Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

  “Señor Owen,” said the priest, “we praise you because you honored una de la gente, one of our people.” His voice was hesitant around the vowels and consonants, but James understood his meaning. “We are talking much about your kindness to our little sister en Cristo, but we talk a very much lot of your bravery, your courage. You are Anglo, but you leave the town to capture the outlaw Anglo and his amigos … friends, I mean to say. You are a hero for us.”

  James shook his head. “She was my wife, my mujer. Church wed.” He pointed toward the church.

  “That is also a very brave thing, Señor Owen. In this town, Anglos do not marry our women. We praise you for your honor treatment to her.”

  James let out the breath he didn’t remember holding. “You are fine people,” he said, slowly, looking at all the faces turned toward him. “Good henti. Amparo teach me mucho.” He felt a blush creeping up his face at the way he knew he was butchering the words, especially the one for “people.” He put his hand on his heart and took in air. He continued, slowly, softly. “Amo Amparo siempre. I love Amparo forever.”

  “Sabemos …” The man stopped and began again. “We know you must soon travel, leave nuestro pueblo—our town—and we give you this regalo.” The priest looked a question back at the sheriff.

  The sheriff said, “Gift.”

  “Gift,” the priest echoed.

  The priest turned behind him, to a man who handed him a sack. He faced James and held it out to him.

  “We have collect moneda, I mean, money, to help you, eh, travel to your home, to your people. In this way, we honor you. Please accept our offering to you.”

  James took the surprisingly hefty sack and stood silent for a time. He nodded and said, “Thank you. Mucho gracias.” The kindness of the men built a large lump in his throat that kept him from swallowing for a time. He remained as though he were rooted in the road until he could clear it out. Then he said, “You are good henti.”

  At length, he turned and walked slowly back to the hotel, to the accompaniment of good wishes from the men. At least, that was what they sounded like to James, as he swiped at his eyes and cheeks to remove his tears.

  ~~~

  Philo stood in the hotel passageway when James arrived. He held up a finger, called out, “My boy!” and ducked into the storeroom door. James waited until the man reappeared with a large parcel in his hands.

  “This is for you,” Philo said. “The town council is giving you a token of peace. And their thanks, of course, for bringing back those runaways. I’m left to make the presentation. They were too cowardly to do it themselves, seeing as how you don’t like them much.” He shoved the package into James’s hands.

  Unsuccessfully juggling both items, James dropped the money sack, which thunked solidly onto the wooden floor. Several coins spilled out of the mouth of the sack, spinning erratically on the worn surface.

  “I’m sorry, my boy. What’s that you have there, a treasure trove?”

  James knelt, put the package on the floor and started to pick up the coins. The irony of the situation struck him. He’d received a gift of money, given with sincere gratitude, and very likely offered at great cost, from the brown-skinned people of the town. Here was a backhanded peace offering from the white town fathers, probably given more through guilt than appreciation. He began to laugh, feeling a bubbling relief of his tension. Dropping the coins, he sprawled out against the corridor wall and threw back his head, banging it hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He whooped, rubbing his hands up and down the stubble on his cheeks. “Six little beans!” he said, letting his hands fall into his lap.

  Philo reached for his broom and swept up the errant coins. He knelt on the floor and put them into the sack. When he had finished, he sat back on his heels and waited. “Will you explain the joke for an old man with a slow brain?”

  After several false starts and renewed guffaws, James regained his composure.

  “Philo, it seems I am the hero of the day. This cash money is from the Mexicans, in honor of my kindness to my wife and my bravery at bringing back those ruffians. You give me a mystery package from the council to cool my rage against their town. Do you know what’s in it?”

  “Yes I do. Alton come by a while ago to pick through my goods.” Philo tapped the package. “He found this in the storeroom, and asked me to wrap it up for you. It’s a small tent the Army put on the market a few years ago, after the doings, and all.” He slapped his knee. “He actually paid me money for it.”

  James straightened his face. The time for laughing had passed with Philo’s mention of the war. “Alton’s hustling me out of town, isn’t he? I had breakfast with the Bingham family. They asked me to accompany them on their travels.” He touched the parcel. “A tent will come in handy enough on the road. I don’t know if we’ll come upon snow or sunshine, but shelter can’t hurt.” He gave a little grimace, remembering that Amparo’s name meant “shelter.”

  “So you’re going with them.” Philo found a leverage point on the wall and got to his feet. “Give thought to what I said about taking up a career as a lawman, my boy. I think you’d do well as a sheriff or town marshal or the like.”

  “The dog did half the work of capturing those men,” James said. “Mayhap he can get elected.” A grin creased his face. “Give me a hand up, Philo. I’ve got to make a list of provisions.”

