by Ward, Marsha
~~~
Jessie stumbled into camp, her skirt muddy and her eyes wild. As she passed the tarpaulin that sheltered the members of the group, her mother put out a hand to stop her.
“Jessie! You’re soppin’ wet, girl. Where have you been?”
“Oh, Mama,” she gasped, pulling her mother with her into the storm. “Oh, Mama, I’ve done something terrible.”
“Terrible?” Mrs. Bingham exclaimed, slipping free of Jessie’s grasp so she could yank her shawl up to cover her head. “Get in the wagon,” she yelled over the din of the rain hitting the tarpaulin.
Jessie climbed up the spokes of the front wheel and put her hand down to help her mother ascend. The women ducked through the opening in the wagon cover. Jessie slumped against the goods piled on the floor of the vehicle.
“Tell me,” Mrs. Bingham demanded. “What terrible thing did you do out there in the wind and the rain?”
Jessie was crying, tears choking her, but she managed to gulp out a few words at a time. “I followed James. He went to a grave. His wife’s. He talked to her. Said her name. Oh, Mama!” She bent her head and hid her face in her hands.
“There, there. It was a bit indiscreet of you to follow him, but not terrible.” Her mother patted Jessie’s head.
“I beat on him. Hit him. Called her a name.” Jessie snuffled. “I told Ned I would marry him.”
“What?” Mrs. Bingham’s hand stopped moving. “Not just now?”
Jessie shook her head. “In spite, in spite of all …” She couldn’t seem to get her breath, so she raised her head and forced the sodden air deep into her lungs. “Mama, I still love James.”
Mrs. Bingham said, “Well now. Mr. Ned Heizer will take that as ill news.”
“Ned?” Jessie said in a low voice. “What of Ned?”
“You’re to marry him, dearie.”
“Oh. Yes.” She paused to think. “No, I hate him!”
“What? You hate Ned? I’m confused, daughter.”
“No, no, I hate James.”
“Well now …” Mrs. Bingham began.
“Ned is reliable,” Jessie said in a rush. “He’s safe. He’ll take care of me and won’t leave me.”
“Jessie girl,” Mrs. Bingham said. “Hush.” She sighed, stroking Jessie’s hair. “Albuquerque’s a long way off. You have time yet to sort it all out.”
Chapter 24
James arose well before the sun to get himself together. Of all times of the day, he liked morning best. The hush and the soft air always drove away the demons of the night. As he tended to his animals, the twitter of the awakening birds soothed his soul, smoothing away the anguish of his encounter with Jessie. Last night’s storm had left the air clean and crisp. The temperature had fallen, and the cold worked its way into his ungloved hands. James enjoyed seeing the mule’s breath streaming out as it put its head down into the feedbag he held under its nose.
Soon, the rest of the travelers got up and began the day’s work. Luke Bingham had a cook fire started by the time the four women had breakfast preparations underway. Ned fed the stock while Robert and George inspected the worn-down wagons. James walked over and joined the two men where they were looking at the loose iron rim of one wheel.
“Good morning,” Robert said. George scowled, but nodded an acknowledgement of James’s presence. “You figure that rim will stay on till we reach the next town?” Robert asked.
James ran his hand over the rim, wiggling it back and forth. “I don’t reckon it will. You need to shim it until it’s tight.” He looked around the ground for a stick, and pulled his clasp knife from his pocket. As he worked with the wood, the other two men followed his example and whittled out several wedges that they shoved into the crevices.
“Nah,” said James. “You need to space them out.” He eased two or three of the wooden slivers out and gestured with his head, “Just lift up the wagon bed there a bit, and I’ll put these in where they’ll do the best job.”
“The wagon jack’s broke,” George said, bending down to put his shoulder against the side of the wagon. “You take the front, Robert.” The two men heaved together, and James turned the wheel, hammering the wooden shims into place.
