, Adam took time to ride a victory lap around the corral.

  When it was Maria’s turn, she mounted easily and giggled when la mula lurched into a fast trot. With the lead rope still in his hand, Adam had to run to keep up. “Grab the horn,” he shouted and tried to demonstrate. But when he tightened his fingers around the saddle horn, he found his body levitated and his feet paddling air until the saddle tilted to accommodate his weight. He dropped to the ground and, again running alongside, righted the saddle with Maria in it. Maria grabbed the horn and remained upright and easy. Her giggle became laughter and la mula brayed happily. Adam felt giddy with delight. Thank God, Maria is not afraid, he thought. Almost immediately the reality of their situation jerked Adam free from giddiness, but his delight remained. Hope had returned.

  After dealing with la mula, riding Smokey bareback proved to be simple. The trick would be leading la mula with Maria aboard. The mule didn’t like that idea any more than she liked the notion of carrying a saddle and rider. But Maria just laughed and dismounted to search the small barn attached to the corral for another lead rope. She tied the rope to the mule’s halter to use as reins. She might not be able to stop la mula with such makeshift reins but they could help Maria steer her, and that would help Adam. He felt blessed by a sensible woman. Now he was sure they would be able to reach Taos before the next nightfall.

  Adam made a final round before bedtime that night, checking again the lock on Maria’s cabin and the gate to the corral. The image of Maria’s fingers drawing slowly across her throat had tormented his mind all day. She must have been terrified seeing that. Must have been terrified the whole time he had known her. She had shown him the scratches on the wall before but until now hadn’t let him know the number of women imprisoned in the cabin or that at least two of them had their throats slit. Adam could make no sense of any of this. He felt as though he had been in shock the whole day, though he was proud of all they had accomplished in spite of their fear and anguish. Now that he knew more of Maria’s story, it was a fear and anguish they shared.

  Maria would stay with him in the house, that had already been decided, but he wanted no intruder to be able to look for her in the cabin and find her missing. And he closed Smokey and the mule inside the small barn to make sure they were also hidden from uninvited visitors. He considered locking them in the large woven-wire
pen attached to the back of the barn and covered by a shed roof. He had no idea what sort of animals might have been kept there. It was more secure than the barn but would not keep Smokey and the mule hidden. Adam decided hiding them was the better option. He wanted no surprises and nothing to happen to the animals. They were still the best means he could think of for their escape to Taos.

  XIII

  THE SHERIFF DROPPED his eyes and leaned back in his chair when the federal agent strode through his office door. Tony Luhan and that young man they called Stud followed on his heels. Spud, not Stud, the sheriff caught himself and snickered before looking up. They were still there.

  “Sorry, so sorry, Sheriff.” Emilio scuttled through the door. “They would not listen. I tried to stop them.”

  “You’re interrupting.” The sheriff glared at Agent Dan. “You can see I’m busy,” he pointed to where John Dunn lounged in the chair next to his desk, Dunn’s long legs crossed at the ankles, his boots scuffed. “You need to wait your turn.”

  “Can’t wait.” Agent Dan stood tall, his voice firm. “Need to let you know I’ve been wounded. Two men on horseback shot me the day before yesterday on pueblo land near the road to Arroyo Seco. Tony and his friends from the pueblo went after them. Saw they were joined by a third rider, then split up. Two headed toward Red River and one toward Taos. I’m going to Red River now. You need to keep an eye out for the other rider here.”

  “Yes, Emilio, I’m sure you did try to stop them. Thank you. I’ll handle it now.” The sheriff nodded to Emilio before turning his full attention to the federal agent. Emilio backed out of the room.