  ~~~

  When James had gathered the items on his list and paid Philo, he took the supplies to his room. The kindness of the Mexican people had brought him a thought that he should be kind and set his mother’s mind at ease concerning his welfare. For that purpose, he had purchased a few sheets of writing paper and a pencil. These he brought out, and sitting at the small table, he began a letter to his mother.

  “Dear Ma,” he wrote, then put down the pencil. His head bent forward as his hands came up to hide his face. Oh Ma! How do I say good-bye to you?

  He hadn’t done it when he’d left home all those months ago. It pained him now that he’d likely caused Ma a deal of worry. He’d let his anger at Pa drive a wedge between him and his family, but when he acknowledged his love to Amparo, he pulled that wedge free, looking forward to taking her home with him. She was gone, and he now understood the heartache of not being able to say good-bye.

  James bit his lip and took up the pencil. “I am well,” he wrote, “although troublesome times have plagued me. I set off to dig out Uncle Jonathan’s mine, but only made it as far north as Pueblo town. Ask Mr. Hilbrands for the particulars next time you go there for supplies.

  “I traveled as far south as Santa Fe town, but arrived back here in the city of Trinidad, intending to return to the bosom of the family with my new wife. To our great misfortune, she met Death’s grim fingers in this place.

  “I own to having had good times, but they are presently overshadowed by the bad. I wager you won’t see me again until time knocks the corners off my sorrow. Receive a kiss for yourself and my sisters, and an embrace for my brothers. Tell Pa I have learned much from his example.

  “Your affectionate son, James Owen”

  When he folded the letter and addressed it, he left the hotel and put the note into the care of the sheriff, along with money to pay the next traveler north to deliver it.

  Chapter 23

  Although he had been invited to stow his gear and necessities among the wagons, James preferred to leave them on his mule. Not only were the wagons showing hard use, but the livestock—two teams of horses and one of mules—was wearing down. Surely George Heizer’s team of three was under a handicap in the cut down harness. If he could spare the animals having to pull extra weight during the ascent ahead, he would do so. His grief also kept him apart from the other travelers, so he tied his mule and spare horse behind a wagon and rode alone, his coat collar turned up and hat pulled low over his ears in the cold wind.

  This time when James climbed into Raton Pass, the dog trotting alongside his black horse, he felt empty, knowing Amparo’s grave
was ahead, knowing that unless some happenstance brought him this way again, he would soon see her final resting place for the last time. It wasn’t likely he’d be back. His connection to his family had been cut by his leaving as surely as Amparo’s life had been cut short by that bullet.

  Robert rode up beside James in the late afternoon, on a mount with Union markings. James wondered how Robert had acquired it. I’ll ask him about it sometime, he thought.

  “Hey, James.”

  “Rob.” He felt comfortable with Robert Fletcher. They’d crossed paths many times in Shenandoah County. There had been some memorable escapades. Boys had been boys.

  Robert explained why he wasn’t on his wagon box. “Luke’s taking a turn driving the mules. That boy does like a challenge.”

  “Who’s driving Mrs. Bingham’s wagon?”

  Robert turned, grinning. “Your old nemesis, Ned. He’s trying to get in the good graces of my mother-in-law.”