“There. That ought to hold until you can get a blacksmith to tighten that tire. They should have one in the next town over the pass.” James picked up another stick or two as the men let the wagon bed down. “Just the same, I’ll whittle up a few more shims in case any of these work their way loose as we go along.”
Robert wiped his hands on his trousers. “I’m pleased to have you along, James. You know a great deal more than I do.” He tilted his head, gesturing toward the wagon. “The livery and the blacksmith took care of my vehicle problems back home, and clerking in the bank didn’t fit me for all this outdoor work. I’ve learned plenty, but it’s a comfort to have you along.” He put out his hand, and when James extended his, he clasped it. “Thanks for coming with us.”
James shrugged. “I don’t have a home. Albuquerque is as good as any other place to light for a while.”
George strode off to hitch up his team. Robert looked fidgety.
James asked, “What’s bothering you, Rob?”
Robert took in some air. “You may have noticed my wife is carrying a child. The babe will be born soon. I’m not sure when. I reckon I’m wondering if the road through this pass is safe.” He let out a short laugh. “That may seem foolish, but the thought of a runaway wagon makes my stomach hurt.”
“You have dear ones to protect,” James said, wishing his own stomach didn’t ache as he thought of his loss. He no longer had anyone to protect.
Robert’s voice shook a bit as he said, “Hannah means the world to me. And the babe.” He paused, looking off into the distance. “I’m a mite anxious to see what we have. Whatever happens, I want to give Hannah and the baby a good life in a new land. A clean start.”
“The road is good,” James said, laying his hand on Robert’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Steep in some places, but if we need to do it, we can chain logs on the back as extra brakes. Don’t fret. We’ll be fine.”
James headed back to his animals, making sure he didn’t cross paths with Jessie. After last night’s experience, he thought avoiding her would be the best way to keep clear of any awkwardness.
Breakfast came and went, and the party got on the road, moving through the pass at a steady pace. James always took the forward position. He liked it there. Not only was there no dust, but he didn’t have to talk to anyone, since the dog and the horse didn’t make conversation. He could be alone with his thoughts.
The farther he got from Amparo’s grave, the more he thought of her sweetness, her self-sacrifice, and her unconditional love for him. It was as though she had decided to love him from the moment he said he would marry her. Shame suffused his body as he recalled his intention to take her back to her home and abandon his vow of marriage. How could he have been so ignorant, so selfish? How could he know his marriage would last such a short time?
Grief hit him anew, grief so tangible that he rocked in the saddle from the blow. Oh God, he cried in his heart, let me be with her again! Fire seared through his limbs at the despairing thought of never being able to see Amparo again.
God, please, he prayed silently. I love my dear little wife. How can I ever be happy on earth, if I can’t have a mite of hope of having her by my side again? How can love end with death? Oh God, it don’t! And it hurts so powerful much!
Suddenly, he realized this love was like that his parents shared. Yes, Rod Owen was arrogant, overbearing, and brusque, and James would have fought him to a standstill if he had the chance, but Rod loved his Julia, and she loved him back. James recalled the exchanged glances, the occasional touches, the muffled laughter in the night. How would Ma or Pa get along without the other? The question had no answer.
At noon, James returned to the wagons and called a halt to rest the teams and get a bit of dinner. Soon the trail would dip downward, and they would be in New Me
xico Territory. An ache started as he remembered all the joy and pleasure he had known with Amparo in that part of the land.
He dismounted and took care of the black mare. Then he went to the mule and dug around in the pack until he found the bean pot. He didn’t bother with a fire, but stood by the mule as he spooned up and ate a few cold mouthfuls of beans. The dog had hunted down and killed his own lunch, and lay nearby, chewing on bones.
Back in the saddle, James made circles with his shoulders, loosening his clenched muscles, and put his spurs gently to the black’s flanks. The wagons creaked behind him as they got underway.
“James,” floated out to him, but he disregarded Jessie’s call and continued to ride in front of the wagons. As she called his name again, he recognized the desperate tone of her voice. It was the same one he used when he called on God.
“Jessie,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “I don’t have room for you now.” Shame flowed over him once more. “Maybe God don’t have room for me,” he said under his breath, and a guttural groan escaped his lips. He squeezed his eyes closed, and then opened them and turned the black mare back toward the wagons. The dog bounded up to James.
Jessie walked alongside the Bingham’s old farm wagon, so James maneuvered the horse in a circle that brought him up beside her.
“You called me?” James strove mightily to keep a blank expression as Jessie halted beside his mount.
The dog put out his paw, and Jessie took it in her hand. She shook it, then peered up at James. Her face looked pinched and hollow. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Finally she spoke. “I’m sorry for what I called your wife.”
James must have clenched the muscles of his legs, because the black danced sideways, almost tangling legs with the dog. James was obliged to bring the horse back beside Jessie before he spoke. “Six little beans! I got feelings I can’t get shed of, Jessie. It pained me to hear you pin that name on somebody I hold so dear.” He laid his free hand on his thigh and rubbed up and down its length, working out a cramp.
Jessie was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was so low and anguished that James had to lean forward to hear her. “I’m sorry. It was almighty rude of me. Can you forgive me? Forget what I said?” The dog perked its ears, came up to Jessie, and licked her hand for a long moment before it loped away down the trail.
James nodded acceptance of her apology, holding his emotions in tight rein. “Hush,” he breathed to himself, put his spurs against the black’s sides, and rode out to join the dog at the front of the company.
As the afternoon wore on, the trail began its descent out of the pass down onto the flats. James passed the point where he had stood with Amparo, gazing down over the plains of New Mexico, making plans to see his family again, to start a family of his own. He gritted his teeth and rode on, through juniper and stunted oak trees bordering the trail.
A small bird whirred out of a juniper bush and flew toward the east. It startled the black and caused the dog to bark after it, but James soothed his mount, patting and rubbing it on the neck. “Whoa, there. Easy, easy. Cállate, old dog. Quiet down!”
Soon James rode on a flat trail. A creek on the right burbled through rocks as it wound its way south.
I turned off about here.
James touched his forehead as though his head had begun aching. His thoughts continued about the hours he’d spent tracking the men who had killed his wife. He squeezed his eyes shut to blank them out. Mule tails! Am I goin’ to remember everything that happened to me all along this trail? Some of the memories would be sweet, he considered. Amparo made my life sweet. We were happy. She was a shelter place to me, just like her name means. He sighed, remembering her playfulness in their camp on the prairie that lay spread out far before him. Oh, Amparo, he thought, feeling the hole in his soul that her absence left.
He realized that yes, he would remember every occurrence that had burned into his memory during their journeys together, every happening along the trail’s twists and turns. As he covered the same miles again, he would remember it all, the apprehension, the joy, the guilt, the laughter, the struggle to communicate without a common language.
He clenched his fists in an attempt to get rid of the longing to touch her hair, the hunger to run his fingers through the black strands framing her little brown face. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as remembrance of the feeling of her smooth skin beneath his hands swept over him. His body ached as he recalled the desire, the relief, the joy of being with her as a committed husband, rather than as a reluctant bridegroom.
“Oh God,” he cried out to Heaven. “She’s gone!” Unashamed, he wept in the middle of the trail, bereft at her loss. Without his Amparo, life had no purpose. He had nothing to do except take some folks to the end of their trek because they were people he knew.
Chapter 25
Early in the afternoon of the next day the travelers came into Raton and found the blacksmith shop. The burly smith took off the wheel with the loose rim and left the wagon jacked up while he began his work, saying it would take him all afternoon to tighten the tire, and they might as well park their vehicles on the flats by the creek overnight.
George and Robert drove the other two wagons out of town and, with Ned, began to make camp. James prepared his own campsite a little apart from the main one. It being too early to start dinner, the women pulled up seats and rested, after finding mending that could be done as they sat.