  James frowned, rolling the new word around in his mouth. Finally he asked, “What’s a nemesis?”

  “That’s a fancy word for an enemy.”

  “Huh,” James retorted. “He was your enemy too. Not to mention George’s. It’s a wonder you never met in battle.”

  “God works in mysterious ways.” Robert rode in silence for a moment, and then changed the subject. “Say, how many times have you been through this Pass?”

  James counted off the occasions on his fingers. Texas, down and back. Santa Fe … and chasing down Frank Blue and his lot. “I reckon about six times, now. This will be my seventh trip over, if you count coming and going both.”

  Robert nodded. “That’s quite a few for the amount of time you’ve been in the country. What’s the most likely camping spot? We should set up in daylight, if that’s possible.” He looked around at the gathering clouds. “Looks like we’re in for a storm.”

  “Yep. I reckon it’s rain coming in. Not cold enough for snow.” James remembered a meadow beyond Amparo’s clearing that would hold the party, and his heartbeat quickened. “I’ll ride ahead and see about a place I know.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Robert nodded again and wheeled his horse.

  James touched his spurs lightly to the flanks of the black mare. “Let’s go take a look at that big meadow,” he said to the dog, leaning forward to pat the horse on its neck. “It’s close enough to … go visiting tonight.”

  A mile along the road, James slowed the horse to a walk. Oh my sweet girl, he thought, you’re lyin’ all alone just around the bend. Thank God you got that warm cloak I bought you in Santa Fe. Shudders swept through his body that had nothing to do with the cold wind that blew down the mountainside. He felt a strong impulse to guide the mare off the road and into the clearing ahead, but he resisted. I can’t stop now, but I’ll come back tonight.

  The dog had no such control. It whined and crept off the trail, but James rode past it, and it crouched in the underbrush at the edge of the path, whimpering, until he whistled it back to his side.

  Once he was past the turnoff to Amparo’s gravesite, James put the horse into a lope, and they went on until a flat meadow opened out to his left. He turned into it and slowed again to a walk, circling the area to look for windfalls of dead branches. There was enough firewood for the party, but it would be a dry camp.

  “It’ll do for the night,” he grunted. “Come on, dog. This should please Robert.”

  James turned his mare and went back to the wagons and reported.