Jessie, who had decided to explore the town, got her mother’s permission to go, if someone went with her, and set about persuading Luke to accompany her. “Come on, Lukie, you really want to see the sights, don’t you?” she said, tilting her head to one side.
“Ain’t no sights here, Sis,” he muttered. “Just another little town on the road.”
“Please,” she said, looking up at her younger brother, who had grown a couple of inches since they’d left St. Louis.
“Ain’t nothin’ else to do,” he said, agreeing to join her in her ramble.
They set off down a road so dry that puffs of dust rose from each step they took.
“I hope Ma’s planning to cook something fillin’ for dinner,” Luke said as they walked along. “My belly’s fixin’ to whine, it’s been so long since I last ate.”
Jessie gave him a little shove as they entered the main street. “You’re always hungry, Luke.”
“Am not.”
“Are so.”
“Only at meal times.”
Jessie laughed. “All day long!” She looked sidelong at him. “Who was asking Ma this morning if she had any extra biscuits tucked away in the wagon?”
Luke made a face. “You heard me?”
“I have good ears.”
“What you have are long ears, great big hanging donkey ears.”
“Do not!”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“No, you don’t,” said James, passing them by with long strides. The dog followed behind, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.
Jessie took in a quick breath, feeling her body flush, and turned to Luke. “See? An impartial party disagrees with you.”
“What’s ‘impartial’ mean?”
Jessie stopped walking, waiting until James was out of earshot. Luke turned to her, folding his arms across his chest.
“Well?”
“‘Impartial’ describes someone who has no interest in a dispute or the parties involved. Judges are impartial.” She continued softly, “James Owen is impartial.” She watched him as he strode away.
Luke shrugged. “That may be. But your ears are still long.”
He cuffed her gently on the arm, but Jessie’s joy in the banter was gone. “Not now, Lukie,” she said, and turned down a side street.
Luke followed, his stomach rumblings reaching Jessie’s ears. Soon they found themselves in a narrow byway made up of connected whitewashed houses facing each other, with doors set flush to the street. When they had walked nea
rly to the next intersection, they saw an old, brown-skinned woman sitting in an open doorway. She wore a colorful shawl against the cold breeze that swept down the lane. Luke’s stomach took that moment to complain. The woman looked up, grinned, and hailed them.
“Jóvenes, vengan,” she said, gesturing them to approach, and went back to what she had been doing, patting something white between her weathered brown hands.
Jessie put her hand on Luke’s arm and clutched it tightly. At the same time, she drew him along toward the wrinkled woman, who wore her white hair in a braid wound around the top of her head. That style’s real pretty, Jessie thought.
“¿Tienen hambre?” asked the woman, gesturing toward her mouth with her fingers close together.
Luke caught on right away. He mimicked her motion, saying, “Yes. I’m hungry.” His stomach chose that moment to agree, loudly, and he hung his head. “Sorry!”
The woman laughed, and reached back into her home to lay down what she’d been working on. “Tengo tortillas,” she said, and brought her arm back, holding a plate covered with a cloth. She removed the cover, and revealed several round, flat, white patties, about six inches across. “Uuu eeet,” she said in broken English, extending the plate toward the two, while making her eating movement with the other hand.
Luke grinned. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and reached out to take one of the patties. “Tengo tortillas?” he asked, repeating the woman’s words.
“Jes. Tortillas,” she answered. “Ver, very good eeet.”
Luke ripped off a piece of the tortilla and put it in his mouth. He chewed, and his face brightened. “It’s good, Sis,” he said. “Try one.” He turned back to the woman, and speaking around his next mouthful, thanked her again.
Jessie bit her lip, took a tortilla, and popped a piece into her mouth. It was warm and tasted of corn and lard. She smiled. “It’s like corn pone, only different,” she said to Luke. “Thank you, ma’am.” She put another piece into her mouth and bobbed her head at the woman.