  “Good!” Robert said. “It doesn’t matter about the water. We have enough in the barrels for tonight.”

  ~~~

  James untied his animals from the tailgate of the wagon where he had tethered them, then rode back to the meadow and dismounted. He unsaddled the mare, removed the pack from his mule, and watered the animals from a canvas bucket before hobbling them in an area of good grass. James found his lantern, made sure it was full of kerosene, and set it to one side, ready for nightfall.

  By then, the wagons had pulled into the meadow, and the travelers made camp, the men seeing to the livestock while the women brought in wood for cooking fires. Night overtook them just before they settled down to supper, and the men lit the lanterns. When supper was finished, the women gathered up the plates and utensils and started to clean them, using as little water as possible.

  James told the dog to stay put, took his lantern, and walked out to the road. He knew the light would draw attention, but hoped any curious soul would think he was following nature’s call. He headed down the road, anxiously watching for the break in the trees that indicated the path he sought. The night fooled him once: he thought a wide space between two trees was the turnoff, but soon retreated to the road and walked on. The second spot was the true path, and at last, he stood over the grave of his wife, holding the lamp in front of him.

  “Amparo,” he said, using the Spanish way she had said her name. “Amparo, te amo para siempre. I love you forever.”

  The lamp sputtered in the wind, and James shifted it a bit to shelter the flame. He sighed as grief poured into his veins, icy, but not numbing. A muscle throbbed in his jaw, and he unclenched his teeth.

  “Amparo, I’m movin’ along, going to a new place called Albuquerque.” James sighed and knelt on one knee at the head of the grave. “I’m going there with some folks I know. I reckon I won’t come back this way to visit, but I will love you forever. Oh my girl, my sweet girl, I miss you sorely.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I want to be with you when I die.”

  The mound of Amparo’s grave had settled a bit more since James had last visited it. He rose and tidied the grave one last time, wishing he had a marker to place at the site. He said, “I don’t even know how you spell ‘Garcés,’ but you were ‘Amparo Owen’ when you died, and that’s what matters.”

  A small explosive cough attracted his attention, and he turned toward the path from the road. A figure stood a few yards from the foot of Amparo’s grave, and James held up the lamp to see who was there.

  He groaned involuntarily. “Jess … Jessie!” he stammered, and took several steps in her direction. “You followed me. How long …?” Anger welled in his chest, and he stopped talking to keep from lashing harsh words at her.

  Jessie let her hand fall from before her mouth. She looked stricken, but stood her ground. “A few minutes. Is this …?” She cleared her throat and began again. “This is your wife’s resting place?”

  James nodded. A clash of emotions made him weak—annoyance at being overheard in his deepest agony, relief that Ned Heizer was nowhere to be seen, and a very odd visceral reaction to the pain on Jessie Bingham’s face—and he half staggered as he covered the rest of the distance to where the girl stood.

  Jessie asked, “Her name was Amparo?” James watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed after speaking the unfamiliar name.

  “It was.” Why was Jessie biting her lip?

  “You loved her? A Mexican girl?” Jessie’s hands curled into fists that she brought up in front of her mouth.

  James set down the lamp, then bending over it, fussed with it, giving himself time to find the right words, trying to quell his resentment. He never thought he’d have this conversation with Jessie. He never thought he’d see her again. Why was he so angry with her? He straightened up and said, “I loved her. I still do.”

  “A Mexican with black skin?” Jessie’s face blanched, then began to redden.

  James shook his head and his words spilled out in a rush. “Her skin wasn’t black. It was brown. She put me in mind of a bay horse, with her black hair and—”

  James broke off as Jessie flew at him and began to drum against his face and chest with her fists.

  She cried out, “You left me. You said you loved me, but you left me behind. You chose Ellen Bates over me. When she threw you over you married a nigra!”

  His anger flared. “Don’t say that,” he grunted as she struck him on the shoulder. He struggled to capture her fists, but she fought him ha
rd, her voice choking on her vehement words. Finally he trapped her flailing arms at her sides. His body shook at holding onto a woman he had once loved. Her sobs cut into his heart, and the anger drained away as he realized he still cared for her. The insight rocked him. After so long a time, and in spite of her flinging such an ugly word at Amparo, he still loved Jessie Bingham.

  “You said you loved me,” she managed to get through her tight-clamped teeth.

  “I did,” he murmured, letting the vagueness of his answer hang in the air. Reason cried out that he should explain: he did say it, and he did love her then. He concentrated instead on trying not to betray how her closeness affected him now. How could this be happening? Amparo lay in her grave not two steps behind him. Jessie stood here, crying her eyes out. He barely could keep from pulling her into a tight embrace. How could a man care for two women at the same time?

  He ached to tell Jessie the truth. As much as he loved Amparo, he loved her too. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t force out the words.

  Nothing he said would matter.

  Jessie had promised to marry Ned Heizer.

  A clap of thunder made them both jump, and rain began to pelt them. Lightning blazed in the sky. “Get back to camp,” James shouted over another roll of thunder. “Take the light.” He held the lantern out to her.

  Jessie looked at him with desolate eyes, accepted the lamp, and with a final sob, bolted toward the road. James turned to Amparo’s grave, the sky lit by intermittent flashes of lightning.

  Confusion swept over him. “Amparo,” he whispered, hanging his head at his easy betrayal of his newly buried wife. He stood there, silent for a long time, gazing at the recently dug earth with its adornment of rocks. He could hold his silence no longer and yelled her name into the storm. “Amparo! Forgive me! Te amo! Te amo!” He spread his arms out wide, then sank to his knees and prostrated himself on the rocks of the grave, sobbing with grief and frustration that she was dead and he had been disloyal to her memory.